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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.

Just wondering if it’s okay to mess your diaper several times before removing it. I know people do it but, is there any cautionary advice to be offered? Any problems that people normally run into when trying to mess a diaper multiple times?

Hi folks - I hope you enjoy the second part in my daycare short stories series. There will be a third and final part coming soon. As always, characters are 18+ and comments/ critique are welcome! This story contains a lot of discussion about messing. You’ve been warned. Earlier at Daycare (or Mike and Katie Part 2) Her phone was ringing. Sandra glanced at it and saw “MIKE DAYCARE” flashing on the screen. She had just sat down on the back patio with a small joint and a glass of wine. This was supposed to be her “me time.” True, it was only 11AM, but non-traditional mommies like her had to find time and ways to relax whenever they could. Hell, traditional mommies could get baked and buzzed before noon for all she cared, and she knew plenty of them did. She needed this today. Mike had been a whiny grump that whole morning, culminating in a tantrum (as in legs kicking and arms pounding on the floor) when she’d informed him that they were out of milk, and he’d have to have apple juice with breakfast instead. Call it the “terrible 32s.” She probably should have disciplined him, but she had decided to let it go, wordlessly handing him the sippy cup of juice once he had calmed down enough to take it. They both knew she had “won” whatever battle he had thought he was fighting. She always did. He had lain there on the kitchen floor, drinking his juice morosely and occasionally making little post-crying shuddering sounds until it was time to get ready to go. There was no time for a proper breakfast. Getting Mike dressed and out the door had been equally trying. He’d completely soaked his pants not 5 minutes after she had changed and dressed him. Normally she left him in his nighttime diaper for longer, but they were already off to a late start, and she had taken a chance that the apple juice had already gone through him. No dice. She supposed she should be pleased that these morning wettings were routine for both of them now. In fact she couldn’t recall the last time he had asked for the potty in the morning. He stayed in, and fully used, his bedtime diaper until it was time to get ready to leave. Sandra hoped this in-between-diapers-and-potty-training stage wouldn’t last much longer. No parent or caregiver enjoyed it - at any age. Life would be sooooo much easier for both of them when she had him back in diapers full-time, when his accidents would no longer be considered “accidents”, and when she would have full control over when and where he was changed. In an effort to speed things along, she had read everything she could about effective potty training strategies and procedures, and then started doing the exact opposite with Mike. So for instance, when they were at home she let him stay wet for as long as possible after an accident (without risking damage to the carpet or furniture of course). Mike had always been less-than-meticulous about his hygiene, and it hadn’t taken long before he was perfectly content to sit in wet pants for as long as she wanted him too. Sometimes he wasn’t even aware that he needed a change until she announced it. The delay tactic had the added benefit of making additional wettings even easier and less bothersome for him. When you were already wet, what did it matter if you got a little wetter? In fact, why bother holding it at all in those circumstances? Much easier just to let go at the slightest urge. It was a vicious circle that Sandra was orchestrating with the gentlest, most nurturing of hands. When she saw signs that he needed to go, she would ask him if he was “about to make pee pee?” This subtly suggestive phrasing allowed her to maintain the illusion of concern for his continence, while often provoking him to wet on the spot. His cute little “potty face” was a dead giveaway, even if he didn’t always wet enough to soak through the thick trainers. Sandra loved knowing that she now had the power to make him wet himself on command. She wondered if the staff at the regression clinic could leave him with that mental trigger? It might be fun and useful, even after he became fully incontinent. She had also changed how she dealt with cleanup. Instead of changing him in the bathroom while standing up (as one would for a “big boy” that had had an accident, and as recommended in literally every potty training guide), she had started laying him down on a changing mat in the living room for every change. In truth, this arrangement made more work for her (and potentially more mess because the cloth trainers did not open at the sides like a diaper). But she knew that there was nothing quite like holding a man’s legs in the air and gently wiping his bottom to induce feelings of deep, infantile dependence. It’s a trigger that is wired into our subconscious literally from day one. Changing him in the living room also reinforced the idea that poop and pee (and the cleanup routines that followed) weren’t necessarily things that had to take place in the bathroom. They could happen anywhere. And that was fine. It was good. Mike was realizing that he had options now. And one of those options was simply a lot more convenient when he was engrossed in a more preferred activity. In fact, accidents could now be expected at these times, unless she or the daycare staff intervened. And she rarely did. She’d even allowed him to poop in his pants at the park the other day, despite the very obvious cues that he was about to have (or was having) a bowel movement. She’d watched with amusement as Mike paused his little game in the sandbox and froze, staring off into space as if mesmerized by the act of filling his drawers. Any experienced parent or caregiver who saw that expression and posture would have recognized instantly what was happening. Thankfully, she seemed to be the only one looking in Mike’s direction at that moment, and they had the sandbox to themselves. She knew she wouldn’t able to change him there, despite his regressed state. But Mike didn’t want to leave, and had even requested to go back to playing after she had called him over and checked him (NBD right?). Letting him play in dirty pants was an enticing proposition on some levels, but not something she wished to expose others to. She ended up having to literally drag him from the park while he fussed loudly and lied that he hadn’t gone poopy in his pants and he didn’t need changing. She had managed to find enough privacy between their car and the one parked next to it to hastily tape his naptime diaper on over his soiled training pants. At least the car seats were protected. Mike had started to object to this, but one stern look from Sandra and a quick smack to his squishy backside put a stop to that. She was done taking crap from him today, at least in the idiomatic sense. The car ride had been less-than-pleasant in terms of the smell, but making him sit in his mess like an awkward toddler was worth it. She’d even taken a detour through the McDonald’s drive-through to prolong his suffering. When they got home, she had put him in his booster seat at the kitchen table and made him finish his happy meal before finally taking him to the living room for a change. When doing so, Sandra noticed that the diaper she’d put on him was a little wetter than she expected, and also lightly soiled in spots from the escaped contents of his training pants. This discovery gave her a wicked idea: She gave Mike a single, cursory wipe to scrape the bulk of the mess off his bottom, and then she taped his slightly poopy butt back into the slightly poopy and wet diaper. Mike was surprised at first, but knew he was in no position to object. He didn’t even complain a few minutes later when she pulled him into her lap, clad in just his tee shirt and a wet and soiled diaper, and fed him an extra large sippy of warm milk as if he were an infant drinking from a bottle. She had decided not to tease him too much - the diaper and baby treatment were more than enough to humiliate him. But even so, she couldn’t resist a few tickles, crotch pats, and bum squishes along with feigned ignorance as to where the smell of a stinky baby was coming from? When he finished the bottle (oops sippy), she had patted his messy bottom a final time and sent him off to his bed to nap alone - leaving a faint whiff of dirty diaper trailing behind him down the hall. Mike was rashy and grumpy when he woke up, and she was down an expensive pair of cloth training pants that were now in the trash, but overall the afternoon at the park had been worth it. She knew the daycare felt and treated him differently (for obvious reasons). But she also knew, based on his daily activity reports and her conversations with Katie, that what was happening at home was having an effect on his toileting at Sunny Hills as well. At this point, Mike was pretty much functionally incontinent unless consistently reminded not to be. He needed to be back in diapers. They were almost there. But he was still stubbornly, even adamantly resistant to this next step in his regression. Daytime diapers were a bad word in their house, which was partly why she had decided to leave their eventual (inevitable) introduction to the staff at Sunny Hills. She figured Mike would be less willing and/or able to resist that change when the time came if it came from the daycare staff. She knew from talking with his mother that he’d been very difficult to potty train. And he was still obviously diapered in the photos from his 3rd birthday party (Sandra had a practiced eye for these things, and Mike’s mom wasn’t shy about sharing photos). So it probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was equally difficult to diaper train. And besides, that knowledge had proved beneficial in lots of fun ways, even before Mike had started his regression therapy. She remembered it vividly. It was the first time she had become aware of her dominant side on such a sexual level. His blushy reaction to her gentle teasing about having his dirty dydee changed in front of all his little party friends had made her so wet she’d left a visible spot on the crotch of her jeans. Their love making that night had been incredible, especially after she started using the baby talk voice again, teasing and encouraging him to have an “accident” inside of her instead of pulling out like usual. When she knew he was close, she had pulled him in tighter, shoving her tit in his mouth and telling him to be a good baby for her as he gushed inside her while protesting weakly around her slick nipple. Unfortunately, it was also a bittersweet memory, because it had marked the start of a relatively sad time in their marriage when they learned that they would never be able to have children of their own. She’d have to content herself with Mike to fulfill both her sex drive and her more domestic nurturing and mothering urges… Sandra shoved these thoughts from her mind and returned to the present. Could she let the call go to voicemail? No. Probably not. Probably should not. She knew from experience that Sunny Hills wouldn’t call unless there was some sort of problem, and she had found it really annoying when parents hadn’t answered her calls when she worked there. Reluctantly, she picked up the phone and wasn’t surprised to hear Katies cheerful voice coming through from the other line: “Hi Sandra, It’s Katie over at Sunny Hills…” “Yes I’m fine, thanks. It’s not an emergency or anything, but I wanted to talk to you about Mike…” “Yeah - he’s been a handful for us too, which is actually part of the reason I’m calling…” “Well he made some poor choices this morning in terms of his behavior, acting out and throwing toys, and he was also more emotional than usual…” “Yeah we’ve had lots of tears about little things this morning, so I decided to keep him in with me during outside playtime.” Without really realizing it, Sandra’s hand had snaked down to her crotch as she envisioned Mike being punished by Katie for acting so babyish. “And then, while he was inside cleaning up the mess he had made earlier, he had a pretty big accident in his pants…” “Yep…“ ”No, and I’m sorry I wasn’t watching him more carefully. He actually hasn’t been very good about telling me when he needs to go this week, so I’ve been trying to keep a sharper eye on him. It’s usually pretty obvious when he needs to poop, but…” “Yes exactly! [Katie punctuated this affirmation with a good natured laugh]. But this time I didn’t notice until I smelled him. And unfortunately, he didn’t tell me about it either - before or after.” Sandra’s hand was inside her panties now. She had to suppress a moan. A finger slid it’s way into her slick crease. The thought of Mike, knelt on the floor, busy with some task, and quietly pooping in his pants like a 2 year old was absolutely exhilarating. The thought of the smell betraying him to Katie was almost too delicious to bear. That kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen in the preschool classroom. And there had been no other, more likely culprits present to pin it on. Katie would have known from the first whiff that it was her Little Helper who had dirtied his pants. She wondered if Katie had bothered to ask his permission before she reached down and pulled back the bunched elastic waistband of his not-quite-diapers to confirm with her eyes what her practiced nose was already telling her? He hadn’t pooped yesterday, so it was probably a pretty big one, and the trainers didn’t have as much room in the seat as a disposable diaper. Katie would have seen it immediately. She wondered what his face looked like when she got down on his level and asked him in a serious, but nurturing tone, if he had poop in his pants, and if so, why hadn’t he come and told her he needed changing like he was supposed to? She also wondered if he had tried to lie about it at first, despite the visual and olfactory evidence to the contrary. Perhaps he had even stomped his foot and shouted: “not got stinky!” or “no change me!” in a petulant and ineffectual attempt to dodge her persistent questioning. Fuck, that mental image made her so wet… She pictured him doing the “walk of shame” down the hallway towards the changing facilities, one hand held tightly in Katie’s, and the other clamped tightly over his dirty bottom, trying desperately to keep the load inside from shifting around too much. The trainers she had been putting him in were basically pull-on cloth diapers (sans cover), and would probably contain the mess unless he sat in it, but Mike didn’t seem to know that. He had held his bottom the same way at the park the other day, even as claimed in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear that he was not poopy. She snapped back to the conversation when she realized that Katie was still talking. “It’s no big deal. Luckily, the toddlers were also having outside play time so the changing facilities in that classroom were free for us to use in private…” That did it. That mental image - of Mike laying teary-eyed on the plastic-covered cushion of the toddler room changing table, his thumb in his mouth, his striped tee shirt tucked up over his pot belly, naked from the waist down with his soiled “big boy pants” tied up in a bag next to him, with Katie wiping his poop-covered bottom, and his crotch already glistening from where she had wiped him previously - all of those things combined into the image that pushed her over the edge into one of the strongest “solo” orgasms she’d ever had. She shuddered, and bit her lip. It was Katie doing these things, and seeing Mike in this way. It was almost too much to think about right now. She’d need to process it later, and maybe rub another one out… She realized Katie had paused: “Sandra? Are you still there?” “Yeah - sorry - I was just walking upstairs” Sandra said, breathlessly. “No worries…Anyway, I got him cleaned up and into a fresh pair of trainers - he’s out of spare training pants and backup clothing by the way…” “Yeah, well I noticed he was a little damp right after he arrived, so I changed him then. But then during morning snack time he completely soaked that first back up pair of undies as well as his clothes…” “Yeah, as in wet up to his armpits…” “Nope. He definitely didn’t. He knows the rules about telling me, but I think he was just too busy with his snack to put his hand up, so I’m not too worried about it…” “Well we can chat about that when you come to pick him up…” “No, he seems fine. I think he’s completely zoned out right now. He’s actually sitting on the floor, putting a car in his mouth. In fact, hold on just a sec:” Mike, sweetie - get that out of your mouth. It’s yucky. You’re not a baby. “Sorry - where were we?…” “No. You don’t need to do that. If he has another accident, I’ll just put one of his naptime diapers on him and he can spend some time helping Miss Julie in the toddler room until it’s time for pickup…” “ Sandra? Did I lose you again?…” “OK, good. Look, that’s actually not the reason I’m calling. Or at least not the main reason. I’m calling because I wanted to let you know that I think he REMEMBERS…” “Yes - as in before before…Before he was a little. I think he remembers ME.” To be concluded…

Hi there! This is about a fictional ABDL community that I'm working on. It features adults who live in a kinky community for ABDLs. Everyone is over 18. I have about 10 chapters done and will be posting them here over time. Here is a detailed disclaimer that talks about the content and themes of this novel:: https://www.patreon.com/posts/65186383 Content Warnings Extensive Diaper Use (Wetting and Messing) Extensive Regression themes Extensive Sexual themes Adult Nursing CNC Spanking/Corporal Punishment/Orgasm Control-Denial/Chastity Bullying and teasing Humiliation ------- Previous chapter is here: ------- Andrew sat in the Daycare playroom. He had nothing to do until lunch. He sat on the bench of one of the large plastic picnic tables. Often, these tables were a platform for arts and crafts such as beading or stenciling, but for now, they stood empty. The day hadn’t really got going yet. Most babies were on their way to chores, or to potty class, and if a baby didn’t have to do either of those things, perhaps they opted to go back to bed. Some, sure, had gone off to the gym, or had taken walks before the June air got too hot. Many were here, doing what he was doing, kicked out of the cafeteria, but not quite ready to move on to begin their day. They formed gaggles in the vast expanse of the playroom. There was a group laying on the floor, their hands cradling their full bellies. Others had turned on the television and leaned back with their heads in their hands. Still some weren’t satisfied with their breakfasts, and had taken to the in-playroom kitchen. Even with all of that, the playroom felt deserted. The Daycare playroom is the biggest single playroom of all of Nurserton. The grand Daycare playroom. It wasn’t even the Daycare’s only playroom, though it was far larger than its sibling, a playroom that was itself as big as the only playroom in the Preschool. That other playroom was upstairs and almost a ten minute walk from the big playroom, which was on the first floor and could be found just inside the main door. The big playroom didn’t take credit for being the largest room of Nurserton in general, though. That’d go to the Nursery, which in some senses was all one big room, minus the network of grownup apartments that encircled that lofted room. It was once a concert hall, during Nurserton’s past life as an elite boarding school. He was very familiar with the openness of the Nursery. This playroom, also called the ‘main’ playroom, or ‘the market’ or ‘the casino,’ -all of which were fitting nicknames in one way or another- was in many ways the heart of all of Nurserton. Well, the outdoor campus on a nice day might be, but all year-round this place held a fair claim to the title of Nurserton’s common ground. Nursery babies who were friends with Preschoolers would meet here as a natural halfway point between their homes. Juniors would meet other Juniors in one of the many alcoves, fresh off work and wishing to rest their legs after a morning of standing beside the changing tables. Andrew watched a lady move across the large carpeted expanse. She was bounding, almost skipping, no, almost hopping like a frog. She traveled across the great and uninterrupted and multi-patterned carpet, a carpet that is a large part of why they called this place the casino. In terms of games, there were only videogames and board games, so Andrew figured that had to be why. Casinos were always carpeted in big colorful and gaudy carpets. The hopping woman -Andrew did not know her name- stopped and whirled around. A grownup had called to her, waving her back. The woman tapped her chest, as if to confirm that yes, indeed, had that grownup called her? It seemed he had, and she walked her way back towards him. She wore a frilly dress, which matched her bow and was accentuated by long white stockings. She addressed the grownup, who hadn’t taken a step in her direction after calling her over. He spun her gently by the shoulder, ignored everything but her dress, which he lifted by the fistful from the back. The grownup’s other hand fished into the back of her diaper, visible now that the dress was displaced, until he let it snap back into place. The grownup then clasped a hand on her wrist, spoke something into her ear, and led her away. Now that the grownup had drawn her too close to himself for her to have room to skip and hop, Andrew noticed that she waddled. Andrew left breakfast in the cafeteria over ten minutes ago. In that time, he’d watched many other babies share the same fate as the girl in the frilly dress. First a diaper check, and sometimes a brisk walk out of the playroom to disappear down the hall to the left. Sometimes they went free. In fact, a check happened to him only a few minutes ago. The check itself was brought about by another man, another baby, who had been on the same plastic bench. The boy had been occupying it, and affecting the air around it, since before Andrew arrived. This did not bother Andrew, but a grownup, trawling as they do during this time of the morning, did get bothered. The grownup (a different one from the one who pounced on the girl with the frills), sensed something amiss with his nose, turned his head toward the plastic bench, and made Andrew and the other man stand up for a onesie-unbuttoning. Andrew had been deemed wet, but his Puffington Plus had plenty to give yet. The other man, the guilty baby whose stinky diaper had brought the checks upon Andrew and himself, followed the grownup out of the playroom, going the same way as the lady. He sighed. The now-gone manbaby sitting on the tables beside him had been cute. Andrew had caught his name when the grownup addressed him. It was Paul, or something that began with P. P for the poop in his pants. Clean shaven, slender, and wiry…with a diaper that had bulged and hung behind him, even through the onesie. There was nothing sexier to Andrew. He’d thought of joining maybe-Paul when the grownup had made eye contact with them and come over with the intent of checking both Andrew and Paul. If he had, he would have been escorted the baby-way too; out of the cavernous playroom and down the hall to the left, with the cute man beside him. The grownup was attractive too. A man in his thirties, with a beard. Andrew hadn’t paid any more attention to him than he had to, though. He preferred other babies. But the stinky man was straight, Andrew knew that for sure. He’d given the grownup a little nuh-uh when asked about his diaper and earned himself a smack on his bottom when it turned out he’d been rebellious for rebellion’s sake. It’d been very cute, but no, Andrew still was sure he was straight. He’d never seen him play with anyone, men or women. Andrew hadn’t been around the Daycare long enough to know many people that well, so his lack of information could be misleading. Yet the stinky man just had a straightness to him…he just had that masculine simplicity of a cis-het man. No, he’d have to look someplace else. It was like this, on Mondays. He had potty training on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He had chores on Monday afternoons, Wednesdays, and Saturday mornings. Those commitments weren’t the issue, it just so happened that everyone he knew was busy on Monday mornings. A friend of his, Sean would be around and available on Thursday morning, eager and staring at him in the cafeteria, and Andrew would know to keep his diaper as clean and dry as he could so they could slip the door-grownup (there was always a door grownup manning the main door to the Daycare, and they wouldn’t let anyone come to or go from Daycare with a soiled diaper) and get into the woods to play. Erik was available in the time-sense, but not in a romantic sense. Well that wasn’t one-hundred percent true, come to think of it. If Erik was indeed dating Geoff, as everyone said they were, then Erik was very free…for a price. Erik would drop everything to say yes, that was the point of dating Geoff. But Geoff would come for his tushy tax sooner or later. Tushy tax. Geoff liked his hierarchies, and he loved to let anyone top his bottom, as long as Geoff himself was the top of tops. Andrew would love to pay that tax someday. The problem was that he couldn’t really use what he’d pay for. It was the same issue he had with Aron, who was just about the only boy free on Monday mornings. Aron’s cock was in plastic, and not just diaper plastic. Hard plastic with a padlock. There was nothing for Andrew to do with him. Andrew adjusted himself on the plastic bench. Maybe he’d go back to his crib for a nap. His room was on the west side of the Daycare, and thus the room would be cool and dark, because it was shielded from the morning sun. His roommates, all three of them women because of course they would be, wouldn’t likely be there. Likely. If Erin, hell, if even his roommate Mika were there, neither would tell on him if they noticed he was playing. But not even that would be an issue. His roommate Erin, a former Nursery baby who was long in the Nursery before now, was in potty training on Monday mornings. Mika, a miniscule woman in her late thirties with a pixie cut and a sex drive to rival his own, had been given extra chores and was thus also accounted for this morning. Getting caught diapers-down with a guy in the plushie forest will do that. Aron’s plastic predicament was further testament to that. The problem with going back to the dorm wasn’t Erin or Mika, though. It was his third roommate, Angela. She’d tell on him for playing even if she wasn’t there to see it. She’d sniff the room and declare it smelled like boycum (she had done this, but thankfully only to try to frame Mika). Andrew preferred not to think about her. Just his luck. Potty train for months to get to Daycare, and wind up in a dorm room full of women. As women went, 2-3 were just fine, and Erin was one of the best around. But still! The plushie forest loomed not far away. It was an entire offshoot from the main playroom, a deep and rather dark rectangle growing out of the side of the playroom causeway. It was home to some of the largest stuffies in all of Nurserton; Fredline the enormous bear, almost twenty feet tall. Tiburon the blue whale, big and solid enough that you could crawl into its mouth and nestle in his hollowed out belly. Tiburon was a common snuggle place for fresh couples, though anybaby with experience knew that grownups checked there often for more aggressive canoodlers, and doing anything more than spooning and kissing would land you on the wrong end of the paddle for sure. There was another bear, Frosty, who was a huge smiling polar bear. Andrew didn’t like him; his white fur was impossible to keep clean, and he was thankful that the plushie forest was often dark enough to not notice. There were at least a dozen other plushies taller or longer than ten feet, and perhaps a hundred more stuffed animals that would be considered large if seen anywhere else, and not beside the other plushie leviathans. Most were at least the size that might be the grand prize at some arcade, hanging there at the carnival stall as the grand prize for an impossible game of ‘throw the ring on the bottle’. The plushie forest was so named because, given the variety of stuffies that you could find there in the dim light, it seemed as if the space had tall trees and low bushes. It served mostly as a place to talk in private, to nap in complete and soft bliss, or to take a big risk in playtime. It wasn’t the dumbest place to play. It was possible to get away with it. Outside was best, but there was no sense going out to the woods without someone to play with already. One didn’t waddle through actual bushes looking for sex, not even in an ABDL paradise like Nurserton. If Angela was taking a nap in her crib, it was a better bet to hide behind one of the huge bears than to do it in his dorm. Andrew got hard there, on the plastic bench. Last week he’d been at breakfast with the boys and Aron, still a few days before the incident that would cage him, had stolen glances at him all through the meal. While depositing their food trays, Aron had grabbed his bum. He did it quickly in the crush of all the babies trying to dispose of their own trays and get to their chores or potty class. Understanding the intent of the grab, Andrew had followed the tall and curly-haired boy across the hall and through the playroom. They were each stopped twice for diaperchecks by grownups, but both passed both times. Andrew knew Aron was taking him to the plushie forest, and his heart raced (his heart still raced a week later, just thinking about it). Grownups patrolled the plushie forest enough that their capture was likely if they tried anything daring. Yet Aron got off on the thrill, and the plastic predicament he was in today was not his first such punishment. They went to the big flat tail of Tiburon the whale, walking slowly along the ribbed body of what was perhaps the largest plushie in the whole world. When they finally got to the little alcove created by the soft whale’s tail Aron stopped him and pushed Andrew down by his shoulders. Andrew barely had to pull Aron’s diaper down to see the man’s excitement. He took him in his mouth. Andrew’s chin pressed into the folded wetness of Aron’s diaper. Perhaps knowing that Andrew’s ideal morning was not spent in the pillory or in babyjail, the large barred enclosure in the main playroom for serious timeouts (which were the type of timeouts one got for this sort of thing), Aron didn’t draw it out. Aron came quickly. He held down Andrew’s head as he drew close, and delivered a hefty load into his mouth. Hmmm…what would it be like to be the first boy to play with him after his week in plastic? Andrew hoped he could score that. Aron would cum quickly, but he would cum a lot. Sean would probably get the rights to be the first, though. They played together the most, having been Daycare buddies going on years. Andrew sighed again. He really had to make more of a name for himself here. Sean on Thursdays was his only regular thing. The Aron thing had been recent, but now the plastic had taken it away. He wasn’t reliable anyway, not as a partner. Once out, he’d be back in a cock-cage before long, and his days were often punctuated by inconvenient timeouts. He was always telling Sean: Sorry, I gotta get back to my dorm. My dormgrownup says I’m in trouble. Yet there were tons of boys here, partially because the Daycare was the only building that was majority male. Andrew wasn’t sure why that was, but he knew that if it was, the Daycare was the place for him. All he needed was a boyfriend like Geoff to put his bottom on the market. He also just needed to meet people. Like the stinky boy from earlier. Maybe he was at least a little gay? He did get a little naughty with the grownup. Wouldn’t have hurt to try. How long had Andrew been at Nurserton…over two years? Yet he still felt new. And of course he did, he was new as far as his time in Daycare was concerned. But it had been almost two months since he’d been upgraded to Daycare. He recalled his first days in the Nursery, how hard it had been to remember every new boy’s name. It took him more than a week of sitting down at random tables to finally find Erik, Sean, and Aron, and he’d made few friends since then, and even fewer partners. It seemed that friends just came easier in the Nursery than they did here. The main playroom felt even more dead then it had a few minutes ago, when the skipping girl had been dragged away. Part of this was its size. The babyjail was populated, though few people had misbehaved that badly by 9am, so its occupancy was thin. A pair of babies rode enormous tricycles around. He didn’t pretend to know the schedule of every gay or bisexual man in Daycare, but where were they all? Someone, somewhere, was hankering for a blowjob. This was never a problem in the Nursery. In the Nursery the problems were that almost every guy was a bottom, and it was even harder to find an unsupervised place to play without being busted. A big open room like the Nursery, where over two-hundred babies lived, was the hardest place in all of Nurserton to play. Easy to meet people, harder to play. The Nursery was the direct opposite of the Daycare as far as he assumed. Obviously, being a junior or a preschooler was even more different, but Andrew never considered living in those places. He never wanted to be that big. Being that big was for the real world. He sat there for a while longer, until his morning coffee and breakfast: a bagel and cream cheese, began to work in earnest. Without thinking, perhaps from years of habit at Nurserton already, he placed both hands on the plastic bench and tilted himself forward. His diaper puffed out beneath him. Andrew grunted and exhaled, and then sat himself down. He felt a lot better, he felt a lot lighter. His bladder had let out a strong stream as well, so that his Puffington Plus was bloated. It could still hold more, of course, but no grownup was going to let him continue if they saw him. At least none of his onesie buttons popped. Should have taken care of that ten minutes ago. If he’d just pooped when the straight guy had gotten them both checked, he’d be halfway through the queue in the changing room (There was a big changing room beside the casino and the cafeteria, and it was the largest of its kind in Nurserton, and perhaps the world). That’s where the straight guy was now, along with the girl in the frills, and along with many others the grownups had seen and taken out of the playroom, to take them waddling down the hall to the left. He worried that maybe all the guys were stuck in the changing queue, waiting for their turn on a table. If so, it was all the dumber that he hadn’t punched his changing-room ticket earlier. Andrew sat there, in a dirty diaper, on the plastic bench for still a while further. He thought about where his fourth roommate, Angela, a popular and attractive lady who always brought people back to the dorm to entertain them with gossip and primping, had gone off to. If she wasn’t in the room, the room would be clear, seeing as Erin and Mika were occupied for the next few hours. With his diaper this full (it was a pretty big mess), snuggling in his crib and playing with himself would be very comfortable. And it’d be a perfect crime, so long as he could sneak out before any of the women could properly pin him with the stink he gave the room. Erin wouldn’t even care about the stink, after all, she had spent something like three straight years in the Nursery. Mika would only be slightly bothered. Once again, it was Angela who worried him. Regardless, he still wanted to play with a guy. He wanted to suck a dick. So he stood up, fixed his onesie on his belly because it had gotten scrunched, and began to walk down the immense carpet and the seemingly empty playroom. He didn’t expect to make it far; any grownup who got close would stop and unbutton him and lead him off in the direction of the skipping woman and the straight boy. The thought didn’t bother him much. There were more guys there, after all, if there was one guy sitting there bored and alone in the changing room, there’d be one more guy than there was here in the playroom. Still, he was careful to walk in such a way that avoided intersecting with any of the grownups who sharked about the halls. It was a long ingrained habit to avoid grownups when in a dirty diaper, perhaps the only (and perverse) part of potty training he’d truly internalized. He saw the man who’d detained and escorted the skipping girl away, now in the television room, pulling back every diaper waistband of those babies who sat and watched the morning cartoons. There were at least a dozen sitting there, watching what looked like Rick and Morty, and out of them the grownup had already picked out two of the babies and separated them off to stand by the wall. Andrew made sure not to make too much eye contact, and restricted his waddle as much as he could to make his passing as discreet as possible. As Andrew continued, he peeked into the different alcoves of the playroom, which were organized around the central hallway like stores in an indoor mall. The potty area was the most deserted of all, though one woman had her diaper around her ankles and was perched atop one of the plastic bowls. She watched him as he walked by, Andrew thought the grownup standing beside her would follow her gaze. Andrew deliberately avoided eye-contact, and even if the grownup had looked at him, the grownup had not left her post beside the baby on the potty. The emptiest room of them all was the market room, where babies would come around lunchtime, after potty classes and morning chores and before afternoon chores, to sell their homemade crafts and clothes for babybucks. It could get very crowded on weekend mornings, when the lack of any potty classes meant far more babies had free time to roam about the campus. And babies with free time tend to shop. Or suck dick. He’d trade his best pacifier for some head right about now. He didn’t even need a guy to do it back. He was dirty and wouldn’t want it anyway. It would be better if it was a one-way-street. “Hey you, come over here,” said a voice, and Andrew felt a shot of dread. He spun around to see a grownup walking fast…but not to him. Instead, this grownup had spotted the two babies on the tricycles, who had taken liberty of the empty market room to pedal in circles as fast as they could. The grownup had decided they were going too fast. Andrew hurried away before the grownup’s attention was on him. “Hey, Andrew, come over here,” said a voice. This time, it was a different voice. Andrew turned this time, almost jumping. He was sure a grownup was coming to unbutton his onesie and take him out to the changing room. Yet when he turned he saw Erik. He was sitting on one of the beanbags, in a part of the playroom that could be mistaken for a new age office, or a trendy college library. In fact, it was just a general multi-purpose room. Lots of babies played Magic: The Gathering here. Nurserton residents from the smallest babies to the domliest grownups would gather and play DnD. A long time Nursery girl named Albany, who hadn’t pottied a single time since well before Andrew had shown up at Nurserton, was ironically one of the most popular and skilled DMs, despite the fact that she ran her playgroup of grownups and other bigger kids while wearing nothing more than her enormous Big Squidges and her bright pink body-harness with a leash. Cabinets of boardgames lined the walls. Sometimes there would be huge craft nights, or a Jenga tournament. To support all of this, the space was filled with tables of different shapes, some of which were made of polished wood, and others that were made of milky white plastic. Some of the chairs were swivel chairs, some of them were so ergonomic they looked uncomfortable. Some were just big beanbags, like the orange one that Erik sat on. He pointed to the one next to him. “Come sit,” he said. Andrew didn’t think twice about sitting down in the beanbag, despite the mess in his diaper. He’d done it many times before and so had everyone else. This was Daycare, after all. And Erik was doing very poorly this month on his stars, and the talk at the table during breakfast with the other boys included a referendum on how anyone could only manage three trips, while Erik had sat on his stool eating his pancakes and blushing. Andrew hadn’t said a word, and found himself unwilling to join in on the tease-pile directed at Erik. It would have been hypocritical for a boy who’d had plenty of three-star months in his past in the Nursery, and wasn’t a whole lot better himself even now. “Where have you been?” Erik asked, after Andrew sat. “Just over down there, by the arts and crafts.” “By yourself?” “Yeah. I didn’t know where everyone went.” After the breakfast bell signaled to everyone that potty classes and chores were due to start, Andrew had discarded his plates and empty tray, and turned to see all of his guy friends gone. Aron, Erik, Sean, and all the others. Disappeared into the matrix of the huge building that they called both Daycare and home. Erik smiled. He was a small guy, and young, only in his early twenties. He visited the Daycare barber often, and always kept the sides of his head well faded and the tuft on top well gelled. “Well I know where Sean and I went.” Andrew turned his head. “Sean? He has PT, doesn’t he?” “He does.” Erik craned his neck in the beanbag, and gestured at babyjail. Andrew turned to look, and sure enough, there was tall and lanky Sean, leaning back against the wall with a pacifier in his mouth. “Don’t look too long. You don’t want a grownup to come over here even more than I don’t.” Andrew blushed. He hadn’t even noticed that Erik was dirty. Maybe he wasn’t, maybe he was just super wet. “You should have seen how much trouble he’s in. I think he’s been skipping left and right.” “I hadn’t heard that.” “Me neither. I mean, he’s got what, fifteen stars?” “Something like that. He’s been on a real toppy kick since Aron got the cage.” “I hadn’t realized,” Andrew said, further surprised. Erik bounced a bit in his beanbag. “I mean, everyone tops us, so how would you notice?” Erik grinned at Andrew. Andrew hadn’t meant that, he’d meant that he hadn’t even noticed who was playing with who. He was always a dummy when it came to these sort of things. He hadn’t realized that Erik had been dating Geoff until weeks after it started. He hadn’t realized Aron had been hitting on him until a few days after Aron had started, and then only because Aron had literally put his hand on his inner thigh in the cafeteria. He was just a dumb baby about these things. It’s not like the boys he ate his meals with in Daycare were subtle about anything. In love with cock, but with his diapers too full to ever do anything about it. “But yeah, he’s been up my ass too. He’s going to owe my BF big time.” Erik laughed and took a swig from his baby bottle, which looked to hold water. “And when Aron’s out, he’ll have to deal with some payback too.” “How much does he owe your boyfriend?” Andrew said. Referring to Aron. Erik raised his eyebrows at Andrew. “Is that Mr. Stinky’s way of asking how busy my butt has been? Or are you jealous? And if you’re jealous, jealous of who?” Andrew declined to answer, and picked at a fuzzball on his onesie. He was obviously jealous of how much attention Erik got. “It’s okay, I’m a slut too,” Erik said. “Sean is so funny. He came downstairs with a condom and lube in his pocket. He knew I’d say yes.” Even though sex at Nurserton was always punished for those in the Preschool and below, ample supplies were available in the dorm halls and even in the playroom. Grownups never paid attention to any babies grabbing them, should they see, and made it a rule to never keep an eye to where a baby went after grabbing a condom or bottle of lubricant. It was an unwritten rule; a gentleman’s arrangement between bigs and littles. All part of the big game of cat and mouse that babies and grownups played at Nurserton. Who would there be to spank if nobody was putting their dick in things? Yes, there were more ways to have sex than that, but that’s the only way Andrew ever thought of it, so that’s what he thought of. “Don’t you have to say yes?” Andrew said, referring to Geoff’s rule for all his boyfriends. Erik shrugged. “No. But yes. I have to because as I said, I’m a slut. It’s more like that. When someone wants to get it on, I just wanna go. Geoff or not. It’s just an obsession. I’m sure you know. It’s like you must feel when you gotta poop.” Andrew waved him off. “I’m at seven stars and you’re not even clean right now.” “How often are you clean after someone mounts you, buddy?” Erik grinned, and Andrew realized this was a reference to what he and Sean had done together in the plushie forest. “And besides, this isn’t my prove-it month. You’re going to the Nursery,” he said, referring to the fact that if Andrew didn’t get his ten stars this month, he’d be packing his things for the Nursery once again. The rule of two months. The trend rule. Ten stars in a month was the bar in Daycare, and if you fell below that for too long, you were sent back to the Nursery. The converse was also true…get more than ten stars in two consecutive months when you’re in the Nursery, and you’d be filling a bin with your belongings for a new life in Daycare. Consecutive months. Trends. One terrible month wasn’t going to sink you unless you made it a habit. One great month in the Nursery wasn’t going to elevate you unless you could keep the momentum going. It’d taken Andrew a while to string two consecutive 10-star months in the Nursery. It wasn’t incontinence that held him back. Habit was part of it, the same impulses that made him lift and mess this very diaper were reflexes that were hard to untrain. He had to always remind himself why he was potty training, and that became harder when he no longer was sure about his goal. Often, during those months in the Nursery, he wasn’t. Why go to the Daycare when he already had friends here? Or he would think he’d fallen in love with some boy, and a 10-star month would get thrown away for months until he or that boy had moved on. Once he had a really good streak of potty training going, a good six weeks better than he’d ever done, and gotten cold feet. Would anyone in Daycare even like me, or am I just a snotty stinker? He’d chickened out at eight stars multiple times, as his diapers became fuller and fuller as dread of a lonely life in the Daycare loomed. I’m just not big enough, he’d tell himself. Eventually, he’d gotten the courage to actually use the potty enough… and now, in just two months of Daycare, he was risking a quick fall, right back down to the Nursery. Three more stars could save him. Turn his seven into ten, and his May score of only six would melt away into irrelevance. Turn his seven into ten and he’d proved it, he could hang with the big kids here. Turn his seven into ten and he could still sit with Sean and Aron and Erik at breakfast. Turn his seven into ten and he wouldn’t have to try so hard to find a place to suck some dick in the big Nursery room where nobody at all was anything close to a top, save the grownups who watched everything. Turn his seven into ten and he wouldn’t have to prove anything until August. A successful June would protect him in July too. Consecutive months! He could avoid the potty all July, and he’d still have a home address in Daycare. His friends would tease him, and his roommate Angela would tell everyone about how dreadfully baby her roommate was. But he’d stay here. Suddenly, he felt jealous of the woman he’d seen sitting on the potty as he’d walked through the playroom. If only he’d been a bit more thoughtful. He’d worked so hard to get here. All it took was a potty trip of any kind to get a star. One successful squat on a plastic bowl, and he’d have a star added by an excited grownup. There wasn’t a limit for how many he could get a day…he could have a potty bonanza and drink tons of water and get all ten done in a day if he wanted. If he really wanted… “I still have three potty classes,” Andrew said. “Before the end of June. And I’m at seven, I remind you.” “And when’s the last time you pottied outside of class?” Andrew had a quick answer for this. “You have to, in the Nursery. You only have eight classes a month. Eight classes to get ten stars.” And he wasn’t lying. Indeed, many agreed that the hardest thing to do in all of Nurserton was to potty one’s way out of the Nursery. It was even harder, many thought, than doing the twenty stars required in two consecutive months to go from the Daycare to the Preschool. All the more reason to not wind up there again. “I know,” Erik said. “You’ve told everyone a dozen times. But you’re as fucked in a potty sense as Sean will be in a real sense, when Geoff has some free time to leave the Preschool and his big important chores. Yet you’ve had twelve classes and only got seven stars out of them, and you seem to be proud of it.” Erik said this as if there was no irony with what he was about to do at all. Erik propped himself up on his bean bag to finish the job. Apparently, his post-sex evacuation had not been sufficient. Exhaling, he glanced at the big causeway of the playroom and examined the comings and goings of babies and grownups. “I can’t believe we’ve made it this long,” he said, referring to the fact that no grownup had come over, undone their onesies, and sent them to the big changing table. Andrew thought of the girl in the frills. She was probably out and playing by now, unless the changing room was as crowded as it could get. He thought of that crowd. The grownups were still doing work, and it was just coincidence that they, a pair of poopy boys, hadn’t been caught yet. When they were caught, they were going to be stuck waiting for a free changing table for a while. “Sean is gonna be out of babyjail before we’re off the tables.” Erik rubbed his temples. “Yeah there’s probably a long line.” He turned his head to Andrew. “You said you were jealous of Sean. Wanna go hide together?” Andrew felt a pang of adrenaline. “But we’re both…” “You’re a nursery boy, don’t tell me that it bothers you.” “It doesn’t bother you?” Andrew said, blushing. Erik grinned. “We’ll just cuddle…and stuff. It’s not like my ass can take another right now anyway, even if it was yours.” “You’ve never had mine!” Andrew squirmed. “You pop enough stiffies on the changing table for me to have an idea, baby.” Erik then slid off his beanbag and tapped Andrew on his crotch. “At least you’re big enough for me to tell when I touch you there.” Andrew could say nothing in reply. It’d been true, and it’d been true since looking to see Sean sitting bored in babyjail. Hell, he’d pretty much been hard non-stop since sitting on the plastic bench of the picnic table. He wasn’t just waddling due to what was in the back of his diaper. Erick squatted in front of him, and pressed his hand into his diaper. It was very blatant, and certainly enough to earn both of them a talking to if a grownup saw. The boys of Daycare were not known for their subtlety. But the vast anonymity of the grand playroom protected them. There were too many babies yelling a bit too loud, there were too many tricycles spinning a bit too fast, and there was too much smoke coming from the little kitchen that was set up. Even when it felt empty, the Daycare playroom was still very populated. Finally, Andrew stammered an answer. “Will I have to pay Geoff’s tushy tax?” he said, his cock getting somehow even harder as he said it. “At the top of his list,” Erik said. “He loves Nursery boys the most.” He blushed again. He wanted to tell Erik that no, he wasn’t a Nursery boy. He was just behind the pack. He was saving his pottying for the last minute. He was making it interesting. He wasn’t going to throw away all the arduous potty training he’d gone through in the Nursery for only two stinky months in Daycare. Not this time, at least. Andrew wondered if Erik even remembered when Andrew had been promoted to the Daycare the last time. It was over a year ago. He barely remembered Erik then. He hadn’t found these boys back then. Sean wasn’t even living at Nurserton back then. But the others had, and they had been no more subtle than they were today. Still, Andrew had flunked himself back to Daycare before even noticing. He couldn’t throw it away again. But it was cute to think of it. It was cute to be teased by Erik. Erik, ever the sub, ever the little bottom boy who was already on this morning’s second go-around in the plushie forest, still thought of him as a helpless baby. Andrew’s diaper bulged in both directions. They raced across the playroom, headed to the plushie forest. They went to the belly of Tiburon the whale, waddling boldly forward in their dirty diapers. Both were prepared to be called back, singled out by a grownup to see if they were worthy of a trip to the changing room, but somehow, it never happened. Tiburon’s belly kept them safe, and there they cuddled and talked softly so that nobody walking through the plushie forest would know they were stinking up the inside of the big plushie whale. They laid on top of each other. Andrew enjoyed the feeling of their bloated diapers rubbing against the other. They took turns being the big spoon and the little spoon. It was all a big tease. They were both too dirty to do anything else. But it was exciting enough to be so naughty, to have dodged so many grownups and diaper checks to wind up here, together. It wasn’t fellatio, and as far as Andrew could tell, neither of them came. But it was something. It was better than the plastic bench, and it was better than the changing room. It was better than the Nursery. He was sure it was. They remained there until another baby crawled through the mouth of Tiburon for their own personal quiet time, saw them, and scuttled back out to tell on them. Knowing that they were compromised, Andrew and Erik crawled out of the mouth, only to meet the feet of a grownup as they exited. After both promising that they weren’t up to funny business, they were hauled off for much needed changes. Funnily enough, the baby that had crawled through Tiburon just to crawl back to selfishly bust them, a red-headed Daycare baby named Suzy, hadn’t calculated that she too would be checked, and was taken to the changing room with them.

Hi there! This is a diaper prison story that I've been working on. It's supposed to be about a country that imprisons wealthy criminals in diaper prisons that include spankings and paddlings. More information about the complicated themes in the novel can be found here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/65185502 I have about 10 chapters written, and am working on posting them here over time. Content Warnings Extensive Forced Diaper Wearing (Wetting/Messing) Extensive Public and Private Humiliation Extensive Corporal Punishment and Bondage Extensive use of the themes of fear, shame, guilt, and dread Some consensual sexual slavery/servitude themes Occasional Sexual Themes Occasional Sexual Intercourse ***I do not condone any of the events or themes in this story, and do not intend to glorify or advocate that anyone conduct their life in this way. Nobody should model any sort of erotic behavior on the events of this story.*** -------- Tonight’s entertainment would be small, but that still meant it required every minute of Gillica’s day. It would require: Sweeping the inner foyer. Priming the Topiary promenade from valet dropoff to the main door. Scrubbing and shining all the windows of the Eastern and Western facing facades of Bisgrave Manse. Dusting all interior surfaces in the Hargrave room as well as the Opiante battle memorial room. Checking every piece of the ‘azure blue’ china set for imperfections and assembling it for the kitchen staff. And so much more of the long list of what was expected of her, and her fellow slave Penelope, every single day. Densen Polliver, the majordomo of Bisgrave Manse, son of the former majordomo of Bisgrave Manse and also grandson of the majordomo of the very same Manse, in the time when the Opiante battle memorial room was called something else, came to wake her up. He entered the slave quarters not yet wearing his uniform for the day, and flicked on the switch. Gillica woke up immediately with the light, and was already wide-eyed by the time Densen Polliver was undoing the locking mechanism on Penelope’s cage. Once Penelope’s cage was open, the slippers of Densen Polliver appeared by the entrance to Gillica’s cage, and he squatted down. He ignored all he saw as she stirred the cover off of herself. His sole focus was on the padlock. As soon as it was undone, he swung the door open and rose with a groan. Without a word, he closed the door to the slave quarters behind him, the only sign that he was there being the bright overhead light and the fact that the cage doors now swung open. -freedom- Penelope sighed above, rocking the stacked cages. Compelled by powers even Penelope would not tempt, she made her move, and Gillica knew to let her step out onto the small shared floorspace of the quarters before crawling out of her lower cage herself. The cage doors were oriented perpendicular to each other, such that Penelope could step down out of hers and Gillica could crawl out of her own at the same time, but Gillica had long ago learned that Penelope didn’t like that at all. Where the majordomo’s slippers had been, two pale and bare feet stepped onto the tiled floor. A moment later, a diaper fell with a splat between the feet. It was wet, though from her place down in her cage on the floor, Gillica could see that it wasn’t as bad as the one she herself had woken up in. The feet moved away, stepping across the tile floor with just the sticking sound that skin makes on cold surfaces. The feet walked to a table built into a wall, and now Gillica could see all the way up Penelope’s waist. The slave who slept above her, slave-one, found a container on the table and pulled out a square moist cloth. She drew it across her bottom, one cheek then the other, and then through her buttcrack. Another rectangle came out and she got the inside of her thighs. Another came out and she dealt with her frontside. These too, Penelope dropped on the floor when she was done with them. Still, Gillica knew better than to stir. Slave-one then hauled herself out of sight, onto the table. The sounds that came, the sounds of tearing, of a bottle hitting the top of a table, of the grunting and breathing of a woman dressing herself while laid down horizontal, were all immensely familiar to Gillica. They were sounds that had been her night and day for almost a decade, and figured to be sounds with her a lot longer. Or forever. No, not forever. When Penelope’s body re-appeared in her view, her bare legs now facing away from the table instead of toward it, and her groin now covered in a new, fresh adult diaper, Gillica knew that it was time to flip over on her stomach and make her way through the mesh door of her cage. Her back didn’t hurt when she stood, but the tile was cool and her head was a bit cloudier than it had felt when Densen Polliver had first turned on the lights. It didn’t stop her from predicting what Penelope wanted, though. Gillica’s discipline-a hard acquired skill of survival-took over for her, and she made her way to the table where Penelope stood. Penelope allowed her to pull herself on the table and lay her head down on the cushion. At least there was a cushion. She wished she could sleep here instead of on the mat on the bottom of her cage. Then her knees would not ache and she would not always have a persistent bruise on the top of her head. It would surprise some to know that the cage was not the worst place she could remember sleeping. It would also surprise some, perhaps even more, to know that it was worse than where she had slept most of the last decade. Penelope was wordless as she got to work. There was nothing to say between them. Penelope was slave-one and had at least the right to wipe herself. Gillica didn’t even have that right. It was a strange thing to think of as a right, and now and then it occurred to Gillica that, in this case, she was the one being served by the slave of higher rank. But it never felt that way. It was not supposed to seem that way. It was not that way. Gillica wore what she had been put in until someone put her in something else. What made it the way it was was the real and credible threat of what would happen if Gillica upset that order of things. That’s what made Penelope’s role of sliding a wipe between Gillica’s own buttocks, and another down her shaven vagina, the role of privilege. The slimmest, most minuscule form of an edge anyone could have. The only sort of edge that Penelope had over anyone, anywhere, except maybe those still living behind the bars of Stenton. Penelope could be caged by anyone in the household at any moment, could be ordered to undress, and could be ordered not to dress at all. She was above no task in the Manse, and not even in public were the paid servants of the Bisgraves or the AG Bisgrave herself required to bestow any dignity upon her. And all the while, prison loomed over Penelope. Four more years of servitude to Bisgrave, four more years of proving that without the watchful eyes of guards and cameras and the impossibilities threatened by steel and cement, Penelope could learn her new place in the scheme of things. Until then, cages and diapers. Until then, only one small island of autonomy; the right to change herself. And until then, one small land-grant of privilege. The right to make Gillica squirm. The diaper change was quick. Penelope was far less interested in Gillica’s cleanliness than she was her own, and that was fair. Gillica would require Penelope’s assistance many more times before the day was through, and the Bisgrave’s gave slave-one no credit for the additional labor. Quick and without tenderness. Gillica was clean and dry, and she hopped down off the table herself. She adjusted the tapes of her diaper, a small comfort nobody begrudged her. Penelope would expect her to clean Penelope’s piss-covered wipes that had been dropped on the floor, to ball up Penelope’s diaper by the cages where she had unceremoniously ripped it off, and to of course deal with Gillica’s own bloated and sodden mess that now lay discarded on the table. Gillica got to work, and washed her hands in a large sink-basin that appeared to be a holdover from when the slave quarters might have been a gardner’s storage room. Perhaps from before the north-side greenhouse was built. All that they would wear around the house was a maid’s apron. Black with white frills, tied around the back but covering little else. It was the same apron as the regular servants, the paid servants, save for that the paid servants had the choice of dress pants or dresses underneath. And dress shirts, of course. The men wore tuxedos, of course. The women were expected to pull their hair back and affix a white bonnet there as well, and this included the slaves. The apron did not cover what was most humiliating in her outfit, and anyone looking at her backside could not only see her diapers, but how much she had used them. But at least the gown covered her tits. Well, from the front at least. Everyone knows what I am, Penelope had observed once. So I like the freedom. They’re the ones diapering me, so I don’t care if they’re forced to witness it, referring of course to the stipulation that she must wear them, and not the fact that it was her own hands that performed the task for her overlords. Perhaps because Gillica was not just forced by Bisgrave to wear one did she feel differently. Perhaps it was the torture of finally having access to her undergarments, but still being prohibited from tampering with them, was what made her miss those ratted orange jumpers. “No matter how bad it is, just remind yourself of how much worse it could be.” Gillica tried to remember which cellmate had said that. It seems like something Saathia would have said. Out of self-pity, though, and not out of any attempt to comfort Gillica through one of those more uncomfortable nights. Densen Polliver had the list, ordered with numbers and expected time-to-completions on all of them. By noon more than half the list needed to be done, and if it was not, they would be permitted only one of those viscous smoothies instead of any actual lunch. “And dinner too,” Penelope asked, holding the paper. “And dinner too. You will both be expected to support the wait-staff, though you are not to be seen in the dining hall, nor heard. Is that understood?” Both slave-one and slave-two voiced their understanding. “I will remind you that the attorney general will be entertaining the Mayor of Stenton herself this evening. The usual retinue will not be in attendance; this is a private gathering. The wait staff will be in their weekend attire to accentuate the leisure of their meeting, and the menu will be adjusted according to the Mayor’s expressed desires. After dinner, the Attorney General will retire to the Opiante Room with the Mayor, where they will enjoy cocktail service by myself, with you two in-support in the ready-room. “Why not one of the servants?” Penelope asked. Densen Polliver’s hairy eyebrows twitched, annoyed that Penelope had pre-empted what he was trying to say. “You will be in attendance to offer personal testament to the rehabilitative power of Mistress Bisgrave’s criminal justice system, if required by the attorney general. You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance expected of you and expected of any woman truly committed towards putting their lives of crime behind them.” Penelope reddened, but said nothing. Then Densen Polliver was gone. He was off to trade his slippers and nightgown for his tuxedo, and to shave the graying scruff off his neck. The slaves were permitted to eat, and were allowed to do so in the slave hall, where a large bench occupied a narrow ante-chamber between the kitchens and the rest of the servant’s quarters. Like Densen, the servants wouldn’t be ready for a little while, and Penelope and Gillica used this time to find food from the kitchen and occupy the table-on opposite ends-in the brief and blessed time when nobody would begrudge their presence. It was smart to eat in less than 10 minutes, and Gillica would eat faster if she could chew the dense protein bar any faster. And even with a thick adult diaper on, the servant’s bench was hard against her bottom, as if it joined with the Manse and all of society in prodding her to begin her work. In prison there was nothing to do. Now there was too much. Gillica started with preparations for the real servants. She washed any straggling dishes, she organized the fridge and made sure that their breakfast materials; milk, cereal, bars, vegetables, were in ample supply. She found the folder of servant orders and bulletined them to the board, making sure that each corner was square. She didn’t hate them. Not all of them, and those she did were for reasons of their own. They had their part to play. And Gillica…she had… She had hers. “Penelope, I’m wet already.” “I don’t fucking care.” Densen would paddle Penelope if he overheard slave-one say a think like that, and not just for the language. But if Gillica told on her, she’d get asked herself why she didn’t mark her wetness on the bulletin and cage herself to wait for a servant to send Penelope to take care of her. And there would be no answer to that, and they both would be paddled, and Penelope would have it out for her. So Gillica left Penelope to iron the servant suits, which they would not need until the mid-morning, and set herself to start on her list as far from the other servants as she could. Any that saw the growing yellow down below would order her to her cage to await Penelope, and give her no credit for falling behind on her chores. Ordered to her cage for soiled diapers too often, and she was spanked. But falling short on her tasks meant even surer and more frequent discipline. Gillica had learned that it was not a choice for her between winning and losing, but between losing, and losing harder. It wasn’t fair, but when she answered to someone who was on parole herself, who was herself one of the very bottom human beings in all of Shamuria and yet still wiped Gillica’s ass, it was all the lot that Gillica could expect. Gillica, wet, went out in the cool morning area to trim the hedges. It was almost a perfect temperature for her attire, and felt even better when she got down to work on the long line of green bushes. Trimming into a basket she went, ensuring that the bellies of the five-foot bushes were all uniform and that no leaves sprouted out like little branch boners. It was refreshing outside, and the smell of the sliced branches overpowered the smell of stale piss that had wallowed in the slave quarters since she and Penelope were caged for the night. When her basket was full she carried it across to the compost at the north Greenhouse, careful to not overfill it so none of the sliced branches tumbled onto the lawn that had been cut just yesterday. If she left any on the lawn and it was seen, a servant would hear of it and tell it to Densen, who would find which of the slaves took care of it, and bring a branch of considerably more heftiness and meanness upon her rump. A basket only could hold the branches from two of the hedges, and in total there were sixteen hedges to clip. Eight times she waddled across to deposit her clippings into the compost. Once she had addressed them all she walked carefully through them to make sure that she had not missed a spot. She clipped a few more times, and then took her basket back to the compost a ninth time and then left it there, happy to have finished one of the more involved tasks of the day. As she was returning to the Manse, which loomed tall and shadowy from the north in the morning sun, one of the delivery vehicles rumbled down the gravel path between the hedges. She stood out of its way, mindful of the submissive posture expected of a slave-servant. Hands at her back, head down. The delivery truck rumbled on, and whether the driver had seen or cared about her or not, she couldn’t tell. By now her diaper was heavy with urine, and she knew it was yellow all the way up the back. It was no good denying herself water and coffee in the morning, and she hadn’t tried that since prison. No servant would do anything but order her to her cage, even the nice ones, but Gillica’s list was extra long, and working was worth the risk. Sometimes the servants forgot to log her sinful pee in the ledger of improvement. Attorney General Angelina Bisgrave was not just her mistress, was not just her once-upon-a-time top jailer, and was not just Gillica’s punisher-in-chief. She viewed things more expansively. She viewed herself as something of a maverick and innovator to Shamurians, a mold cut from the stock of the Americans. She was all those things, mistress, jailer, and punisher, as well as goddess, granter, and mercy conditional. But over and on top of all these things, Angelina Bisgrave viewed herself as correctional. There were eleven servants who were servants and not slaves of the Bisgrave Manse. Ten of them served the eleventh, the majordomo Polliver, to whom the two slaves also served. In the evenings, the slaves also served the servants, tending to their dishes and their occasional needs. It was not uncommon for Polliver to add the servants linens to the list of responsibilities that the two slaves had to handle, though most days one of the servants themselves handled the accumulated laundry of them all. The servants preferred to keep the slaves out sight. It was better to keep the smelly diaper-bound slaves on tasks that couldn’t contaminate their own spaces and autonomy, however meagre they were. They would send them on tasks into the town for personal errands. Some snacks from the grocery, some envelopes from the post-office, or something for the Manse that was needed. Any servant could task her if the slaves were not still working through their daily bill. Finish the tasks too late, and get punished. Finish them too early and get sent into town without even an apron to cover her breasts. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance. Instead, it was Boris. The shimmering of his braces flickered through his smile. His coarse orange hair was unkempt, and if Densen Polliver found him he’d order him into his quarters to comb it. He probably already had, but it was a losing battle. Boris’s hair was as untamable as he was.being handcuffed, Gillica had seen the back of Yara’s diaper bow outwards as her slave’s laughter turned to pleading. They’d gotten Yara on a checkup violation, something about skipping parole meetings. There was a long court proceeding where Yara accused Gillica of preventing her from doing her obeisances to her overseers. That was the only court proceeding that Gillica had won, and Yara was sent down to prison again. But not, Yara celebrated on the day of her release, for as long as Gillica would be sent down. Not nearly. Gillica wondered what happened to Yara. Probably back in front of a court again, she figured. She didn’t wish ill will on many. Not even on obnoxious Penelope and her persnickity lording of the slave quarters. Pick up my piss cloths, shitter. It became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. But she did at least hope for discomfort for Yara. Maybe not all the way back to Stenton Prison, though that felt inevitable for that idiotic woman who would have fought Gillica off if Gillica had not kept her chained. Maybe just a harsh patron. A real upstanding elite who was unimpeachable and unyielding. Someone like Mistress AG Bisgrave. A real correctional. Gillica knew the servants were buzzing about the Manse now. Bisgrave had arisen and left in her car, driven by one of the servants, and they’d crunched up the gravel road while Gillica was emptying her bucket of twigs. She could see them in the windows, through the steam that came out of the western wing’s smokestacks, indicating that the labors of meals were well underway. Their maid uniforms, complete with dresses, flitted through the windows. Wet, with a diaper that felt not just wet up the back but wet in the front too, Gillica headed back into the servant quarters to get the window cleaning supplies. She’d get her outdoor window cleaning done before one of them spotted her and caged her, so long as she could get in and get out without one of them noticing. She entered the side door, which took her through the living quarters for the servants. It was a hallway of dorms, and the newer ones slept two to a room, while the more advanced servants slept alone. They would be empty at this time, Gillica guessed, and this morning she guessed correctly. Her diaper was sodden and sweaty, and she wanted out, but it barely registered as discomfort. Paddlings were discomfort. Wetness and itchiness were life. At least it wasn’t stewing underneath the old fabric of an orange jumper. At least she wasn’t in the cage. Yet. Her guess having paid off, Gillica only had to cross the main area of the servant quarters, take a left, and open the closet. This was the danger zone, as by being in the closet and by facing the closet, her rump was facing the whole openness of the main area, including an open angle into the kitchen. The number of times a hey, slave! Had come to her when she was in this closet was innumerable. It was a gamble, and the last three consecutive days had seen her go from closet to cage. Being soiled at this closet probably got her caged 75% of the time, no matter what time of day. Those were good odds. All of her other chores took her into the main living areas, and into the teeth of the rest of the servants. She looked both ways from the living area hallway, saw nobody, and made her move. She opened the closet, honed in on the extendable mop and the washbasin. She found the adjustable squeegee to stick on the end of it so she could reach the highest parts. Footsteps. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. Exuberance. You know what, a cage is a place I belong. A cage keeps me where I belong. A cage reminds me of where I’ve been and it doesn’t let me hide from where I’ve been. It’s not a box. It’s transparent, and by seeing through it they can see right into me. Onto what I’m wearing, and what I’m really worth. The footsteps continued, and Gillica picked up her bucket and stick and headed back to the living quarters. She waddled crazily now, carrying her supplies and all of her pee. But she made it to the door without a shout from one of the servants down the hallway, without any of the servants stepping out of one of the bedrooms to see the worried face she wore. She wasn’t worried about leaking. The attorney general she called her mistress, Angelina Bisgrave, the one who ruled her world, the one who sat on a throne of discipline that Gillica ministered within far below, had access to the best sort of diapers. PGV3000s, which Gillica worked out long ago meant Punishment Garments, Version 3000. They were designed to hold, because they were designed to become as uncomfortable as possible for the wearer before causing a problem for those that lorded over the wearers. Leaks hadn’t been a problem for her three years at the Manse. They hadn’t been a problem all throughout prison either. Only on her last night in jail, the night before they put her on the Ferry of Justice to take her where she belonged, to the cage within the cage within the cage and the true start of the life she deserved, did she make darkspots on her bed and jumper. The piss just kept coming that night. Uncomfortable it became, and the ever-tropical weather of Shamuria began to take its effect. Cleaning the tall windows that lined the facade was difficult work, and it splashed soapy water down on top of her (the soap and water she was able to get from an outdoor shed hidden behind some bushes on the far side of the Eastern grounds.) Her bonnet was sprinkled, and now and then a dollop of soapy scum got in her eye, and she bent and struggled with the hem of her gown to dry it out. She had to get her back and hips into the scrubbing, and the curled up posture of her cage-bound sleep came to haunt her. The stamina in her legs bailed on her quickly. The rhythmic pumping of her thighs to reach the highest parts of the window made the bloated diaper swing between her legs. Still she worked, moving her bucket down the row of windows when each one was finished. By the end, Gillica resolved to cage herself. Her body ached, and she guessed it was barely ten in the morning. She leaned the mop handle against the wall of the Bisgrave Manse, walls that were made of large stone blocks, and felt herself. Wetter than she had been, more than could be accounted for than just sweat. The cage was calling. The cage lurked around every corner. She packed up her equipment. She took the bucket and dumped its contents on the leafy floor of the palm grove that flanked one side of the grounds. She took the squeegee off and threw it in a trash bin by one of the sheds. It was covered in a brownish-green grime typical of the seaside tropics. Yara used to complain about that muck all of the time. Browner than my cocksucking diaper, she would curse. She brought the bucket and the pole back to the closet, and this time, the servants didn’t fail to notice her. She didn’t bother to tell them that she was going. She simply said. “Yes sir.” The servant who saw her had been sitting at the servant table, taking a quick break with the newspaper. He saw her come and and as soon as she turned her back on him, he barked at her. He was one of the mean ones. Male and eighteen and clearly the communist type, despite his role as a servant. At least what Bisgrave does keeps them in check, was something she’d overheard him say in the servants quarters. Them being her kind, them being the wealthy who were wrong. He relished humiliating Gillica and Penelope, finding any opportunity he could to take them leashed and in just diapers and sandals to the town. Never thought it’d come to this, up there in your villas, all high and mighty. Did you? Over and over again he’d make her respond. “Yes sir, I didn’t sir. But I’m glad sir. I need it sir. I was wrong sir. You were right sir. Whatever you say sir. This is my place sir. Humility is a lesson I still need to learn sir, and I appreciate your patience with me sir.” You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance expected of you and expected of any woman truly committed towards putting their lives of crime behind them. “What are you doing, look at how much piss is in that thing,” he said, setting the newspaper down. Another servant, an older one, entered in from the kitchen, looked at Gillica, shrugged, and continued to the living corners. “What are you thinking? It seems like your disgusting ass likes it.” “I don’t like it, sir. I’m still learning responsibility sir.” “I think the cage is right for you then!” “I agree sir. I’m going to my place now.” Oh, how the little man enjoyed it. Boris was his name, and his teeth were still in braces and his hair was all mopped. She walked herself into the slave quarters, aiming herself for the cage. She wanted the cage. Earlier she thought to approach her day with a mind to minimize the amount she took the paddle, but now she hardly cared. She was so tired, and her cage was calling. Penelope could take an hour to filter down and wipe her pussy, and thus absolutely doom her from finishing even most of her chores, but at least her legs could rest. As she entered the quarters, something stirred next to her, and she saw that it was Penelope, on her back where she had been earlier. She was changing herself, and this time her diaper was far worse than Gillica’s. A pile of stained wipes grew to cover the open mess on the diaper. Gillica didn’t even flinch. This was life since the day they came for her, when she found herself with cold steel on her wrists, when Yara bricked herself because she knew she was going back. Penelope looked at her, and then returned to her work. Her neck craned down her navel to observe the work cleaning the shit off of her ass. There was nothing to say between either of them. “Don’t just fucking look at it, get in your cage and wait for me, you useless idiot.” Wordlessly, Gillica did as she was told. Even the thin mat and blanket felt comfortable on her aching muscles. She watched Penelope’s progress, knowing that the job of packing the dirty diaper up and bringing it to the disposal a few yards away would be her job. “Are you shitted?” “No,” Gillica answered. “Goddamn it,” Penelope answered. “You’re going to make me wipe your cooch all fucking day aren’t you?” Gillica didn’t answer. “You know. In four years. When I’m free of all this, I’m going to come and buy your ass off Bisgrave. You know I still have an estate, right? I’ll have enough if she’ll sell you. She’ll be tired of you by then. And then I’ll get back at your shitty ass. I’ll make it so miserable on you that you’ll finally learn to clench that wide open asshole you have.” Both of them were required to use their diapers. Penelope’s requirement was a legal one, a stipulation for all former occupants of Stenton prison who were still on parole. Parole was not a post-punishment phase, it was a reintroduction phase. Penelope had to exist in the world while being seen as the least of it, the base and mean denominator of all of Shamuria. If she tried to escape her new role in things, if she was ever found clothing herself more than ordered, or if she was found using a toilet, she’d risk trading her steel mesh cage for a concrete cell again. Some owners were lenient, Gillica heard. The top cop of Stenton was no-nonsense. Correctional did not mean forgiving. Gillica’s reasons were simpler. Finally, Penelope rolled herself off the table, a new fresh diaper taking the place of the old one. Gillica once again understood her queue to get to work removing the detritus of the old one, doing her best to avoid touching any of the shit that her fellow slave left behind. She balled up the diaper, taking care that all of the soiled wipes were contained within it. She used the tapes to wrap it into a ball, a technique she’d learned from countless prison guards ages ago. She carried it like nuclear waste over to the bin, stepped on the foot locker, and deposited on top of her and Penelope’s overnight briefs. Then she washed her hands in the bin, and began to undo her gown, while Penelope re-did her own. On the table once again, Penelope stood over her and got to work. Gillica felt the tapes of her PGV3000 come undone, exposing her pussy once again to the brick walls of the humble slave quarters. She tried to relax on the slab of the table, lowering her head and letting Penelope’s grunts and taps instruct her on whether to raise her legs or lower them. Just then, the door opened. It could only be a servant, and Penelope dropped the cold wet cloth she had been drawing through Gillica’s buttocks to face the door at attention. Gillica turned her head on the slab to see who it was, but she did not feel that, in this position, her movement was required unless it was Bisgrave herself. And Bisgrave herself never came down here. Instead, it was Boris. The shimmering of his braces flickered through his smile. His coarse orange hair was unkempt, and if Densen Polliver found him he’d order him into his quarters to comb it. He probably already had, but it was a losing battle. Boris’s hair was as untameable as he was. “Got bad news for you idiots,” he said. “Penelope. The domo just came by, and I told the domo that I caught you taking a dump in the Opiante room. He’s very displeased.” “Did you tell him that I was profusely sorry, and the need came over me and I couldn’t get out of the sacred room in time?” “You know he doesn’t care. He expects more out of his slave-one.” Gillica could feel the rage coming through Penelope, a quivering anger that threatened to rise up from her ankles into a fighter’s stance that would culminate in a savage punch to Boris’s askance teeth. And a trip back to Stenton prison, should she actually punch, and stripped of the small rights she had over Gillica, no matter how she begrudged them, and the cruel inevitability of the dock. What was more, Penelope had obviously tried to shit herself in the Opiante room on purpose, as a sign of disrespect. Gillica could see right through it, and could see that Penelope’s rage was half-directed at herself and the fury that her act of defiance had ended in capture. No room codified the brilliant patriotism and public service of the Bisgrave genealogy than the Opiante room. It was a room Gillica had heard of, and an event Gillica was very familiar with, long before her life changed and they came for her. The pride and joy of the Bisgrave family, the Bisgrave estate, and the Manse itself. At least when Gillica was caught soiled in there, there was the defense that she couldn’t do much about it. Penelope had no such defense. “I’m sorry sir,” Penelope said. She hid her anger well, but Gillica had known Penelope longer than Boris did. They’d overlapped at Stenton Prison, and Gillica knew the stance and tone of someone obeying a haughty guard. “I will accept whatever the majordomo deems necessary to correct my behavior.” “He said to cage yourself.” “I will do it gladly and await his further instruction, sir,” Penelope said. She turned briefly toward the cage, and then stopped. “Sir, should I finish changing slave-two?” Boris’s face expanded into a wide grin. He looked at Penelope, and stared at her from sandals to bonnet. “No, slave-one. The domo made it clear that your caging should be interrupted for nothing. I’ll finish with Gillica,” he said. The room was silent for a moment. The quivering anger that Gillica had observed in the twitching of Penelope’s calves, in the sway of the inches-deep padding of Penelope’s pristine white diaper, gave away. The anger was displaced by a stunned stiffness, stunned, like a small rodent paralyzed as the wheels of a mighty vehicle bear down upon it. Gillica’s pussy felt cold there on the slab. “Yes sir,” was all Penelope could say. She said it stiffly, and she didn’t look at Gillica. Instead she turned on a heel, exposing her diaper to the two of them, and walked toward her cage. Gillica could tell it took all of Penelope’s effort to hold her head high. Boris watched her go into her cage, and then stepped forward and found the key on a loop on the wall, and addressed the lock. Penelope was on her knees, her head bowed, her eyes staring blank out at the door to the slave quarters, as if hoping that by somehow watching, Densen Polliver would not arrive. “And you,” Boris said, coming closer to the slab that Gillica still laid on. “How far along in this change are you?” “Slave-one just started, sir,” she said, to the scruffy-headed eighteen year-old. “Alright,” he said. He looked over her nakedness like a starving man viewed a five-course meal. If it was left to the servants to deal with Gillica’s diapering, it was generally one of the older, more established ones. Never in his short tenure had it fallen to Boris, the newest and youngest of the group. Gillica wondered if he’d ever touched a vagina, or touched a woman at all. He seemed to know how it went, though. He found the wipes and got to work. He was not mindful of their coldness against Gillica’s skin. To his credit, he did not linger on her pussy, as she expected (and would have tolerated, no, would have enjoyed). Penelope treated her sex as if it were poisonous, even though Gillica knew for sure that Penelope had succumbed to the allure of tenderness during her incarceration. Gillica had no aspersions that her piss-covered pussy was romantic. She tried not to think about love at all, anymore, but sex was hard-coded into her body. The only way men touched her anymore was on a changing table, and her mind had learned enough to crave it. Even if the guards had discovered her sharing many cots in lockup, searching for the same tenderness that Penelope had sought, it was men she wanted, and it was changing tables where men found her. Even eighteen year old servants like Boris. “I always wondered why you chose this,” he said as he wiped the piss off her groin. “You’re not under threat of prison anymore,” he said. There were many answers to that. But Boris supplied his own. He took a wipe and held it up, showing to Gillica that there was more than pee, but less than poop on it. “Now I understand,” he said. Yes, you dolt. At least you know the difference between a pissed on pussy and a moist one. And no. It’s not for you. It’s just that your hand is male. You’re not Penelope, that’s all. And it’s certainly not why I swear myself to Attorney General Angelina Bisgrave! But she could do nothing but mutter a ‘yes sir,’ to him. It was a damn shame that she could not for a moment relish the cowing of Penelope before stumbling further into her own humiliation. She tried to distract her mind as her legs went in the air and he dealt with her asshole. Penelope. Penelope is in for it. Maybe I’ll be wiping her ass again, as it was for the short while after she arrived, until she stole that job from me. Maybe the shoe was soon to be on the other foot. Maybe her station was rising in the Manse. It didn’t matter if where you rose wasn’t high, it did matter if where your rose was as high as you deserved to go. There was something to be said for that. “You’re not out of the woods either,” Boris said, finding a fresh diaper for her. His words crushed her out of her brief reverie, and back into the disgusted awareness that his motions on her privates felt good. “You cleaned the windows, didn’t you?” If there was anything that could dry her pussy up, it was that question. She would have squirted for the mop-headed fool if it meant he could never have asked it. “Yes sir,” he said. “Well unfortunately, you’re going to have to do it again. You left streaks, big ones, on every window.” “I understand sir,” she said. Streaks, what streaks! Was this a joke? Her muscles cried out in rebellion. Cage, I just want to crawl into my cage. I thought it was going to be just me and my nice little cage! “The mistress herself came back in her car and was outraged. All of the servants will have to work extra hard to pick up the slack from the both of you. She wants you to give the windows another shot, and if she isn’t pleased the second time when she personally inspects them…” Boris shined his braces once again. This time, his fingers did linger as he spread lotion on her crotch. She felt herself moisten again. Felt his strength and imagined his cock. It had been so long since she’d felt a cock go inside her. She didn’t care who owned the next cock, she’d fuck it if she had a chance. But to feel like this in this context was torture. “Yes sir,” she muttered, again. “I will do the windows again, and accept the Mistress’s judgment,” she said. All she felt was a warm, rushing sensation. A pooling, trickling, splashing one. Boris yelped and stepped back in surprise. Gillica sat up to see a fountain of piss exiting herself onto the opened and formerly dry diaper that Boris had been preparing for her. “Disgusting, pathetic. Idiot. I can’t believe this happened to me on my first time!” Boris said, examining his shirt to see if she’d gotten pee on it. He continued to inspect himself, cursing and sputtering under his breath every time he found her urine on his servant’s uniform. Gillica laid down her head on the slab once again. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated.

Hey there readers! I hope you're still enjoying Academy Works. If you wanna start at the beginning (which I recommend, though it's not required!), you should read Academy I (Part 1), Academy B (Part 2), and Academy T (Part 3). Academy K is a bit more like A:T, but there's a lot less direct control. I really like this one because I'm playing with concepts of social manipulation and out-group biases. But I hope it's still fun to read nonetheless! If you want to support me, here's a Patreon link you can go to. Thanks to everyone who reads, likes, and/or leaves comments! ~Mia~ --------------------- Academy KBy Mia Moore "Unbound strength is not found at the end of the hermit’s pilgrimage, but throughout every step." -The Source Chapter One Kione Williams sat nervously at a table in a brightly lit room. The muscles in her arms ached for no good reason as she tried to lift them up off the table's surface. She looked at her pink palms, lighter than the rest of her skin, and stretched her fingers as far as they would allow. It hurt, but in a good way. Kione looked at the walls. They were pink, but every so often they looked green instead. She took a deep breath and counted to four. Hold, and release. The walls were pink, she was sure of it. The last thing Kione remembered was seeing that black van on her street. She was walking home from work and the headlights were off, but the running lights glowed an awkward orange. The whole sidewalk was awash with that same hue. The door of the pink room opened and a man stepped in. He was dressed in a black suit with a clipboard in his hand. Kione took another steady breath as he took a seat across from her. "Hello Kione. My name is Eli. Do you know where you are?" Kione nodded her head. She couldn't remember anything between the growl of that black van and opening her eyes in the pink room, but she knew where she was. How? She couldn't say for sure. "The Academy," Kione answered. Eli nodded slowly. If he was surprised by her answer, he didn't show it. "We are going to help you get better," Eli told her. "The Priestess can fix you." "I appreciate your concern," Kione said evenly, "but I don't need help." Eli opened the file on his desk. He flipped a few pages until he found one that he was looking for. Then he asked: "How long have you been seeing things?" Kione looked away and leaned back in her chair. It always came back to this. "Listen, I'm sure you mean well." That was a lie. For some reason, Kione didn't trust this man any further than she could throw him. And with the way her arms were hurting, and the size of Eli, that wasn't very far at all. "I have it under control. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to leave." "And where do you imagine you’ll be going?" Questions like that were phrased so open-ended, as though there could be any answer in the world. But the way that Eli had phrased it was clear as day that he only had one right answer in mind. Rarely did Kione have only one answer that seemed right. But right now, that was unimportant. Eli was waiting for an answer, and Kione knew she was screwed no matter what she said. "Wonderland? With the White Rabbit, and the Queen of Hearts?" "You’re a funny one,” Eli replied, dryly. He wasn’t smiling. "What color are the walls, Kione?" "Pink," Kione said without hesitation. "Are you sure?" Eli asked, tilting his head to the side. "Yes." Kione had made up her mind: the walls were pink. Certainty was never something she could stumble into on accident anymore; she had to make her own certainty. Eli got up from the table and walked to the door. He opened it and stepped outside. "Are you coming?" he asked. Kione nodded and stood up. The muscles in her thighs started to ache and her knees buckled beneath her. She braced herself on the table and steadied herself, then she followed Eli out of the room. Wherever he was taking her, it was better than sitting in that chair. As Kione followed down the hall, she noticed her feet. Bare. Where had her shoes gone? She noticed her pants next - white cotton, the texture of hospital scrubs - and a matching button up shirt. She probably looked like an orderly out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Kione didn't like the resemblance. At the end of the long white hall was a single door. Eli led the way through it, outside and into the sunlight. It took a moment for Kione’s eyes to adjust. There was grass - too green, like a Hollywood movie set - and a consistent blue sky with clouds that didn’t seem to move. And the sound of... children playing? Giggling? Kione looked down the hill she stood atop, Eli by her side, at the scene below her. From up there, they looked like children, but something in her head told her otherwise. Adults. All adults, like her. But acting like children. Dressed like children. Some played hopscotch. Some played tag. Some were tossing a ball around. A few dozen, maybe fifty. "What is this?" Kione asked. "Salvation," Eli responded. She looked around the large space; the adult children played in the center of a pentagonal valley, with five hills that formed the shape of a star. Past that, there was nothing but a sea of grass. Atop each of the other four hills there were structures. Not houses, not buildings... but playground equipment, like you might have expected to find in a school yard. Or, well, a really expensive school yard, like one of those private schools that churned out damaged adults. "I don't understand how this is supposed to—" Kione turned to Eli, but he wasn't there. The door where she came out wasn't there either. She hesitated at the space where she expected the door should be and reached out to touch it, but her hand went right through. There was no door. Was Eli real? Was any of this? Kione took a deep breath. Five things she could see. The massive blacktop at the bottom of the hill, with adults playing hopscotch. Swing sets in lines of six, flanked on both sides with colorful seats. Picnic tables and swaths of blankets decorating the sides of the other four hills. Huge play-scapes - or maybe small play-towns - on each of the hills, painted in different colors: red, yellow, blue, and green. And finally, in the center of the valley, adorned with pictures and ornaments, a large door stood upright. A door that didn't seem to go anywhere at all. Maybe things she could see was a bad place to start. Kione closed her eyes and took another breath. Four things she could feel. The sharp grass beneath her feet. The slight breeze against her forehead. The ache of her legs as she stood. The gravity pulling on her, tilted every so slightly forward. Three things she could hear. Laughter. Bouncing balls. Music, like from a music box. Two things she could smell. Grass, like it was recently cut, though it didn't look like it had been. Kione knew always to trust her nose over her eyes. And lavender. One thing she could taste. Moisture. Humidity. She was thirsty, and this place was alive. When Kione opened her eyes again, it was just in time to see a group of kids - or adults dressed like kids - walking up the hill toward her. "I saw her first!" "Nuhuh, Marky saw her first an' told you an' I saw her before that!" "Nuhuh." "Yuhhuh." "She looks like a Banana." "You wouldn't even know a Banana!" "I am a Banana!" "I think she's umm... she's defi...defin... um. She's a Cherry!" The chittering of the group of would-be-children terminated when the group of six made it to the top of the hill. A girl - a woman, in a pretty gingham dress the color of freshly picked red apples - was the first to speak directly to Kione. "Welcome to the Kindergarten!" "I... thank you..." Kione paused and looked at the six residents. Each was dressed very specifically, with a dominant color and an accent of white. White socks, white hair ties, white frills along the hems of their dresses. Even the boys wore shirts with white sleeves or white laces on their shoes. Two green, two yellow, two red... but no blue. "I'm sorry," Kione apologized, though she hadn't done anything wrong. "What is this place, exactly? And do you know where the exit is?" "Oh gosh." "Oh golly." "Oh goodness." "We just said it's the Kindergarten," a girl in green echoed, but she didn’t sound annoyed about it. "And there's no exit, this is your home now. What's your name?" "I'm sorry, but I can't stay here." Kione skipped over the whole name thing. If these adults really were children, then it was best they didn't get attached to her. "I have a job; I'm a counsellor. If I don't get back to my clients soon, they'll worry about me. You understand, don't you?" "Nuhuh." "Nope." "She's definitely a Blueberry..." "I'm Robin," continued the girl in the red gingham dress who did the introductions. "I know it's confusing but you'll be okay. Tonight there's gonna be a Joining when the others get here, an' then you'll feel more at home." "I... I'm really sorry, but I can't..." Kione wasn't getting anywhere, and she knew it. She looked around the hilly parkway again, then down at the door in the center of it all. Free-standing on a frame with no wall. They saw it too, didn't they? "That door," Kione asked. "Does it go anywhere?" The kids exchanged awkward looks, but Robin spoke up right away. "That's the Ever After. When we earn it, the Priestess will open the door and lead us through. But only one of us gets to go at a time. So we gotta be on our best behavior." Kione nodded in understanding. This place was some kind of cult. An indoctrination of sorts. She'd suffered through enough loneliness and ostracism that Kione knew how important it was to belong. But her knowledge gave her power too. They wouldn't sway her so easily. Nonetheless, Kione always was good at putting on a face. "What do you mean 'Priestess'?" "Well when—" one of the others began to explain, but Robin shushed him with a wave of her hand. She shook her head softly, before taking over the explanation. "After the Joining, your leader will explain everything to you." Nobody seemed willing to argue with Robin, and when nobody else spoke up, she continued. "Do you Double Dutch?" "Um..." It seemed like such a non-sequitur. A yellow-shirted boy chimed in: "It's a dumb skipping game for girls." "Shut up, Wesley," the girl wearing a yellow dress snapped back and rolled her eyes. "It's not dumb you're just bad at it." "Cause I'm not a girl." "Maybe you should be, you keep talking about it!" He puffed out his cheeks and went quiet. Robin continued: "It's a game. Do you know how to play? Come down wif' us, okay?" Robin was mostly eloquent, but with some misspoken words here and there. It was weird. Cute, but weird. Kione followed the group down the hill, looking back at where she came from. There was no playscape at the top of it. It was different. Why was it different? Soon Kione and the others made it to the bottom of the hill and the grass made way for blacktop. The small, dull stones and the sun-soaked ground made the bottoms of Kione's feet hurt. A lot of other kids - all dressed primarily in one of the four colors - looked her way, but nobody else approached to make an introduction. Robin seemed to have an odd level of control over the whole situation. Maybe she's the leader, Kione wondered. If she is, then she's the best ally. And the most dangerous enemy. "You didn' tell me your name," Robin prompted again, "an' I can't introduce you if you don't tell me your name." The boys split away to play their games, and the other two girls - one in green and one in yellow - led her to where a gaggle of girls were jumping rope. "Kione." In the end, ingratiating herself and earning the trust of the residents would benefit her more than keeping her distance. If Kione learned anything from work, it was that rapport was everything. "Well Kione, it's nice to meet you. Come this way." As Robin approached, the mixture of girls - in reds, blues, yellows, and greens - wound down their rhythmic chant. They looked at Kione excitedly. "This is Kione," Robin said. "Hi Kione!" They all intoned, in unison, like addressing a school teacher. "Is there gon' be a Joining tonight?" one of the girls in blue asked. She had her thumb in her mouth and it drew Kione's attention. She sure seemed to take this 'dress like a kid' thing a little too far. But then again, this whole place seemed a bit too Wonderland for Kione. Maybe she shouldn’t have made that joke with Eli. "There is, but let's just play for now." Robin smiled, and turned to Kione. "Do you wanna do Miss Mary Mack? Or Teddy Bear? Or is there another jump rope game you like most?" "I, uh. Miss Mary Mack would be great." Kione hadn't jumped rope since she was in grade school, but she was pretty damn good. She hoped that jump rope was like riding a bike, and she wouldn't humiliate herself in front of a bunch of overgrown school children. As Kione stepped into the middle of the two jump ropes, the girls on either end - one in yellow, one in red - began mercifully slow. "Miss.... Mary.... Mack, Mack, Mack....all dressed in black, black, black, with silv-" Kione made it about that far before tripping, and the plastic ropes caught in her feet. There were laughs and giggles, but nothing too condescending. Nothing like how an adult would make fun of someone or discourage them for trying. It just seemed like the kids were having fun, and Kione didn't know what to make of that. "I wanna try again," Kione declared.

Curse of the Crinkle Crate Composed by Horatio Husky Featuring and Commissioned by Kazard the Fox! Chapter 1 The Box I… Want… Couch Time… Now… were the thoughts of a certain blonde-haired fox, as he absentmindedly fumbled with the keys to his small, cozy home. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyelids half open in a vacant stare as he maneuvered his key into the lock of his front door. The day had been absolutely miserable, all of his clients had been in a bad temper when he spoke with them about their problems, and one of them even seemed to believe that the fox didn’t really know what he was doing. Of course, he knew what he was doing! He’d graduated top of his class by no small miracle, the fox was very talented at his work, but the lack of appreciation and frustration that was thrust upon him by his clients was not something studying could have prepared him for. At last, the key turned, and the door swung wide open, shouldering his bag he strode inside and carelessly dropped it in the front hallway, kicking off his shoes and closing the door behind him with a click, locking it once more. Give… Me… That… Couch… thought the fox once more, as he strode into his living room. However, his couch did not seem to be on the agenda just yet, for the fox almost tripped over a wooden box in the center of the room. Kaz was taken aback, how had this gotten in his home? He didn’t remember lugging a rather plain, heavy looking wooden box into his home. Its dimensions were around two feet by two feet, and a foot and a half tall. Kneeling down, his tail now twitching with apparent interest and curiosity he inspected it closer to find that its lid was hinged, with the front opening to the container facing towards him. What on earth… Did somebody break in and leave this here? He thought to himself, as he reached forward with a paw and tentatively opened the strange box. The lid thumped onto his carpet as he gazed into what was held within the strange item, and was even more confused to see that the box only contained two items in it. A thick square of plastic upon closer inspection Kaz found to be a white, adult diaper, and a note next to it, written in fancy cursive. He picked it up, his eyebrows furrowing as he perused through a short poem, a strange feeling of warmth he didn’t recognize bubbling up in his insides as he did so. For a year and a day obedient shall you be, To the rules and whims of the box at your knee, Letters and rules shall be provided from these wooden confines, Giving you instructions, tasks, items, and lines, And lest you not listen to my behest, Shall you not have your day-to-day be the best! For control and independence are no longer yours From now you’ll always be clad in diapers! Diapers? Control? Is this all some sort of prank that got delivered into my house that one of my friends managed to sneak in? He turned the note over and found that more was written on the back of it, this time not in the mysterious cursive font as on the front. The rules are simple, Kazard. For a year and a day you will be completely unable to control your bladder nor your bowel, making it that at any time whatsoever, you will completely and utterly mess and wet yourself anywhere you are. Within this box, you will find your solution to this new conundrum in your life, which you have agreed to participate in by opening this box. Whenever you open this box you will be supplied with plain white diapers perfectly matched to handle whatever punishment you give them. It is recommended that you also invest in other supplies related to padding, such as powder and anti-rash cream, but those are up to your discretion. You may try and not wear your diapers, but you will find that it is wiser to comply with the rules and keep yourself nice and secure; your continence will not return either if you do not obey the rules set before you. If you wish to communicate with the box, you must do so through a bargain written on a note to express your wishes. However, be warned: the box is liable to interpret and balance any request or boon as it wishes if whatever you offer is not of equal value, so it may be wisest to obey as instructed and keep yourself diapered at all times of the day, otherwise, the consequences will be severe. With that, we hope you enjoy your next trip around the sun padded up! This has to be a joke… Boxes that interpret poetry and supply diapers whenever opened? This isn’t even a funny prank, this is pathetic. The fox dropped the diaper and note back into the box with contempt, what a stupid thing to waste his time with. He got up, the couch now forgotten as his stomach rumbled its hunger aloud to the room. He padded over to the kitchen, turning the kettle on and rummaging through his dry food cabinet, retrieving a large bag of chips. He held the bag in his maw as he stretched, reaching up to the higher shelf to grab himself a chocolate bar. It was just out of his reach, and he strained, leaning against the counter to support his weight as he grasped after his sweet. The counter must have been wet, however, for he looked down as he felt something damp against him. The bag of chips dropped out of his mouth and onto the counter below him. The counter hadn’t been wet, no. It was he who had gotten wet.

“Are you sure you don’t need to use the potty before we go?” Alex asked, smiling down at Clara. She was only two inches shorter than him–it wasn’t fair that he could make it clear he was looking down at her with only a slight tilt of his head–but he did it anyways. He wasn’t that much bigger than her. It shouldn’t have been such a stark difference when he just gave her a little glance. Clara knew she was thinking about their height difference to put off answering the question. When Alex said, “Use the potty,” he really meant, “Use your diaper”. Clara wouldn’t be using a proper toilet until they got to their destination, and even then, only if she kept her bunny hopps dry. If she could prove herself in control, she’d get to be a big girl during their trip. If she tried and failed, though, she’d lose all of her grown up privileges. Or, the third option, she could give up, admit she was just a baby, and then she’d get to keep a few privileges–namely, being allowed to ask for diaper changes. The train ride would only be about four hours. Clara didn’t need to pee now. She was willing to take that risk. “I’m sure,” she whispered. “Thanks.” “Alright then–we’d better get boarded!” The train wasn’t anything fancy, just rows of bench seats. They weren’t going to be on it long enough to want sleeper cars or anything like that, they just needed to travel up a few states. Alex had their luggage, all in a single suitcase, just enough stuff for their weekend. Getting seated near the back of the train, he got out two bottles of water and a bag of chocolate covered pretzels. Clara’s favorite–salty, crunchy, and sweet, she had to avoid buying them too often or she’d end up subsisting on a diet of pretzels alone. Grinning, she glanced to Alex to make sure she had permission, then tore into the bag, quickly devouring the delicious snack. Of course, all the salt and sugar made her thirsty, and she finished most of her water bottle before the train had even started moving. A little part of her knew this was a bad idea, but Alex had found the right way to override her concern about needing the potty–all it took was a little snack. The train started rolling. Alex had an audiobook, and Clara had her notebook to sketch in, and together they passed the time of the trip in pleasant, quiet company. Only an hour in, though, Clara felt pressure on her bladder. Already, she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it the train ride. If the need had risen up that quickly, then she’d desperately need to go by the time they were halfway–let alone by the time they got to their destination. She wouldn’t be able to keep her diaper dry, then, but she might still be able to keep Alex from noticing. All she’d have to do was distract him so that he wouldn’t check her, sneak a diaper from their luggage, and go change into a dry one when they arrived. She swallowed–if Alex caught her trying to change, she’d be in serious trouble–but he might not notice. Glancing out the train window, she stopped trying to hold it. Her bladder released, and she felt the hot pee soak into her bunny hopp, quickly saturating the diaper front to back. Alex glanced over at her, and she worried she’d been caught already, but he didn’t say anything. She let it go, returning her attention to her sketch pad. Now that the flood gates had been opened, Clara struggled to hold it going forward. Her bladder started to release at the slightest need, similar to the sensation of holding her hand in warm water. She continued dribbling into her diaper, soaking it further and further as they traveled, and Alex continued to not notice. That was, until just before the train came to a stop. “Baby,” Alex said, quietly, his voice so soft that only she could hear. “We’re almost there. Are you still dry?” She hesitated–she could admit it now, and avoid getting in trouble, but if he took her at her word she would still have a chance at changing into something dry. “Mhmm,” she said. “I am.” “I’m surprised,” he said, “But good girl. You just need to hold it for a few more minutes!” She nodded. “Uh-huh, I can…mmm…” “What?” Alex asked. “Do you need to go?” She did, and she admitted as much–it’s not like that could get her into trouble. “Yeah…” Smiling, Alex reached down and–no, no, no–put his hand on the front of her diaper, beneath her skirt. “Well, if you just–baby!” Turning pink, Clara tried to invent an excuse, but all she could say was, “Um…” “You didn’t even notice?” Alex asked. “You’re totally flooded.” It was better than admitting she’d planned on cheating. She nodded, sheepishly. “I’m sorry…I couldn’t tell.” “Well then,” Alex said. “I guess that proves you’re not even a little girl, you’re completely helpless. And you know what that means.” She did. She was the baby for the weekend–not allowed to change herself, or touch herself, or even try to hold it. “But…” she said, blushing. “I…” “What is it?” Alex asked. “I need to use the potty, and we’re still on the train…” Clara said. Nodding, Alex glanced around. Nobody was sitting near them, and they’d be off the train soon. “That doesn’t matter, baby. You know the rules–and we both know you can’t hold it anyways.” Turning pink, Clara conceded defeat. She hadn’t just failed, she’d failed miserably, and was no doubt in for a lot of teasing about not being able to tell she’d had an accident. Rather than pretend she was big any longer, she gave in, leaned forward just a touch, and began to push. “Good girl,” Alex praised, patting her on the back while she packed her pampers, filling them with muck. She could do little more than push, whimper, and blush, but the praise still made her kick her legs in delight. As she finished, though, he leaned in. “I know you too well to believe your little fib, baby. Don’t think you’re not in trouble–once we get there, you’re going to have to tell everyone just what you tried to do, and then we’ll decide your punishment. Ok?” Flushing, Clara sat back and nodded. In a decimated, utterly used diaper, it wasn’t as though she could claim any sort of bigness anymore. “What are you?” Alex asked, sweetly. “I’m…” she mumbled. “I’m your baby.” Leaning over, he kissed her on the forehead. “There’s my good girl.” ... Support the author: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Thank you to everyone who attended the charity live stream! We ended up raising almost 150$! This was the first commission on the stream, featuring an OC alchemist who struggles with potty training. Scarlet ran over her checklist one final time. She was alone in her atelier, the space filled with supplies, reagents, chemicals, and all the magical ingredients an alchemist could ask for. The particular items she’d need today were laid out, her cauldron had been preheated with the base medium bubbling at a precisely controlled temperature, and the potion was ready to begin. She was pretty sure she’d overheated the brew last time. A few tweaks to the recipe and a much more cautious approach to heating the cauldron would–she hoped–solve the issue and allow the potion to function. But, just in case it didn’t, she’d worn a little extra protection. Scarlet Honeybrew had never been particularly strong in the field of potty training. Her body just never had much control, and she’d grown up with the all-too familiar problem of dribbles down her skirts and even the occasional mess in her panties. As an alchemist, though, the problem had grown serious enough that it needed solving–she couldn’t carefully attend to her brews and tinctures while scurrying off to the bathroom every time she felt a little pressure. Her first attempt at a magical solution had been a dud. Instead of gaining more control, she’d simply peed her pants after drinking it, the opposite of what she’d wanted. This time, Scarlet had pinned a cloth diaper around her waist in case of a similar failure, and was ready to try again. Her ingredients went in meticulously, one at a time. Herbs, stirred clockwise, talcum powder allowed to simmer, just the tiniest hint of milk. The potion simmered until it shimmered a deep, chocolate brown, glossy and sparkling with power. Removing the heat source from the cauldron, Scarlet carefully tipped the brew into a jar. If she’d done it right, the potion would reinforce her control over her bowels and bladder, bringing her in line with most adults–or, if she’d done it well enough, even giving her greater control. Swirling the flask, Scarlet inspected it in the light. No impurities sprang out, nothing obviously wrong with it. The only way to know for sure, though, was to test it. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered, raising the flask to her lips and throwing it back. She waited a moment. No obvious results–that was, likely, a good sign. If her control had been reinforced, she’d have to wait until she felt the need to go, then make a note of how long her ability to hold it lasted. Retrieving her notebook from the table, she opened it to a page and prepared to wait. As it happened, she didn’t have to wait long. Only thirty seconds passed before she felt a twinge in her bowels. Normally, this would be an indication that she needed to hurry off to the bathroom–in five or ten minutes, she’d be losing the fight to hold it and ruining her panties. Today, though, she excitedly made a note and glanced at the clock ticking away on the wall. Only five seconds passed before the cramp redoubled, and her eyes widened. That was faster than normal–far faster. Standing up straight, she tried to take a step towards the bathroom, but she could barely move before the pressure built even further, too much for her weak potty training to resist. A whimper escaped Scarlet’s lips as the potion worked against her. Her bowels gave way, spilling out warm, solid mush into the seat of her cloth diaper. The fabric stretched slightly to try and contain things, but the pressure and sudden building mass made Scarlet strain and squat slightly just to relieve it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a desperate need to go, let alone so suddenly. Her diaper swelled, growing heavy around her hips, and for a moment she worried that it wouldn’t hold together. The safety pins strained around her waist, and as the mush packed itself in, she found herself thrown off by the sheer weight hanging from her. Trying to get better footing, she instead slipped, falling with a heavy splorch onto the seat of her diaper. With one last helpless push, she finished packing her diaper. Wrinkling her nose, she looked down at it–as full as it’d become, her skirt no longer hid it in the slightest, and even if the hem line had been twice as low, it wouldn’t do anything to hide the clear and obvious smell of her accident. Reaching down, Scarlet gave the diaper a tentative squeeze and sighed, taking a shallow breath. “Ah, well…” she mumbled. “Another failure on the list. I guess it’s back to the drawing board, once I…” Just then, the door to her workshop opened. Glancing up, her eyes widened as she saw her friend, Layla, enter with a tray of fresh baked cookies. Beaming, Layla announced, “I brought snacks! I know you can get sucked into your projects and forget to eat–Uh…” Nose wrinkling, she looked down at Scarlet and finally noticed the bulging, stained diaper beneath her skirt. “Um…” Scarlet said, blushing profusely. “I…uh…an experiment went wrong.” Layla snickered. “Are you sure you just didn’t get really distracted?” Scarlet started to protest, then gave up. “I need to, um. Get cleaned up.” Setting down the tray of cookies, Layla extended a hand to help her up. “Come on, stinky. I’ll help you get changed.”

I got the idea for this story from a real experience, which I wrote about on Twitter. You can read the backstory here! “You know the rules,” Daddy said. “We’ve practiced, but I want to make sure you’re okay with it, alright?” I nodded enthusiastically, sitting almost naked on the edge of the bed for dressup; the only article on my body was the steel cage around my bits, one that’d been there for two weeks since my last ‘outing’. I’d met all his friends before, we’d been at munches together, we’d talked about kink, but this would be my first experience where I was ‘out’ in front of them all at once. I knew I’d be in good company, but I also worried about being the only Little, the only one there who’d be in diapers. “Tell me the rules,” he added. “I may not use the potty,” I said. “I can only refer to you as Daddy. I can’t hold it when I need to pee. And I can’t even ask for a diaper change. I have to drink water every thirty minutes, and if I leak, you’ll spank me.” Daddy began laying out my outfit next to me. My top, white shirt with black sleeves, and a black-and-white striped skirt. I’d objected to the skirt, at first–”I’m a boy!” I’d pointed out–but Daddy had countered that I was a baby, and I didn’t get to decide what I wore…and then he’d added that if I complained again I’d get the spanking of a lifetime. “And what do you say if you’re nervous?” he asked. “Yellow,” I confirmed. “And if you want to leave?” “Red.” He made me practice my safe words before we did anything, every time. “Good baby,” he said, laying out a diaper with three whole stuffers, alongside a pair of thigh high white stockings and, oddly, duct tape. “And remember–you can’t mush until I say you’re allowed to. When I say your diaper looks full, then you go.” My tummy squirmed at that–I hadn’t gone number two in a day and a half, and now I’d have to wait even longer. “O-okay, Daddy.” He smiled, and set out one more item next to my outfit–a plush tail with a clip, also with black and white stripes. A skunk tail, to be specific, with a pronounced curl at the end. My eyes widened and my cheeks turned pink, but I knew better than to object again. “I made sure you’ll have enough capacity,” Daddy promised. “As long as you are careful, your diaper won’t leak–but if you aren’t mindful of how you go potty, you’ll be in big trouble.” I nodded again. “Yes, Daddy.” “Lay down, and let’s get you dressed.” I obeyed, watching him as he prepared my diaper. The stuffers were crucial–without them, I’d certainly leak–but they’d provide a serious puff to my diaper that’d make it stick out even more than normal. I watched him unstick the tape on the first, adhering it inside the diaper, right at the front. The top edge came up to the very front of the diaper, so it’d be right over my cage. I assumed he was going to lay out the stuffers so that there was a single uniform layer of extra padding throughout the diaper, but instead, the second stuffer went right over the first–at the front, so it’d be packed around my caged cock. My eyes widened as he took the final stuffer, which he folded in the middle and ripped in half. Sticking them back-to-back, he then put the layer right at the front of the diaper, slightly offset, so that my bits would be nestled in between four layers of stuffer inside my diaper. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Oh,” he said, offhanded. “Just making sure you’ll be nice and snug.” I nodded, uncertain for a moment, but decided to trust Daddy. He wouldn’t steer me wrong. Lifting up my butt, I let him put the diaper on me, with a liberal amount of powder. Once he’d folded it up and taped it securely, I could really feel the excessive amount of padding around me–it puffed out heavily all around my cage, pressing me into the absorbent layers, making the front of my diaper stick out heavily. And he wasn’t done there. Reaching to the side, he grabbed the roll of duct tape, applying two lengthy pieces to the front of my diaper. I knew why. The tapes were going to be fighting for their life, and they’d need some support. Next came the skirt, shimmied up over my legs. It was long enough to cover my diaper, even with the extra poof, as long as I didn’t bend over too far. The stockings made me feel particularly cute, and when I sat up and raised my arms, daddy pulled the black and white shirt over my head. I admittedly already had a distinctly skunky look to my clothes–black and white vertical stripes conjured that image–but it’d probably have been overlooked without the tail. Once Daddy clipped the back of the tail to my skirt, and used a safety pin to hook the top to my shirt so it’d stay upright while I wore it, the look was unmistakable. At least I didn’t smell the part, yet… “You look adorable,” he praised, and I blushed under the complement. “Are you ready to go?” “Mhmm!” I said. Daddy was already dressed, though his clothes were more neutral than mine–Black pants, a white T shirt, and a black jacket. The black-and-white look matched me, though on him, the color choice made him look assertive and cool. On me, the colors just emphasized that I was a tiny, smelly baby. The party was only a little ways away. Our mutual friend, Milo, was hosting, since his yard had a very tall privacy fence, and only single-story neighbors. The perfect situation to host a kinky party. He drove–of course–and parked in the driveway. I felt shy about getting out in full view of the front walk, but nobody was around to see, and I quickly scurried inside. “Gary!” Milo declared, waving us in. He had on a canvas apron, but everything beneath it was black leather–he and his pup were big into that look. “You’re the first ones here. I was just getting the grill ready, so I hope you’re hungry!” “Famished,” Daddy said. “Do you have anything to drink, though–this one’s thirsty.” Milo laughed, getting the implication. He may not have been able to see my diaper, but he knew what I liked, and certainly had the implication. “Sure, there’s cups and ice out back.” We followed him out. His pup was on all fours in the back, in his own costume–collar, muzzle, and even more leather. From the kneepads, I instantly guessed that he wouldn’t be allowed to walk tonight, any more than I could use the bathroom. I got handed a cup of soda, and obediently began sipping on it while the other guests filtered in. Another pup with his master, Dina, as well as a pony girl in latex and high, high heels, accompanied by her mistress, Megan. Before long–though not before a second cup of soda–we were all seated around picnic tables, chowing down on Milo’s burgers. I felt the need to pee, and without reservation, let loose, flooding my diapers for the first time that evening. Seated, it all rushed to the back, quickly soaking into the padding around the seat. I wasn’t worried about leaking. Like daddy said… Uh… Oh. I shoved down my concerns, and focused on eating. I almost missed daddy’s comment, asking how long I’d been in my cage. “Baby?” he repeated. I knew he knew the answer, so I was answering for everyone else. “It’s…been two weeks,” I admitted, flushing brightly. I knew how I had to phrase it, and my word choice had been chosen to be as humiliating as possible. “Since I got to make stickies in my dirty diapers…” That got a round of chuckles from the table. The pony chimed in, “My mistress has had me caged for six months, I don’t know why you’re complaining.” “Don’t brag,” Megan chided. I squirmed–I loved the focus being on me, but I hated it too, especially since it meant someone was probably about to ask– “What’s the tail for?” Milo inquired, in between bites of a burger. Flushing even pinker, I hoped Daddy would explain. Instead, he just said, “Why don’t you tell them, baby? You were so excited when you told me.” “I…” I said, turning pink. “Um, there was this artist I found a couple weeks ago, and. Daddy?” He gave an approving nod, a ‘go on’ gesture. Not what I’d been hoping for. “He drew a picture of a…well, a boy who looks like me, wearing a skunky onesie and a really big stinky diaper. I showed it to daddy right away, and, um. Begged him to…” I buried my face in my hands, burning bright pink. “I begged for permission to take my cage off early and make stickies because I liked the picture so much.” More condescending smirks. Milo, at least, did the math and guessed, “And he said yes, right?” “Only…on the condition that I show everyone how cute the picture was,” I said, “By…being like the boy in the photo myself.” “He was sooo excited,” Daddy chimed in. “He agreed instantly as soon as I got out his wand.” I covered my face even more, wishing I could melt into a puddle on the ground. “Daddy!” “Hmm?” he asked. “Is something wrong?” That was code for, ‘Safe words’. I could tap out now with a ‘yellow’ or ‘red’ but instead I just shook my head. “I’m okay.” “Good skunky.” He leaned over, giving me a kiss on the top of my head, before changing topics, granting me a slight reprieve. “So, Dina–I see a new collar on your pup there. What’s the story there?” The conversation shifted away, and my burning red cheeks got a moment to cool down while I worked on my dinner–and drank another cup of soda that Daddy dutifully provided for me. The night was, in many respects, a typical barbeque. Milo got out a frisbee so we could play fetch with the pups–during which I wet myself again, soaking the middle of my diaper so that it swelled between my legs–and, for the most part, we just stood and talked, catching up on this or that. Megan’s pony told us excitedly about her upcoming top surgery, Milo had funny stories from work, the evening passed casually. Until about the third time I needed to pee. Daddy’s warning hung in my head. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to paddle me in front of the other guests, and I hated leaking anyways. But, as the pressure in my bladder built, I grew more and more confident of what Daddy had planned for the evening. If I just peed standing, everything would trickle down to the middle, where I’d already saturated my diaper. Heck, if I sat down it’d be even worse, soaking through and pouring out the side where I’d already flooded it. I needed to make sure everything stayed in the front of my diaper, soaking into all the stuffers around my caged bits at the very front of my diaper. Only one option presented itself. Blushing so hard the red crept all the way up past my eyes, I paused in the middle of a game of frisbee fetch, getting down onto my hands and knees. To direct the flow properly, I had to stick my butt up into the air as far as possible, so high my skirt fell back and showed off my diaper to everyone. “What’re you doing there, lil skunky?” Daddy asked, though he already knew the answer. “Marking your territory?” I felt too utterly small to answer, and only mumbled a few words as I forced my bladder to let go. My plan, at least, worked–everything flowed to the stuffers in the top of my diaper, and I didn’t leak–but even the pups were giggling at my display as I used my diapers. “Mmm…” I said, wiggling a little to get the last drops into place. I couldn’t even stand when I was done peeing, I had to wait, my skunk tail in the air and diaper incredibly visible, until everything had soaked into place. And when I stood, Daddy was waiting for me with a fresh drink–just water, this time. “Good baby,” he praised, stepping in to kiss me before passing me the water. I drank, and tried to say, “Thanks, Daddy.” Instead, I just mumbled, “Th-thnn…” He beamed, reached beneath my skirt to give my bottom a squeeze, and returned to his chat with Milo. The flood gates didn’t close there. Especially as I felt the saturation right around my parts, and the constant intake of water, my ability to hold it had tanked. I seemed to need to pee every five minutes, and according to the rules, that meant I needed to go right away–no holding, no waiting. My blushes never faded, and it seemed like I was on my hands and knees displaying my increasingly heavy diaper more often than I was standing. I couldn’t participate in the conversations anymore–even if I regained my big boy words, the constant interruptions of getting down to potty kept pulling me away. Each use lasted longer and forced me to stick my butt up higher, as I had to wait for everything to drain into the increasingly scarce dry spots in my diaper’s many layers. And, as my diaper grew fuller and the stuffers swelled, I was reminded more and more of my cage, my frustration. The two weeks since I’d last made my diaper sticky…and the fact that I had no idea when Daddy would let me out again. Eventually, Milo got a bonfire going. Smores were had, and shared, and Daddy fed mine to me–making no effort whatsoever to avoid getting goopy marshmallow and melted chocolate all over my face. He did, however, make a big fuss of wiping me up, cleaning off all the little bits and chiding me for making such a mess. When he got done, I was right back on all fours, dribbling pee into my increasingly saturated diapers. As heavy as they were, I’d begun to worry that they might just slip off–or that, despite all my caution, I might leak anyways. That’d be the worst outcome–humiliating myself for all to see, only to fail anyways. I pondered this as I piddled into my pampers for the millionth time. “Daddy…” I mumbled, as I got to my feet. “What is it, skunky?” he asked. “I’m–” I almost broke a rule. My headspace had been shoved so deep and my thoughts were so clouded that I couldn’t remember them all, and I nearly said, ‘I’m gonna leak’. I caught myself at the last minute, and had to change to, “I’m…thirsty.” He caught what I’d almost said, but since I’d fixed my words, I’d narrowly avoided punishment. “Alright,” he smiled. “It’s not even time for your next drink yet, but I’ll go get you some water.” I couldn’t have flushed deeper, but I sank even smaller anyways, wiggling in my intensely heavy diaper. It felt as though I had a medicine ball hanging around my waist, and even the duct tape was beginning to struggle. As heavy as it felt, it just made things more humiliating every time I had to drop to my knees and add a little more moisture, feeling this enormous, swollen garment squelch between my legs. It seemed I didn’t even need to mush to live up to my skunky tail and clothing–the smell of increasingly stale urine was floating heavily around me, so much that even the pups were gesturing at their noses and snickering. The first was close to embers, and the night was drawing to a close, and I was sitting on Daddy’s lap when he said it. “Hey, skunky baby,” he said. “Don’t you think your diaper’s getting full?” I melted. The thought of arguing or resisting didn’t even enter my head. I was Daddy’s little helpless skunk, and I’d do as I was supposed to. Getting off his lap, I assumed the posture I had for every accident. My intensely heavy, squelching diaper pointed right in the air, wavering slightly from all the weight, skirt flipped down to display everything without a lick of modesty, my tail wiggling with my shaking body. I didn’t have to work very hard. My body was ready to go, and as soon as I screwed up my face and began to push, the mudslide began. My diapers were already at capacity, but the tidal force of muck packing into it felt to me as though I’d doubled the weight–though that had to be my imagination at work, at least in part. I could feel the padding bulging and straining to hold it all, and the little grunts of effort that escaped my lips rang in my ears. As much as I’d needed to go, I was pushing, grunting, and whimpering for most of two minutes before I was done. Exhausted, utterly little, I gave my mushy tush one last wiggle before I flopped over, sitting down on the ground with an incredible mushy squelch that made me moan out loud. I stank–truly living up to my outfit, and my nickname, the odor of my latest accident assaulted my nose and smelled so badly I couldn’t imagine I’d ever feel like a grown up again. It was only then that I noticed everyone smiling at me, the snickers from the pups, the pony girl’s barely stifled giggle. Wriggling, I looked to daddy. “Huh?” He smiled back at me, though his nose was wrinkled. “Baby skunky,” he said, “You were sticking your butt up so you wouldn’t leak, right?” I nodded. “Yuh-huh.” The pony girl laughed, unable to keep it contained anymore. Daddy simply explained, “Well, you didn’t need to worry about leaking this time.” My eyes widened. He was right–I could have gone sitting down, or found a discreet place to just squat and go. I didn’t need to worry about the urine flowing to the stuffers, the mush ended up in my seat no matter how I went, so… I’d just played the part of the skunk. For no reason, other than that it’s what I was. Putting his hand over his nose, Daddy said, “You really stink. Why don’t you go play in your diaper on the other side of the yard until it’s time to leave, so you don’t bother the grown ups? I’ll start getting ready to go home, but if you stay here much longer we won’t be able to breathe. My eyes were huge, and the suggestion–that I was too smelly and little to even be around the adults–elicited an unstoppable moan from deep in my throat. “Mhm,” I mumbled, rolling back onto my hands and knees. There was no point in trying to walk–good skunks didn’t walk. Enormous stinky diaper on proud display, I crawled across the yard, sat down, and reveled in the incredible squelch between my legs. I was daddy’s little skunk baby, and nothing more, and I loved it. ... Instead of the usual Patreon plug, I have something different: I'll be doing micro-fiction commissions tomorrow on a live stream to raise money for the NNAF (National Network of Abortion Funds)! My normal commissions are closed, so if you want a story done by me, this is the only way to get one. All proceeds are going directly to charity. I posted more details on Twitter, and when I go live on Picarto I'll also be sharing the link on twitter, so check it out over there for more information!

Just before 25-year-old programmer and chess IM (International Master) Isabelle drowns, she is pulled to the Diaper Dimension by the UN's Dimensional Rescue Group. Things don't quite go her way, but she has a powerful ally... Your Move Foreword Welcome to Part 1 of my first story. A year ago today I started posting a chapter a week, and I stopped when I got to the end of Part 1 since my Junior year of university was starting, and I just didn't have the time to study and write on top of extracurriculars (I'm a good boy! I got a 3.9 GPA this year! ?). This summer I found some spare time to write a bit every day after work (internship), and I've produced 7 chapters so far. With the way the story has taken it's own life, I'm only about 1/3 of my way through the plot points that I've had planned out for Part 2! Unfortunately, I don't forsee being able to finish Part 2 this summer, because of the amount of things I get up to (including editing @BabySofia's Lights! Camera! ...What?!?), so you may be left on a cliffhanger (Sorry! ??), but at least you'll get to read a couple more chapters (over on the original thread): Without further ado, here's the edited, up-to-date version of Part 1. There may be some small plot changes from the original thread, but consider this the canon version. Part 1: Opening "Attackers may sometimes regret bad moves, but it is much worse to forever regret an opportunity you allowed to pass you by." — Garry Kasparov Chapter 1 — What the Hell I never expected it to be like this. Frankly, I didn't think I was even supposed to be in Hell. Even though I wasn't the most devout Christian, I certainly was one. So shouldn't I have gone to Heaven? Even if I take the secular interpretation, don't only bad guys end up here? I'm pretty sure I'd been a good girl — most of the time anyway. Of course, human nature made being perfect all the time rather impossible, and I'd certainly done my share of sinning. But... but... this?? I don't think that anything I'd ever done had made me deserve this. Did some angel mess up? Or was it a bug in some kind of software? Did angels even use software to make these decisions? Leaving the 'why' aside, shouldn't Hell be hotter and more fiery, and shouldn't Satan be a guy? I pinched myself just to confirm I wasn't dreaming, and looked around the dilapidated, dirty room for the third time since I'd opened my eyes a minute ago. The twenty-by-thirty-foot space was dimly lit by a small window stained almost opaque by dust and grime. The looming figure of the Devil, about twice my height, was clunking away in front of a stove, puffs of smoke rhythmically emanating from her mouth as she dragged on a cigarette. I wretched again at the malodorous pile of dirty dishes, pots and pans that sat unwashed in the sink next to her, and the overflowing trash can beside it that contained a large mound of unidentifiable ooze whose composition I could only guess at. A lonely mattress, straight from a prison cell the way it was stained, filled the opposite corner of the room. All the furnishings, clearly sized for her, appeared intimidatingly large to me. What was most disturbing was a pile of reeking garbage bags that filled the last corner of the room. Topped with a pair of flies buzzing around angrily, its base spilled out to within inches of the mattress. My disgusting panorama was interrupted by a noxious wave of cigarette smoke reaching me. It made my head spin. I choked and coughed, nauseous and unable to breath. When the air had somewhat cleared a moment later, I drew a deep breath. All I inhaled was the putrid stench of the space. Though it wasn't exactly hot, the room was bordering on that, and the air was unpleasantly humid and warm. A trickle of sweat meandered down my face. Whatever I was wearing was definitely much thicker than necessary. Wait... I looked down at the lavender footed sleeper I was dressed in. This was NOT what I'd put on the morning I died. It was frayed but soft, and the cute design adorning the front had long faded. Somehow, whoever had redressed me for this place knew that I liked purple. I'd actually owned a similar outfit before I died, but mine had been less... cute? The similarity stopped right there as I noticed the straps that connected the butt of the sleeper, just below the end of the long zipper, to the heels of the feet. They didn't seem to serve any purpose besides preventing me from getting up onto my feet. Odder yet, my undergarments felt utterly foreign to me. I was flat-chested enough that I rarely wore a bra, so it didn't surprise me that I wasn't wearing one, but the pillow hugging my loins stuck out to me just as much as it spread my thighs apart. I poked experimentally at the thick padding, confirming that it was some sort of ultra-thick diaper — a word that still made me blush as it stirred memories of my bedwetting fiascos as a child. Thanks to the heat caused by the pillow of a diaper, my nether regions were even warmer than my other body parts, but this discomfort was nothing compared to the screaming alarm bells that my bladder was sending to my brain. Get to a toilet, now! In desperation, I cleared my dry throat and spoke for the first time since I'd died, "I eed oo you a waoom." My brain bugged at the disconnect as I heard my own words, blatantly incoherent. My hands quickly found the gag in my mouth. How on earth did I not notice this thing? I tried pulling it out and retrying my plea, and it suddenly expanded with a loud POP! My jaw felt like it was on fire as I cried out in pain! Satan swung around and I glimpsed her face for the first time. Her washed-out green eyes were partially covered by strands of her matted, unkempt, dirty blonde hair. She looked like she was about fifty-five, and the wrinkles on her face scrunched up into a frown so ugly that I shuddered. "Quiet, Christa!" She scolded in a crackling voice, turning back to whatever she was brewing. Who's Christa? I scanned the room once again quickly. There was definitely no one else here. Is Christa what they call Christians here? Does it mean— My bladder once again interrupted my thoughts with its tingling, and I tried to squeeze my legs together and press a hand between them to prolong peeing myself. The thickness of the diaper rendered both efforts futile, so I started frantically looking around for a toilet. I saw a weathered but imposingly tall door. A curtain on the opposing wall of the same giant size. The paint on the door had peeled and the curtain's designs had washed out years ago. Realizing that I had no other options since I couldn't even stand up, I whimpered as the floodgates opened and I wet myself. The Devil clearly didn't notice what had transpired, but I almost broke into tears as I pawed at the warm wetness between my legs, spreading its tendrils into the thirsty padding. I hadn't felt anything like this in years, and my memories of waking up in a cold, wet diaper as a little girl came flooding back. The pain in my jaw had dulled somewhat, but it still ached, and I rubbed it, choking back tears. In an attempt to distract myself from my distressing situation, I recalled the last moments of my life... "Mom, dad, are you guys ready to go?" I called out as I set the burglar alarm and locked the front door on my phone. "Yeah hon!" My dad shouted back from the car. I jogged over to the driver's seat, climbed in, and started the car. I put on some nice classical music, and started driving to the annual regional chess tournament. I was on-track to secure my third GM norm, which would promote me from an International Master to a Grandmaster, a title I'd spent the better half of my life trying to secure. 'GM Isabelle Green' would look perfect on my website, I noted to myself. As I drove down a winding road that hugged a rock face, I marvelled at the lake on the other side of the road. Its crystal-clear waters perfectly reflected the blue summer sky, on which a family of ducks were making a wide V-shaped wake. When I rounded a bend in the road, a large semi truck suddenly bore down on me from the opposite direction! The driver must have been either drunk or crazy, because it was driving dead-center on the two-lane road! I heard my mom shriek as I swerved quickly to the right, narrowly avoiding a deadly head-on collision. Just as I thought the incident was over, a front wheel cleared the narrow gravel shoulder and the steering wheel was wrenched from my grasp! The three of us joined into a collective scream, as the crystal-clear water loomed closer and closer. It was almost like everything was in slow motion, like I was watching an action movie. It must have been only a second or two from my driving off the edge to the impact of the water, but it felt like hours! People say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die, but my mind was totally blank as the car slid silently below the depths. The slight thud as the car hit the bottom of the lake jolted me to my senses, and I quickly looked behind me to check on my parents. They appeared to have either fainted or been knocked unconscious by the collision with the surface of the water. I undid my seatbelt, twisted around, and struggled to free them as well. Once I got their arms free from the seatbelt, I pulled out the headrest of my seat and used the pointed end to smash open my side window, knowing that the doors wouldn't open yet due to the pressure difference. Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared for the ice-cold water that gushed through the window in torrents, smacking me in the face and freezing me into a stupor. Surrounded by a frenzy of air bubbles, I let out a cry, muffled by the water pouring into my lungs, and I began to drown! *** "Pull her now!" Dr. Torelli yelled, determination and a hint of desperation evident in her voice. Not wasting a millisecond more, I hit F6 to run the extraction script and watched as the localized portal leveraged quantum entanglement to swap the girl with a proportionate amount of fluid in the transfer tank. The process had been perfected by the legendary Dr. Bremer's protégé, Wilhelm Münch. After undergoing field trials by private-sector organizations like the Procurement Agency for Childlike Littles, it was now being used by the Dimensional Rescue Group of the United Nations' Interdimensional Commission to give people from the other dimension a life after their sudden deaths. Every second that I'd had to watch the livestream of the accident was pure torture, delivered in submillimeter-pixel holographic gory from the ceiling-mounted volumetric display projector. The holographic feed, stitched together in real-time by AI, showed the girl's vitals directly on her translucent body. The data and imagery were being captured by nanobots in the other dimension using a mix of lidar, x-ray, and millimeter-wave imaging, since we were working underwater. Cameras recording in the visible wavelengths at that depth would be blurry at best. We had a strict protocol to follow, so I was forced to wait until Dr. Torelli, the team's physician, affirmed that the girl couldn't possibly survive without some sort of miracle (that we'd pull off) before executing the extraction. I breathed a sigh of relief as the tank's indicators showed that she was still alive. This was definitely not the team's first extraction. As soon as the transfer subroutine finished executing and flashed the transfer tank green, the medics breached the tank's seal. In unison and with calm and skillful preparedness, they lifted the girl onto the waiting operating table. "DNA verification successful. Subject is twenty-five-year-old Isabelle Green, caucasian, height five-four, weight one-nineteen, pulse forty. Symptoms are water inhalation and cold shock." The extraction room's AI helpfully listed. I heard a hiss as one of the medics nasally delivered the nanites that would be used to clear the Little girl's lungs of fluid via an oxygen mask. Another medic quickly diapered her, not wanting a shock from the nanites to cause any more of a mess. I loaded a standard electrolysis program I had written for the nanites, wirelessly uploading it to them. "Clear! Activating!" When the holographic vitals floating above the operating table improved, everyone in the room visibly relaxed. I knew that nanites had yet again saved a life, electrolyzing the water in Isabelle's lungs into harmless oxygen and hydrogen gas. They had first formed a thin film around her alveoli, the parts of her lungs that oxygenated her blood, and then started the electrolysis process from there so that she could breathe. I shuddered as I remembered that the other dimension still stuck tubes into the lungs, often causing irreversible damage to the trachea and bronchi. Another swarm of nanites spread throughout her bloodstream, exothermically warming up her body to prevent hypothermia and treat the cold shock she'd experienced from the icy lake. "Good work people! Let's send her to recovery." I congratulated the team as I let go of Isabelle's hand, which had gone from cold and clammy to a comfortable room temperature in the span of just 10 minutes. They'd all done their jobs well, a quick glance at Isabelle's now strong and stable vitals confirmed. Inwardly, I regretted not being able to save her parents as well, but we had limited staffing, time and resources, so we couldn't save everyone. We always prioritized the young and healthy. And the girls. I shuddered at that last one. As a Canadian Dimensional Rescue Lead, I was proud of how well Littles were treated and how equal their rights were up here in Canada, at least when compared to our bigotted southern neighbors. Little weren't granted anywhere close to equal rights in countries like the United States of Acimera. Since the headquarters of UNIC were in the US and the majority of its directors were Acimeran, I knew just why the Little-owning Bigs down south had set those criteria in our guidelines. They were more adoptable. I looked over at Isabelle being wheeled out of the room. She was very cute. Very adoptable. "Thanks Mike, you know you're the best." Dr. Torelli patted my back. I nodded. I'd basically written the book on extractions. As one of the first DRLs, I'd helped set up the program and personally programmed a lot of the tech around me as a result. When you design the system, well, you tend to know everything inside out. And be the best. "You're not so bad yourself, Doc." The rest of the team followed the medics out of the room, and I was about to go with them, but something stopped me in my tracks. I... couldn't help but feel a pang of... emotion. For Isabelle. What was it? Pity? Guilt? Love? Whatever this is, it isn't something I've felt before. I sat down at my workstation again. "Where's her destination?" I asked the room's AI on a whim. "Ollirama, Jacinto". I shuddered again. That was down in the deep south, one of the worst places that a Little could end up in. I made a note to check up on her situation in a few days, and got up to join the others in the break room. Chapter 2 — Predator and Prey Satan walked over to me. Towering over me and looking down, she introduced herself. "You will call me Mommy, if and when I let you speak. You're in my house. You're nothing but a doll to me. I don't care what you want and you don't need ANYTHING. I own you, and you will do everything I say. Nod if you understand me." "HNNNN!" I shook my head violently. "CHRISTA! What did I just say? I said you will do EVERYTHING I say. And I mean EVERYTHING. I also said nod. So NOD!!!" Confusion in my eyes, I tilted my head at the reappearance of that name. Christa. "YOUR NAME IS CHRISTA," she explained menacingly, her voice dripping with condescension. "Goddammit you Littles are so STUPID! NOD. YOUR. HEAD. Or you'll regret it!" She threatened. I sat there, bewildered. My name was Isabelle. Not Christa. Where did she— With a cry of pure fury, she yanked me into the air by my wrists and began spanking the daylights out of me! I shook in fear and pain. Even though the diaper somewhat softened the blows, her massive hand made my bones feel like they were about to crack! "YOU." smack. "WILL." smack. "DO." smack. A swat punctuated every word. I started to cry, sobs muffled by the gag in my mouth. Pacifier, I realized. "EVERYTHING." smack. "I." smack. "TELL." smack. "YOU." smack. "TO!!!" smack smack smack smack smack smack smack. By the time she was done, I was a snivelling wreck, blubbering and nodding vigorously. Anything to get it to stop. Please! She unzipped the back of my sleeper, reached down into my wet diaper, and pushed something up my rear exit! "Let that be your first lesson. Now here's another one. This is what you are." She grabbed my face in her free hand and cruelly twisted it around, forcing me to look at the pile of garbage as she zipped my sleeper back up again. "GARBAGE. What are you?" She twisted the pacifier, deflating it. Not fully, just to its state before I pulled on it. It was still uncomfortable, but at least it wasn't agonizing. I sniffled, too scared to speak. "I asked you a QUESTION, little girl! What are you?! ANSWER ME!!!" "Guhage?" I whimpered around the pacifier. "That's right. Garbage." She dragged me over to the garbage can by the sink, lifted out the overflowing bag of garbage, and dumped me in the bin! I watched in horror as she slammed the lid closed on top of me, trapping me in the pitch-black plastic prison. Ears ringing and eyes completely blind, I panicked. To make matters worse, a rumble in my bowels confirmed that the worst was yet to come. I desperately pushed both hands against my rear exit to prevent the monster in my guts from escaping, but something told me that I wouldn't be able to stop it for long. I squirmed against the rigid side wall of the bin, trying to find a more comfortable position. It felt like at least an hour, but I probably only lasted at most five minutes before I gave in to the unrelenting pressure. I gasped as warm mush oozed out into the waiting padding, forming a large mass in the seat of the diaper that pressed against my skin. I felt the need to pee again, and, given that all hope was lost, just let loose. I'd been flung beyond the point of self-preservation. I felt the diaper expanding to soak up my stream of pee, surprised at the amount that it could hold without leaking. I shifted my weight, grimacing as the mess slid around in the seat of the diaper and some of it seeped toward the front. Disgusting. My knees hurt so much from kneeling on the hard plastic grid that formed the base of the garbage can that I had no choice but to awkwardly sit down. I shuddered as I squished the mass in the process. This was unbearably awful. A single tear rolled down my cheek. I sniffed reflexively, and immediately regretted the act. The stench of the mess I'd made had stunk up the confined space, and my mouth was blocked by the pacifier! This isn't Hell, is it?? I'm some cruel person's captive, in some kind of messed up torture chamber or something. How am I even alive? Didn't I drown after driving into the lake? Where were my parents? Were they able to escape? Is that why I'm being treated so scornfully? I had a million questions. The darkness and isolation gave me time to think, yet the unforgiving stench prevented coherent thought. I rubbed my jaw, glad that at least the pain from earlier was subsiding. The mass between my legs was cooling, and my skin was starting to itch and burn at the same time. I frustratedly thumped a fist against the side of the bin, which only served to make my ears start ringing again. Real smart, Izzy. Real smart. After what must have been an eternity, the lid was finally opened, and I blinked at the sudden burst of light as I was lifted out of the garbage can by the scruff of my sleeper. I hastily drew in a deep breath of fresh air, not knowing just how much I would be getting. The room definitely wasn't a rose garden, but it was still a million times better than the horrific reek of my used diaper! "Looks like the garbage left a pwesent for Mommy!" The woman exclaimed in a patronizing tone, squishing the crotch of the diaper and patting my butt. "Since you were a bad girl earlier you're not getting a change just yet. You need to get used to sitting in your poopy diapers!" "Hnnn!!" I whined. "Do you want to go back in the bin for another hour?" She threatened, shooting menacing daggers at me. I desperately shook my head, eyes widening in fear. "I thought so." She proceeded to unceremoniously deposit me on the floor with another quick grope of the diaper. Eager to get as far away from the garbage can as possible, but still prevented from getting up by the straps on my sleeper, I crawled desperately across the room toward the mattress. Before I could climb onto it, I heard a yell from the woman. "NO! Bad girl!" I jolted and let out a stream of pee in shock, resaturating the drying sludge in my diaper. "The bed is for Mommy only! You should be thankful I let you sleep on the floor, and not in the garbage can so I don't have to smell you!" I just about threw up at even the thought of going back into that hellhole. She shoved a quart-sized baby bottle of water into my hands before twisting and removing the pacifier in my mouth. "Drink up!" Since I was getting dehydrated and my mouth was dry, I started sucking thirstily at the tepid liquid, ignoring the infantile drinkware for the moment. She stared at me as I drank, and I saw a smile so ugly I wanted to bleach my eyes when I finished the bottle. *** Three days after I rescued Isabelle, it was just after lunch on Saturday and I was working on a side project. "Remember to check on Isabelle Green," Max, my AI assistant, helpfully reminded me of the note I'd made. Furrowing my brow, I took a moment to recollect the feelings I'd had for Isabelle. I'd finally managed to put a phrase to it. Fatherly love. This was the exact same BS that the Acimerans used to enslave Littles, but it was real for me. It'd better be. "Right. Go secure and bring up everything you can find on her on Workspace 3." I couldn't risk making a mistake and having anyone track what I was about to do back to me, so I got Max to 'go secure', which meant encrypting all my internet traffic with lattice-based encryption instead of ECC, and bouncing it off 5 different random servers around the world using Tor. Both ECC and RSA had been cracked years ago with the first Shor-capable quantum computers, but people were still using them. The one issue shared by all technological advancements was that they made people more and more oblivious to shortcomings in the everyday tech they take for granted. I watched the holograms around me morph from the new nanite routine I was working on to a bevy of video feeds, a terminal, and some additional data about Isabelle that Max had collected using the backdoors and privileged access to UNIC and other systems that I'd accrued over the years. Max had spotlighted a hologram of a dilapidated shack, with two figures inside labelled "Karen" and "Isabelle". "This is her current location, eh?" I asked, reading the coordinates floating above the model. "Precisely. Karen is the adoptive mother. Records indicate that her older sister, Kate, should have adopted Isabelle instead, but her untimely death the day before your rescue triggered an automatic transfer of custody," Max explained. "Interesting. Bring up Kate's data on Workspace 4 in the background. Split 3 and 4," I commanded with a twitch of my right ring finger and a wave of my arms, sweeping the existing holograms into a 180° field of view so Kate's data would have room to be displayed behind me. I stood up to get a better view, and the holograms rose with me. I spotlighted a different vidfeed, enlarging and repositioning it to the center of my field of view. Sitting on the floor in front of a mound of garbage was unquestionably Isabelle... in a heavily soiled diaper. The dark crescents on her footed sleeper were a definite telltale that she had leaked through her padding. Her blonde hair was matted with dirt and debris. Her baby-blue eyes, crusted with dried-out tears, stared blankly at something just below the camera. A trickle of drool ran down her chin from a corner of her pacified mouth. She looked... gone. I gagged at the state of her conditions. I'm getting her out of there. No human being should ever live like that. Certainly no one ever will on my watch. "Cross reference her symptoms on the medware with those of hypnosis." "Everything except the crusty eyes match. That and her cheeks are excessively flustered, and the optical intradermal scan is reading excessive heat levels there." He helpfully offered. "She's probably been crying, I know I would be if I was in her situation," I guessed. "That explains her crusty eyes, eh? The flustered cheeks... maybe some sort of hypnosis side effect? I'm no doctor though." I sat back down and spun around to face Workspace 4. From the data I could see so far, Karen was dirt poor and had a mean streak. Kate, on the other hand, was well-off, kind and gentle. She'd successfully adopted two Littles before and even sent one to college, something so rare it was almost unheard of! No wonder UNIC had preapproved her for adoptions. Unfortunately for Isabelle, Kate had been killed in a car accident. How ironic. "Report this to Jacinto LPS. Send them her details and the supporting evidence, but make sure you wipe the metadata, sources, and any other fingerprints first," I directed. Hopefully she'll be okay. With luck, maybe even the hypnosis could be dealt with. "LPS systems acknowledge receipt of your complaint. They can only deal with it some time next week though, they've got a backlog of requests," Max reported. "What?! Probably fake complaints from jealous Bigs." LPS was a major scam, but even the few times that it actually worked made it worth keeping around. Still, the system was very much flawed. I spotlighted the terminal window. "Gimme their API endpoint," I told Max. "You're not gonna hack into LPS are you?" Max asked. "You know messing with that stuff is a federal offense, right?" "So was every bit of info you've pulled for me today," I smirked. "Copy it." I pasted in the endpoint and ran some commands. When I saw the nmap summary, I knew I'd struck gold. RRH, or Reverse Routing Header, had several zero-day vulnerabilities in it that I could easily chain with some other exploits to hack into the LPS API. Exposing that port was a rookie mistake, but apparently LPS was too focused on other things to care about security. A few minutes of Python scripting later, I had what I was looking for. I quickly logged into the admin interface and flagged Isabelle's case as ultra-high priority. That got the wait time down to 0... business days?! Isabelle would have to stay with that horrible bitch until Monday. Oh the poor girl. I decided there and then that I'd help her all the way. I tagged a specific orphanage on her file, checked over everything, and logged out of the LPS system. "Clear workspaces 3 and 4. Wipe the evidence," I instructed Max. Hang in there, Isabelle. I'm gonna save you. =========================================================== Bonus content — a funny video about suppositories and anal temp: Chapter 3 — Change of Scenery About an hour after downing the bottle of water, I was picked up by the witch and placed on her lap. I was fed dinner from there, which quickly proved to be another traumatic experience as the jarred sludge she spooned me was so disgusting that I gagged and almost choked several times. I could think of some people who wouldn’t mind eating sardine-and-spam, but I certainly wasn’t one of them. The ordeal was exacerbated by the airplane noises she made, and the only result of her waving the spoon around like I was two was my face and the front of my sleeper being desecrated by all the food that missed my mouth. Shortly after, she ate her own dinner and washed up. Having been fed what was equivalent to pig slop to me, the delicious bowl of instant noodles she had the privilege to enjoy was pure torment for me to watch and smell. When the sky outside the small window turned dark, she sprawled out on the tattered mattress. “Good night doll, don’t get bitten by the roaches!” I shivered in trepidation. From the state of the place, that wasn’t exactly this dimension’s version of “Don’t let the bed bugs bite” that they just told kids here. My dirtied face and diaper felt like prime targets, especially since the latter was now massively swollen from multiple additional wettings. I did my best to clean off my face with the sleeve of my sleeper, but I couldn’t do anything about my diaper. I groaned about that as I felt my butt complaining about the combination of the spanking I’d received earlier and the mess coating my butt. I definitely had a diaper rash from the prolonged confinement in the soiled garment, which was sure to get worse by tomorrow. I can’t believe this is happening. I had the habit of always saying a nightly prayer, so I decided that there’d be no harm in praying here, especially given my current situation. Dear God, I know I haven’t been perfect, but I don’t know what I did to deserve this hellhole. Why am I here? Where even is here? I know that you love me and that you know what you’re doing, so I won’t complain… But please, please save me from this degrading place and this sadistic woman. And please, someday, let me have another game of chess and a life beyond someone’s doll. I know you gave me this gift for a reason. Please don’t let me waste it. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me all my life. In Jesus’s name I pray, Amen. I started to cry again, frustrated at how bad my situation had turned out. In the end, I drifted off on the hard floor, curled up into a ball as best I could. The next morning I rubbed my eyes as I sat up, my body hurting all over. I’d slept surprisingly well given the circumstances, but I figured it was mainly because of how tired I was. I looked down at my diaper, which — I could tell from the dark spots on both sides of my sleeper’s crotch — had definitely leaked. I suddenly realized that I’d been unconsciously sucking on the pacifier that was still in my mouth. It was strangely comforting, but I made myself stop. I’m not a baby. I tried spitting it out, but the bulb was too inflated, and I didn’t dare tamper with it any further. I definitely didn’t want to risk the painful inflation from yesterday repeating itself. The woman was already up, and sitting on her bed reading some sort of instruction manual from a paper-thin tablet. Just then, she looked up and caught me staring at her. “Morning doll! You’re gunna make me some money today!” She exclaimed. I frowned apprehensively at that, not quite sure what to expect. Whatever it was, it can’t be good for me. She deflated my pacifier with a twist, took it out, and handed me a large baby bottle of water. After I thirstily guzzled it, she reinserted the pacifier and inflated it with another twist. She then unboxed and set up a futuristic-looking semi-transparent screen on a stand about a meter in front of me. After pausing briefly to look at the manual again, she powered the device on and it beeped three times in rapid succession. A really bright light from the screen flashed, dazzling my eyes. A split second later, I saw some swirling colors on the tablet-like device, and a calming voice telling me something about using my diapers like a good girl. The next thing I knew, my mind went totally blank! When I emerged from a complete stupor, she was turning off the screen, and I was pushing last night’s mush into the back of my already full diaper! I frantically tried to stop it, but it seemed like my sphincter and related muscles were locked in the ‘open’ position. Not only did trying to clamp down hurt A LOT, I couldn’t dam the flow no matter what I did! “Good girl, using your diaper like you’re meant to!” The bitch cooed. “I think I might just change you earlier than I planned to, just so I won’t have as hard of a time washing your sleeper!” After making me sit in my mess for another half hour, she finally removed my sleeper and laid me down, buck-naked except for the diaper. She manhandled me as easily as one would a toddler, lifting both my legs with one hand just like I’d done when I’d babysat years ago. The relief of having the soiled and sodden diaper taken off me overcame any modesty I had, so I didn’t bother to try and cover anything up. She used the front of the diaper, which wasn’t much cleaner than the back, to wipe the worst of the mess off my butt. I was then dragged outside for the first time. As I walked, I could feel bits of runny poop that weren’t wiped off sliding down my legs. I need a shower to not feel disgusting at this point. Once my eyes had adjusted for the bright sunlight that starkly contrasted the dim room I’d gotten used to, I took in the vast landscape around me. Dense, yellowed, prairie grassland stretched unbroken in every direction for as far as I could see. Singular, stubby trees and small shrubs dotted the landscape here and there, and some cattle roamed in the distance. Besides that herd, this place looks like it’s devoid of humanity! I yelped from behind the pacifier as a jet of lukewarm water blasted my butt. The woman blasted my butt thoroughly, then moved on to my back and legs, as if I was a farm animal. When she spun me around to face her, I appreciated for the first time just how tall the shack she lived in was. A monster-truck-sized pickup truck was parked beside it, and both were at least twice the height of what they were supposed to be. I wonder how she got all this stuff in her size… When the woman finished hosing me down, she dried me off with a towel. I tried to protest that I could dry and dress myself to stop the uncomfortably intimate touching. She either didn’t understand me with the pacifier in the way or just didn’t care, so I gave up and stood there as she dressed me. My new outfit consisted of a puke-green sundress. Perhaps it was once a more pleasant color, but its current appearance just reminded me of vomit. I was just starting to feel self-conscious about not wearing any underwear underneath the dress, something I never did, when she dragged me back into the shack and laid me on the floor. She put some cream on my butt, which soothed the discomfort from my rash, followed by another massive diaper. Why are these diapers so huge?? As if ironically reading my mind, she jeered, “You’re only getting one change a day, at least for now. I’m not spending a single cent more on you than I have to!” Her voice boomed out in a pure cackle, in a manner only possible if she were a witch. This woman is deranged. Get me outta here! As a few more days passed, I lost track of time. The boredom was really getting to me, since there was nothing for me to do except sit around most of the time. I found myself sucking on the pacifier that was locked in my mouth more often than not, if not just for something to do. I also mentally studied some chess positions, but there’s only so much you can do in your head. My diapers were almost constantly filled with my bodily waste, and the bitch kept her word, changing me just once a day. I was grateful that at least she used the cream during each change, so my diaper rash hadn’t worsened. I began noticing that I had less and less control over my bladder and bowel functions each day, to the point where I now had very little warning before I went. I was truly using my diapers for their intended purposes, thanks to the hypnosis videos that the woman forced me to watch for God knew how long each morning. The second time that she’d turned on the screen, I’d tried to close my eyes and turn away, but she’d pinned my arms to my sides and kept my face pointed at the screen with her massive hands, preventing me from looking anywhere else. The bright flash had somehow worked even with my eyes closed, so I’d been utterly helpless. By the time she’d let go of me, the video had already turned me into a passive zombie, staring at the screen in a blissful stupor. One morning, I woke up to the door of the shack being flung open! “LPS! Hands on your head!” A gigantic officer, a full head taller than the bitch, screamed at her. Pistol trained on her, she swooped in swiftly, like an eagle hunting its prey. What was going on? Who were these other giants?? There were other giants here??? Another officer, slightly shorter than the first but still impossibly tall, grabbed me off the floor. I instinctively tensed up, unused to being picked up and held so far off the ground. “Dave to dispatch, Little secured, DNA scan verifies she is Isabelle Green,” he spoke calmly into an earpiece. “Karen Elizabeth Kemp, you are under arrest for child abuse under Section 1709 of Title 44 of the US Code. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. If you understand me, nod,” the female officer Mirandized. “You can’t ar—”, the witch started to say something. “NOD!!! YOU UNDERSTOOD WHAT I SAID PERFECTLY!!” The officer screamed at her, “HOW DARE YOU ABUSE SUCH A SWEET LITTLE GIRL LIKE THAT?!” I couldn’t help but grin at the irony of the turn of events, and I silently thanked God for answering my nightly prayers. “Are you mentally intact?” The officer holding me — Dave — asked. I nodded. “Mothly, I think?” I lisped around the pacifier. “Good, we’ll need to interview you when we get to the station. In the meantime, your diaper is leaking! We need to get you changed first.” He rummaged around the storage area behind the curtain for a spare diaper, and emerged triumphantly holding one. The female officer found a pack of wipes from their truck outside, and handed them to Dave, who laid me down, and untaped my soiled diaper. I blushed as he wiped me down, not used to a strange new pair of hands dancing all over my crotch area. I was also quite apprehensive, with his being a man and all. Thankfully, he was very professional apart from a little cooing, which turned into a grimace when he saw the rash on my butt. His colleague got some sort of ointment and spread it over the entire red area, explaining that it would quickly heal my rash, provided I wasn’t kept in messy diapers for extended periods of time again. Dave then taped the fresh diaper on me and found a clean dress for me to wear. The officers brought us out to waiting vehicles, and I blushed as Dave sat me in a toddler’s car seat and strapped me in. “It’s for your own safety, and it’s the law.” I nodded, still confused as to where exactly this place was. There were laws here…? During our drive to the police station, the witch screamed profanities at the officers until they grew tired of it. At that point, the biggest pacifier I’d ever seen was locked into her mouth. I giggled at the further irony and her discomfort. She deserved ten times worse. When we arrived at the LPS office, Dave released me from the car seat and picked me up again, holding me close to his chest. I’d played with the buckle a bit, but hadn’t been able to get it open. That made sense, given that the giants were clearly much stronger than my puny self. I gawped at the size of everything as we walked inside. More giants were bustling about, and it soon dawned on me that everyone in this place was a giant. I was carried over to a room full of medical equipment, and Karen was led away separately. Good riddance, bitch. Dave set me down on a scale, and a nurse weighed and measured me. I’d apparently shrunk quite a bit when I died, and I stood at a measly 5’4 compared to the 5’10 listed on my Drivers’ License. I’d also gotten just a bit lighter, coming in at 119 pounds. Or maybe they measured length differently in this place? I tensed as I was picked up again, still unused to being lifted into the air. Once I saw that it was Dave, I relaxed quite a bit. He’d been gentle enough so far, and I could see no reason for that to change. We walked down several hallways and up a flight of stairs, and I was glad that I was being carried for once. The stairs were massive! Finally, we reached a room with “Interview - Little” on the door that was more regular-sized. Large stuffed animals, toys, and cushions covered the small room’s floor in huge piles. Some of the bigger stuffed animals were almost twice my size! I didn’t see a particular spot to sit down anywhere, so when Dave set me down on the ground standing up, I plopped down on the lap of a massive stuffed bear and made myself comfortable. I was stroking its paw and looking around the room more when a smaller, Asian giant walked in and sat down on a bean bag chair. She was still about 3 feet taller than me, but at least she didn’t look like she could eat me for dessert! But that perception changed, and I recoiled, when I saw that she was holding a transparent tablet similar to the one that had been used to hypnotize me! Chapter 4 — Truth Can Hurt “Hi Isabelle, I’m Linda. We’re arranging a safe place for you to live. I promise it’ll be a million times better than Miss Kemp’s place!” She saw my eyes darting to her tablet, and I could tell she sensed my fear. She reassured me, “Don’t worry sweetie, this is just a regular tablet that I carry around. It won’t do anything to you, I promise!” I relaxed by a miniscule amount, not quite ready to trust her just yet. “I’m going to ask you a few quick questions, which will hopefully help us put her in jail for a long time. Are you ready to be a good little helper and answer some questions?” I pointed nervously at the pacifier in my mouth that had been my companion for the past few days. She smiled and quickly deflated and removed it, biting her lower lip as she did so. I ran my tongue over my teeth, happy to have the restricting pacifier out of my mouth. “You looked so cute sucking on it, it’s a shame that we have to take it out. I’ll give it right back to you as soon as we’re done, but we do need to hear your testimony.” She cooed. “Do you know what that big word means? Test-i-mon-y?” I bit my own lip to stop myself from rolling my eyes at her. Instead, I answered with a more civilized but curt, “Yes.” “My goodness, you’re not just a cute face! Now, if you could tell me eeeverything that happened while you were under Miss Kemp’s care for the record, it would help our case significantly. Whenever you’re ready.” I sighed, disinclined to go over everything again in my mind. “Umm don’t you need to start recording or something?” I hadn’t seen her do anything like that yet. “Oh my, what a big girl! The room’s wired up for sound, sweetie, everything you say will be recorded.” Over the course of the next hour, I told her, to the best of my ability, everything that had transpired in the past few days in graphic detail. When I finished giving my statement, Linda sighed and commented, “That sounds terrible, I’m sorry you went through that sweetie.” I nodded in agreement. “Though you can rest assured that we’ll put her away for a long time. I’ve got plenty of evidence now. It’s all very strong. The physical stuff we found at the scene along with some video footage an anonymous tipper sent us fully corroborates your testimony.” She said almost to herself. “Do you want anything before we transfer you? A baba maybe?” I scowled at her suggestion. Did she think I was retarded or something? “Something to drink and an explanation of what this place is and how I got here when I died, please? And why I’m dressed and being treated like I’m two?” “Sure thing honeybun. Here’s some apple juice for you; drink up while I explain everything to you,” Linda said as she brought me a giant sippy cup of it from a fridge sunk into a wall. I gave her a pointed look for her term of endearment, but started drinking. I was thirsty enough to not care about the drinkware, having had nothing all morning. The sippyness of the cup still begged the question of why I was being treated like a toddler though, and I stared at Linda expectantly. “Let’s start with your first question. The reason you didn’t die was because the United Nations beamed you here just before you were going to,” she explained. “We didn’t want you to die at such a young age, so when you were helplessly drowning to a certain death they used some very advanced technology to bring you here. Miss Kemp was then supposed to take care of you, but she didn’t do that very well, now did she? We got an anonymous tip and now you’re here.” “Where is here?” “Here is the Jacinto headquarters of the Little Protective Services. We investigate when Littles like you are abused, and save you.” “No, no. I meant what is this world? This…” Dimension. No. How could that have been possible? “A dimension quite similar to yours, but with some differences too,” she confirmed. “Have you heard of the portals and dimensions?” I gasped and peed in fright. I’d assumed that I wasn’t in the other dimension — well, this one — before since I hadn’t seen any other people, and I didn’t think they’d be able to instantly create a localized portal at the bottom of a lake. Just how advanced was their technology? “The dark-web rumors are true then? The tabloids weren’t making it up??” I’d heard a whole bunch of rumors about what netizens called the Diaper Dimension, where regular-sized adults were treated as babies by giant Amazons. Their tech was supposedly more than a decade ahead of ours, and their history remarkably similar yet with subtle changes. For instance, their United States were those of Acirema, instead of America. “What rumors?” Linda retorted with a rather blatant mock innocence. I brushed past her question. “Please just send me home,” I pleaded. “I’ve cooperated with you to the best of my ability, haven’t I?” “You have, but I can’t do that.” She asserted matter-of-factly. “Why not?” I whined, getting nervous again. “Why can’t I go home?” “Because you’re a Little in a big world. You’re going somewhere where you’ll be taken care of properly instead.” She condescended. My anger flared up. “What?! How can you let people be treated like this?!” I couldn’t reign in my rage anymore. She tilted her head at me and tsk-tsked. “How is this not a human rights viol—?!” She sighed and popped the pacifier back into my mouth, twisting it a half-turn before I could spit it out. It inflated painfully and I screamed! “Huck ooo!!!” Seeing nothing but red, I threw the now-empty sippy cup and a nearby stuffed animal — a red panda — at her and pounded my fists on the bear I was sitting on in frustration. Tears began to stream down my face as I heard the door to the room open and felt myself getting picked up from behind again. I didn’t know who it was and I didn’t care. I just wanted this stupid nightmare to end. My only response was a deep moan of despair. This was the worst day ever. I was carried over to another room and set down in a highchair. Straps were tightened over my waist, head and legs. The tray was fitted over my arms, rendering me completely immobile. I had burnt up all my energy in my outburst, so I sat motionlessly as my pacifier was removed, too tired to care. Having eaten nothing but gruel at Karen’s place, I was thankful for the more normal continental breakfast that I was fed. Even when it was mutilated and spooned to me. Even when I rolled my eyes at the silly airplane and train noises and gestures. My brain will turn into freaking mush if this is kept up. Halfway through breakfast, I turned red as I grunted and pooped with less than two seconds of warning. I wonder if I’ll ever regain control? Thankfully, the feeding stopped to let me finish. “You won’t leak just yet, but I’ll change you as soon as we finish brunch!” I heard after the crotch of my diaper was squeezed by a large hand. When I finished the last bite of hash brown, the straps were undone and I was picked up. I was praised for being a “good girl” through breakfast and carried, eyes and nose red, over to a nearby changing table. I was laid down on it with a strap pulled across my stomach, securing me to the table. A strangely calming nursery rhyme that I’d never heard of was sung to me while my soiled diaper was removed and thrown out. And I was wiped down. And a new diaper was taped on me. Then I was “all clean”, tickled, made to giggle involuntarily, and given a different pacifier to suck on. There was something different about this pacifier, yet I couldn’t put my finger on it. I figured it out a moment later. It didn’t have a locking mechanism. I sucked on it, having grown fond of the comforting motion. Maybe it’ll calm me down. A short walk later, I was set down in a mesh-walled enclosure with a firm foam padding for the base. A playpen. Seriously? I looked around in a full circle and spotted the giant bear I was sitting on earlier directly behind me. I walked over and collapsed onto its lap. So soft. So comfy. So... sleepy… I decided that there was nothing to lose after everything that happened. I passed out cuddling the big bear’s paw. I woke up to the sound of a car door shutting. I yawned, rubbed my eyes with my fists, and blinked, then jolted when I realized I wasn’t where I fell asleep. Instead, I was back in the car seat that brought me to the police station earlier. Dave was driving, and there was no one else in the car. Since he’d been rather nice compared to the other giants, and I’d lost the pacifier, I asked him where we were going. “To an orphanage ‘bout a 10-mile drive away. It’s not the usual one we take our charges to, there was a note on your file. You’ll still be safe, lass. And I’m sorry that Karen was a terrible person.” “Why an orphanage? Can’t you just take me home?” I begged. “I’m sorry lass, I can’t do that without losing my job and probably getting charged with neglect too. Even if I could, there’s no way they’re letting you go back. You’ve got no documentation proving you were from there, and they don’t just let random Littles through the portals.” He looked at me empathetically through the rear-view mirror. “What about through a localized portal like the one that brought me here?” “As far as I know that’s a one-way thing. I remember something about there being no transfer tank in your dimension, or something along those lines. The exact details are beyond my understanding.” I desperately wanted him to be lying, but the psych minor I’d done in university told me he probably wasn’t. There was simply no gain for him in doing it, and he didn’t seem like a sadist either. I sighed. I spent the remainder of the drive staring out the window at the prairie landscape on either side of the highway. Occasionally we passed digital billboards that displayed all sorts of strange brands I’d never heard of before. One of them, Melon Corp, was advertising its latest laptop as we drove past it in a blur. I was startled by the sound of a woman whispering in my ear. “One century since we made our first computer, we now offer the MelOne. One exaflop of raw power. One exabyte of PCIE-7 storage. One hundred terabytes of RAM. Preorder online or at any Melon Corp certified retailer.” My mouth fell open in shock. This was insane! We had just worked out how to mass-produce nanosheet technology after years of setbacks. The amount of processing power they had on just one chip was incredible! Wait a minute, how did they deliver that ad? Dave saw my agape mouth and explained, “The voice you heard was from the billboard. It’s a new micrometer-wave technique for subcranial audio injection called inSAIn. Congress is having a tough time with it, because nobody knows what the long-term effects are and the ethics of it are muddied by the trillions that the corporations involved put in. Most billboards at least have a legal age setting on, so Little and child brains don’t just get scrambled by the ads, but I guess that one didn’t.” Soon, we took an exit off the highway. A short local drive later, we pulled into the parking lot of an orphanage with a big sign advertising its name, “Little Hearts”. I watched as Dave got out and spoke with the receptionist inside. A minute later, he returned and looked at me oddly when he reached over to unbuckle my seat straps and found them undone. I’d finally figured out how to undo the buckle over the long drive. It was a complicated depress-twist-slide sequence that required the use of both of my hands. The mechanism had clearly been designed with great effort to be ‘Little’-proof. Dave picked me up, closed the car door, and carried me over to the reception. When he bent down to set me down, I held on tightly to him and whined, not wanting to leave the nicest person I’d seen in this dimension so far for an orphanage. He sighed and picked me up again, bouncing me lightly once. I yelped softly at the momentary weightlessness. He brought me to his eye level and coaxed calmly. “Look lass, you’ve gotta go. There’s nothing I could’ve done for you and there’s nothing I can do for you now. Believe me, if there was something I could’ve done I’d’ve done it a long time ago. The only thing I can offer you is some advice: do your best to act as babyish as you can. It will one hundred percent make your life more tolerable.” I nodded. That wasn’t surprising, given the amount of weirdness in this dimension. He kissed my forehead gently, before passing me over to the receptionist, who brought me inside immediately. I was just starting to feel sad about Dave leaving, when the receptionist — her badge said Claire — carried me over to an alcove beside a strange glass enclosure. There, she removed the sleeper I’d gone to sleep in last night, and opened a panel on the contraption. She had me climb in and stand barefooted and gently placed my hands flush against opposite glass walls of the contraption. Ordering me to stay still, she closed the panel again. A second later, I was blinded by a familiar flash of bright white light from all four glass panels, and I peed myself instinctively! Chapter 5 — Life Is Like a Game of Chess The swirling colors that I dreaded but fully expected never came. Instead, Claire removed me from the device after glancing at something on her semi-transparent monitor. As she ruffled my hair and smiled at me, I saw the piercingly-high definition 3D-scan of my body that she had open on her screen. Enlarged images of my hand- and foot-prints and my irises floated in front of the main model. So that was what the bright light was. An iris scan. “Oh dear, you’re about to leak! Let’s get you changed.” She gingerly carried me naked but for my sagging diaper over to a changing table in the adjacent room, not bothering with my sleeper. She removed the wet diaper, wiped me down, and taped a fresh one on me. It was bright pink and adorned with white unicorns, and I frowned at how silly it made me look. Pink is NOT my color. Seeing my long face, she tickled me, causing me to smile and giggle involuntarily. Before I could regain my composure, she had me sitting up with my legs dangling over the edge of the changing table. A bright summer dress was pulled over my head, turning my vision into a sea of pastel yellow for a moment. When my head popped out the top, Claire swept my hair back with a matching yellow hairband, which came topped with a baby-blue bow. She stood me on the ground, gave me a pacifier that matched my outfit’s color scheme, and led me over to an adjacent mirror. When I saw her, I gasped at how cute the innocent, foreign toddler staring back at me looked. I hated being relegated to a toddler, but I was starting to not mind the adorable clothes so much. If only the stupid unicorn diaper didn’t peak out from under my dress. I tugged the hem down with both hands, but it rode back up the second I did anything other than stand perfectly still. “Well aren’t you cute!” She asked, beaming at my reflection. I couldn’t help but smile and nod. She led me to the main room of the orphanage, which was almost three-quarters the size of a soccer field, and patted my butt, motioning for me to join the other fifty or so people running around boisterously. There was a mix of teenage and adult Littles alongside Amazon toddlers. I didn’t want to just start running laps, but I didn’t exactly want to sit around in the middle of the room where I could get trampled over either. Just as I was trying to decide on what to do, an Amazon toddler bumped into me. He couldn’t have been older than three or four, but he was a good head taller than me, and stockier too! Without any warning, I found myself bent over his knee!! “Bad baby watch where goin!” He yelled at me, spit flying everywhere as he fervently rained down smacks. Even with a diaper on to cushion the blows, the rascal put unbelievable power into the spanking, and my butt soon felt like it was on fire! I was starting to break into tears when a nanny came over and pulled a kicking and screaming me off him. “James, we don’t hit people.” She chided him, steadying me on my feet. The toddler nodded and ran back to join whatever game he was playing before the ordeal. I could hardly believe it! I was about to protest the fact that the scoundrel had gotten off without even an apology, but the nanny, having given me the cursoriest of examinations, was already walking away. I didn’t want to put on any more of a show for the dozen pairs of eyes now on me, so I just sniffled, straightened out my dress, and sulked away. So this was the social hierarchy here. Littles at the bottom of the ladder. No, not even on it really. I spotted a group of Littles lying prone on the ground in a far corner of the massive room. Some of them had feet swinging in the air, and they all looked pretty intently focused on whatever was in front of them. I trudged my way along the edges of the room to see what they were up to. Halfway there, I stopped to pee and rub my sore behind. When I got closer, I saw their hands dancing over the pages of newspaper-sized coloring books. Giant crayons in fists, they definitely looked focused on what they were doing, but it seemed like none of them were staying within the lines. I was confused about this for a moment, before I remembered Dave’s advice and understood what was at play. Act babyish. Well, the spanking delivered by a toddler certainly helped to that end! I sat down beside them and yelped as my butt touched the carpet. Flipping over onto my stomach, I gingerly rubbed my rear end. The little rascal’s blows had really hurt! A Little that looked like he was in his thirties gave me a sympathetic look and put a spare coloring book and a red crayon in front of me. “Best to stay away from the Big children,” he warned. I nodded and smiled weakly, before turning my attention to the items in front of me. The oversized crayon reminded me of a giant Crayola I’d once seen a GM comically using at a tournament to record moves on his score sheet. At that time, I never thought I’d see another one being used, much less use one myself to color. Oh how things have changed. I shook my head at the absurdity of my situation and absent-mindedly flipped through the ten pages of the booklet. Each side had an outline of a different marine animal to color. I copied the others and randomly scribbled on the first page, essentially ignoring the printed black lines that outlined a seahorse. Halfway through the page, I sensed a pair of eyes boring into my back. “Nice to see a smart new face,” a young man about my age, dressed in a playsuit just as colorful as my dress, acknowledged quietly. “Isabelle, but everyone calls me Izzy.” I held out my hand and he grasped it in a quick but firm handshake. “Mark. Don’t look around and don’t stop coloring, or you’ll provoke one of the nannies into investigating,” he warned. I nodded and got back to it. “Why do you say I’m smart? I literally just got spanked by a toddler.” “I saw. That was just bad luck, not stupidity. I can tell you’re smart because you know to only make abstract art. So, what brought you here?” I looked at him for a moment to gauge just how much I should say before answering. “Well… you probably won’t believe this, but I was driving down a mountain road when a semi came head-on at me. I swerved and drove off a cliff into a lake. The UN sisterly beamed me to this dimension, because next thing I know I’m stuck as some woman’s doll. Good thing some agency called LPS put a stop to that, and now I’m here.” “So you’re a humanitarian portal Little.” “Uhh… sure? You could call it that. What about yourself?” “Parents got adopted and my job didn’t pay enough… I ended up not being able to afford rent, and I got picked up and delivered here the day after my eviction,” he recounted sadly. “Your parents were adopted?” He gave me an ‘Are you a Martian?’ look and explained, “I think Littles might be safer up north, but ’round these parts a Big can just grab you off the street and adopt you. It’s like kidnapping, except it’s legal and you can’t do squat about it.” “Yikes. I’m sorry about your parents.” I thought back to mine. They were probably still at the bottom of the lake. Burial at sea. “At least they’re not dead though,” I added half-jokingly. “Aye, but they might just wish they were,” he mused. “You any good at chess? I ask every new arrival, but so far nobody knows how to play. Not exactly the most popular game among Littles.” “Ooh I play quite often. It’s really popular back in my dimension.” “Shall we have a game then?” “Sure, you have a chess set around here?” I asked, looking around. Mark laughed. “No. Have you ever played blindfold chess?” “Sometimes. I did a sans-voir simul once when I was in college, for charity. I’m assuming you use the same terminology as we do?” “Guess we’ll find out. You can go first.” I nodded. “E4.” “E5,” he countered. “Knight F3.” “Knight to C6.” “Bishop B5.” “The Segura,” Mark remarked. “The what?” I’d never heard of that word. “The name of this opening. We call it the Segura, after the 16th-century Spanish priest?” “Ohh, we call it the Ruy Lopez. And I have no idea who Lopez was. Might be the same guy?” “Might be,” he echoed. “Knight F6.” “Berlin defense. What’s your name for it?” I asked, starting a mental dictionary. “Um, we don’t have one.” He stopped coloring for a moment to look at me. “You don’t have names for variations of openings? We have whole wiki pages on these!” I felt the briefest of urges before I wet my diaper. “Nope. It’s never been that popular of a game, so naturally it’s not studied as much as more mainstream games like Go.” “Wow. Bishop takes on c6.” “b takes c6.” “d4.” “c5.” “You blundered.” I smirked as I ‘finished’ the seahorse and started murdering the dolphin on the next page. “How?” Mark asked quizzically. “d takes e5.” “Knight takes e4.” “Queen d5.” “You weren’t kidding! You’ve gotta be one of the best players I’ve ever faced, and I’ve played thousands of games. You’re incredible!” He looked at me in awe. “Knight takes on f2, which piece are you gonna take?” “Knight g5. Both. Or you can give up your queen.” I smirked. “My… God. I resign. You’re too good.” “Good game!” I smiled. “I’ll give you rook odds if you wanna play another?” “Sure, although something tells me you’ll still beat me. What’s your rating? I’ve won against players rated over two thousand!” “My elo is twenty-five oh one. I was supposed to get my third and final GM norm.” “You’re a Master? Daaamn.” Mark quickly bit his lip and looked around nervously, and only relaxed when he confirmed his slip-up went unnoticed. We played another two games, both of which I won easily, even with rook odds. Mark then called it a day, claiming he was tired of thinking, although I suspected that he was actually tired of losing. I was starting to feel physical exhaustion creep in though, so I didn’t object. As an afterthought, I wanted to confirm something with Mark. “This dimension also has twenty-four hours in a day, right?” He gave me the ‘Martian?’ look again. “There’s thirty-two hours in a day here. Were there only twenty-four in your dimension?” “Yeah, no wonder I’m feeling so tired. What about the other units? You have sixty minutes in an hour?” “Yep.” “Sixty seconds in a minute?” “Yep.” “A thousand milliseconds in a second?” He laughed. “I dunno. Probably? You also have seven days in a week and fifty-two weeks in a year, right?” I nodded as a nanny came over and handed out bottles of juice from a tray. I thanked her politely when I got mine. No need to make enemies with the only ‘adults’ here. After another hour or so of coloring, the nannies began herding all the Littles into the adjacent dining hall. It turned out that this place was both an orphanage and a daycare, and almost all the Amazon kids had been picked up by then. On my way into the dining hall, a nanny grabbed me for a diaper check, making me blush. Probably never getting used to that. Seeing that it was wet, she grabbed me and changed it, and several others received the same service. I sat across from Mark on a picnic table sized for us for dinner. The meal consisted of some mashed potatoes, peas and jumbo chicken nuggets shaped like little animals, all served on a plastic plate. The potatoes were bland and the nuggets were soggy, but the food still tasted ten times better than the goop Karen fed me. The peas in this dimension were the size of small hazelnuts! Luckily for me, I loved peas, so I devoured everything on my plate. Unfortunately for her, the Little beside me seemed to have lost her appetite, and she pushed her peas around on her plate without eating anything. A nanny quickly spotted her dawdling, and honed in like a falcon on its prey. She yanked the Little out of her seat, flipped her dress up, and started spanking the living daylights out of her! After about thirty smacks, the sobbing girl was taken to a highchair nearby and straps were pulled across her forehead, chest, waist and legs, rendering her totally immobile. Her wails were silenced by a nanny feeding her a jar of what looked like the peas she was playing with, mashed up. I felt so bad for the poor girl, but it wasn’t like I could do anything for her. I looked at Mark, who wore the same grim expression on his face as I did. After dinner, everyone took turns being showered by the nannies, an experience that turned my face into a tomato again. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to other people seeing me naked. We were soon dressed in footed pajamas and thick nighttime diapers for bed. Giant cribs were unfolded in the main room by the nannies, who then laid mattresses on top of them. I was tucked in with a kiss and a bottle of milk, which I took a tentative suck at. It tasted like a vanilla milkshake, and was definitely the best-tasting drink I’d ever had! The soft mattress that cushioned me was a fluffy cloud compared to the unyielding floor that I had slept on in the days before. I said a quick prayer of gratitude, and soon after, thanks to the strange milk and the comfy mattress, I was out like a light! As a bevy of thirty-two-hour days passed by, I settled into a routine that consisted, for the most part, of eating, sleeping, playing, and avoiding the Amazon toddlers. It felt like I was thrown back into a second childhood, and I was somewhat grateful for the opportunity for a bit of R&R. My busy life juggling my chess and programming careers didn’t give me much time to just waste away, something I was essentially forced to do here each day. Mark had gradually introduced me to the other Littles who had been coloring when I’d arrived, and they seemed like a nice bunch. Other than the boredom and lack of freedom to go places, I was pretty happy, since I had food, friends, and a bed — well, crib. Even though I was babied all the time, I wasn’t being abused. I might have even secretly liked that a bit, not that I would admit it! All things considered, the orphanage was a million times better than Karen’s shack. My mental chess games with Mark were icing on the cake, and I gradually taught him some more advanced chess theory while we colored each day. He was a fast learner, and improved quickly. I was still able to consistently beat him though. One time, as I checkmated him after a windmill attack, he looked at me and tilted his head. “You know, life is a lot like a game of chess,” he mused. “You plan things, but they don’t go your way. You get pulled into a series of forced moves, and there’s nothing you can do but to go along with it until you get a chance to counterattack or you lose.” “Yeah, that sounds about right. Maybe one day I’ll get a chance to counterattack and change the system. Win the game.” I longed. “You know what Izzy? I hope you do. You’re smart, talented, and kind. There’s nobody better to change the world.” Every night, I prayed for another shot at living an actual life. You gave me so many talents for a reason. Please don’t let me waste away, God. Give me a chance. =========================================================== Bonus content — Izzy vs Mark chess game: https://lichess.org/study/YfxwmWUR Giant Crayola: https://shop.crayola.com/color-and-draw/giant-crayola-crayon-choose-your-color-52MEGA.html Chapter 6 — Extraction My prayers were finally answered around two weeks after I’d arrived at the orphanage. A loud bang came from the reception area, prompting the four nannies on duty to investigate. The Amazon kids didn’t seem to care though, and they continued running around. Most of the Littles didn’t notice either, with the exception of the few of us coloring. Suddenly, a vent cover in the wall beside me swung open and a Little dressed head-to-toe in a futuristic-looking black combat suit emerged from the ventilation shaft. A spool mechanism built into the suit attached to a black wire, which was pulled taut and disappeared into the shadows above. He scanned the room for a moment before spotting me and glancing down at a screen wrapped halfway around his forearm. “Isabelle Green?” I looked up from my prone coloring position and answered, “Hi?” He scanned my irises with a device in the wrist of his suit, which beeped and flashed green. “I’m going to offer you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” he told me in a quiet but assertive voice while looking directly at me. “If you want, I can get you out of here. The staff won’t be affected by my distraction for too long, so you have thirty seconds to decide.” I inhaled sharply at the suddenness of his proposal. “Who are you? Why me out of everyone here?” “Don’t have the time to explain. Twenty seconds.” I looked at my friends for support. They were all nodding for me to go, even as several eyes sparkled with envy. “Your move, Izzy,” Mark said determinedly. “I think you should go. Go win the game. You can’t do that from here.” I nodded and gave him a quick hug goodbye. “I’ll miss you. And I’ll do everything I can to get you out too.” I stepped back and looked at everyone, “All of you.” I wiped a tear from my eye and exchanged hurried farewells with the few people that I could consider friends in this dimension. I felt guilt and sadness for leaving them, yet a rekindled hope about my future surged in my chest. I raised my hand to the group in a solemn salute, before nodding to my rescuer and stepping into the shaft. He shut the vent cover, and I watched through its slits as the others went back to coloring. I trusted them enough to be certain that no one would give us away. Maybe the nannies wouldn’t even notice that I was gone. There were almost sixty residents, and I’d done my best to keep to the shadows after the trauma I’d witnessed my first night there. “Get a good grip on me. It’s a long way up and you do not want to fall. I’d put a harness on you but we’ve got to move.” I nodded and clung tightly to him. He pressed a button on his harness and we rose into the ventilation system. On my way up, I couldn’t help but think back to my question. Why me? Was there someone looking out for me? *** “Clear workspaces 3 and 4. Wipe the evidence,” I instructed Max. It was the Saturday after I’d rescued Isabelle, and I’d just arranged for her to be sent to Little Hearts, one of the safest orphanages for Littles in Jacinto. In less than two seconds, all traces of my tampering with the LPS systems had been erased. “Shall I turn off secure mode?” Max asked helpfully. It’d taken me more than a month to customize Max from the latest open-source homeAI release. I’d written almost a hundred thousand lines of code and config files — with the help of an AI programmer — to do it, and the end result was spectacular. After testing everything, I hosted it on my own servers in my basement. It was much more sentient and intelligent than the open-source version, and it was perfectly tuned to my liking and needs. I’d named it Max, after the protagonist’s AI in Ready Player One, a novel from the other dimension that I had read in my teenage years. “Not yet. She’s safe, but not free. I want to set her free.” “What are you gonna do?” Max asked, confused. I’d never programmed complicated feelings like freedom into him. I didn’t think he’d need it. He knew what freedom was, of course, but he couldn’t feel it like he could the more basic emotions: happiness, sadness, fear. Someday I need to add more abstract feelings. Then I can file a massive pull-request to the homeAI project. I thought about the actions I planned on taking next. Is it worth all this risk, just for one Little? There’s millions of them. If I were asked this question on a game show, or if there was no risk to me, then I would immediately answer affirmatively. Unfortunately, this was real life, not a hypothetical. Actions had consequences here. I thought about it for a few minutes and took a sip of my coffee. I waited until I was absolutely sure before finally deciding. Yes. It IS worth it. They’re human beings. They deserve love and respect. They’re people. They deserve to be free. Sure there were risks to me if I were to do this, but those were negligible compared to a lifetime of forced babyhood that Littles are subject to. Every single one of them is worth the risk. With Isabelle specifically, I hoped that what I planned on doing would make up for all the trauma she’d been through. I sighed and answered Max, “You know how we just hacked the Empire? Now we’re gonna hack the Alliance.” I’d seen a few Star Wars movies from the other dimension and used some of it to train Max’s neural model. He finally connected the dots. “Well, the Railroad should be a piece of cake compared to LPS, eh?” Good boy. “Once we find them, yes. The decentralization will be a nightmare to deal with though.” The Little Railroad was an underground movement that freed Littles across the continental United States. They worked in regional cells smuggling Littles north to Canada or east to the Little Islands, where Littles were safe from adoption and free to live their lives. The situation in Canada was much better than the US, with adoption being illegal and equal rights for people of all heights. There were still some Little-specific laws, mostly concerning driving and other activities that might be dangerous for anyone short, but they were all for safety reasons. However, the one thing that Littles did have to worry about was Little hunters from the US that prowled the cities near the border. Given that two-thirds of the Canadian population lived within a hundred kilometers of the US border, that meant that Littles were in real danger of being kidnapped and smuggled across the border. The Little Railroad couldn’t really prevent this from happening, but they did try to rescue as many Littles as they could out of the US. Since their operations were so decentralized, there was no head of the Railroad that I could target. I had to change tactics and perform a breadth-first search instead. I spun up a quick script to scrape Mastodon, the predominant metaverse and social media platform in the dimension, for a list of known code words associated with the Railroad. My script would then process the raw data to extract a variety of metrics such as frequency, variation, emotion, and context. After five minutes of big-data analysis, I had a list of accounts likely run by affiliates or members of the Railroad, sorted from most to least promising. Back in college, I’d started an all-purpose rootkit-injection program to use when I needed access to systems that I would have a hard time accessing through official channels. I updated it regularly over the years with new exploits and patch-workarounds, and it now supported every operating system with more than a few thousand users. Since most people just used thin clients nowadays anyway, my program also worked for gateways running older, but still supported, versions of the popular cloud providers. I ran this program against the machine used by each target on my list, achieving a 70% pwn rate. After looking through the data of the first fifty users, I’d found out enough about their networks to locate the contact info of several Railroad cells. I chose three cells to serve as entry, relay, and exit nodes that roughly formed a line connecting Ollirama to the US border with British Columbia, and set about masterminding the operation. Decentralized computer networks could be trusted, but human ones couldn’t, so I would do all the planning myself. I marked up a few possible border crossings based on Railroad and Border Patrol data, the latter of which I had access to thanks to sysadmin credentials I’d acquired on the dark web a few years ago for another project. Just those weren’t enough to bypass the multi-factor authentication they had in place, but I had a digital carte-blanche to bypass the latest OAUTH protocol. There would be no room for error, and my ample arsenal of cyberweapons would keep my precision high. I dug up some more information on the cells, and a plan soon materialized. The first leg of the journey would be handled by an extraction team, who would break Isabelle out of the orphanage. Earlier that afternoon, I’d made sure to mark Isabelle’s LPS file for Little Hearts, one that I knew that treated Littles better and was easy to escape from, specifically to help with this part. The extraction team would immediately drive her west to the border with the adjacent state, which would hopefully get her out of Jacinto and its jurisdiction to ease her escape before her disappearance was even noticed. At the border, Isabelle would be transferred to the next cell, which was run by a sympathetical Big businessman who owned a limo company and used his fleet to drive Littles across the continental U.S. to where they needed to be. Bigs involved in the Railroad were limited in numbers, but critical to the network’s success from the data I’d gathered, as they could get around much more easily and safely than Mids and Littles could. Once I finished planning out the details for the final stretch, I contacted all three cells with their instructions. I gave each only the information that they needed, in order to maximize the security of the whole operation and thus Isabelle’s safety. I made sure to send the first cell a copy of her bodyprint, which I’d hacked from the orphanage. Surprisingly, none of them asked me who I was or where I got their information from. Decentralized meant a lot of need-to-know, and these people were used to not needing to know, which made my job easier. In all honesty, I was touched by their selflessness. There definitely weren’t a lot of people willing to put their own freedom on the line to help others find a better life. I seriously respected those that did. *** We reached the top of the ventilation shaft in just a few seconds, and I clambered up and into the horizontal duct running along the rear wall of the orphanage. The shaft was spacious, but not tall enough to stand up in, and I could see light coming from the end of the tunnel. My rescuer put a finger to his lips, tugged on the black wire, and pointed with 2 fingers to a bright opening at one end of the duct. I understood that as ‘keep quiet and crawl toward the light’, and proceeded to comply with his instructions. As I did so, my skirt flared up and I flashed my diaper. I blushed a deep crimson and pulled it back down. Thankfully he appeared to be too busy with the screen on his forearm to notice. When I reached the opening, I could see that the outer grill had been swung up and somehow fixed to the outside wall. It provided an anchor point for the black wire, which hung out down to a waiting car. The combat-suited Little had followed closely behind me, and I grabbed onto him again as he rappelled down the brick rear wall of the building. When my feet touched the ground, he pushed another button on his harness. I heard a quiet whirring sound as all the wire was quickly winched up, leaving no trace of our escape apart from the open grill. Fortunately, it seemed that my rescuer had thought of everything. He twisted a dial on his screen, and the grill quietly swung shut. My jaw dropped open and my inner geek screamed, ‘That was so cool!’ “It’s rapid-biodegrading electronics. In a couple hours it’ll all turn into dust and get blown away by the wind. We’ll be long gone by then anyhow.” I nodded, still in awe and slight disbelief that I was actually free. Just then, I saw an Amazon get out of the driver’s seat, and my heart jumped. He opened the rear door and grabbed my rescuer! I turned and fled in a panic. My socked feet pounded against the asphalt and my heart pounded from adrenalin as I ran in a straight line away from the monster. I’m getting kidnapped, not freed. This isn’t tag where I become ‘it’ when I get caught. If I’m caught, who knows what will happen to me! I didn’t make it ten meters before I was seized by a strong hand. I yelped. He lifted me into the air. He spun me around to face him. I tried whacking him to break free, but he held me at arm’s-length, pinning my arms down. I kicked uselessly at thin air and screamed hysterically. He sighed and pushed an inflatable pacifier into my mouth before quickly twisting to inflate it. My cries were quickly muffled as my jaw lit on fire! All I could do was look at him in sheer terror, distress and desperation. Chapter 7 — Silver Spoon “I’m sorry I had to do that,” the Amazon holding me at arm’s-length apologized, “but you’ve got to stop screaming if you want a chance to get away from here.” What was this guy up to?? “Owww…” this overinflated bulb is really hurting my jaw. I winced and moaned, slightly confused and more than slightly terrified. He could see that I was hurting. “If I remove that, promise me you’ll keep your voice down.” I nodded and stopped struggling, eager to get it out. He brought me closer to his chest and shifted my weight to one arm. The pacifier was deflated with a twist and a hiss of air. I quickly rubbed my jaw in relief. These damn things were so painful! “Who are you and what do you want?” I asked, perplexed, exasperated, exhausted… My feelings were so numerous and complex I couldn’t even put them into words. I gave up all resistance for the time being. Might as well conserve my energy. He’s strong enough to overpower me no matter what I do anyway. “I’m here to save you and I want to get out of the state before the cops show up.” “Save me?” I spat. “And then kidnap me to Mexico to spew babies or test drugs for some cartel drug lord?” Shivers wracked me as I remembered the stories that one of the Littles had told me about her time in Mexico before she was rescued in a federal drug raid. “No, Isabelle. I’d never do that. I’m with the Railroad. And we’re going west, not south.” How did he know my name? The Railroad? They were working together? There were Amazons that weren’t totally baby-crazy? I guess it does make sense though… It’s not like Littles are allowed to drive around here. Another Little had told me about how he almost got to one of the Little Islands thanks to the Little Railroad. Unfortunately for him, his counterfeit passport didn’t quite pass muster and he was detained at the port. Poor lad. But if this guy was with the railroad, then… he was one of the good guys? “He’s telling you the truth.” The Little reappeared beside us. My brain screamed for him to run while he could, but he clearly had no intention to do so. I was almost convinced, but I needed more assurance. “Where did he get all that high-tech military gear and training?” I questioned the Big. “I can’t tell you that.” “I’m not going anywhere with you until you do.” “Look, if you come with us I’ll tell you myself. I trust him with my life, and you should too,” my rescuer interceded. With a sigh, I conceded and let the Amazon put both of us into car seats in the back of his sedan. He closed the door, got back in the driver’s seat, and drove out into the street. “You owe me an explanation?” I turned and asked the Little. “You should know that the less we know about each other, the better. Never tell anyone who you are, where you came from, or where you’re going, unless they already know.” When he saw me nod, he continued, “As to where I got my equipment and training: I was a Hellcat.” “What’s a Hellcat?” I asked as we turned onto a main road. He tutted. “Enough questions. It won’t do either of us any good if I tell you more.” An hour later, the Amazon driver pulled off the highway we’d been driving on. As he got out of the car, I quickly undid the seat buckle, just to get some more practice at the complex task. That earned a wide-eyed stare from the Little. When the door beside me opened and the Big reached in to undo the buckle, he too sported a puzzled expression. “How did you do that?” He asked. “The buckle?” “Yeah, I’ve never met a Little who could undo it.” I snapped the straps closed again. “Push, twist, slide?” I demonstrated. The ex-Hellcat tried to reenact my movements, but his fingers slipped when he tried the twisting motion. “Interesting, we just have to push harder than you Littles can. That’ll come in handy for you though. If you ever need to escape in a jiffy, these buckles are standard for every device intended to restrain Littles.” “Why are we stopping in the middle of nowhere?” “To pass you on to another cell in the network who will get you where you need to go.” I nodded. “Thanks for rescuing me,” I said to both of them, as a strange, elongated vehicle pulled up behind their car. “Cheers,” the Big patted my shoulder as he picked me up, “this is what we do for our fellow human beings. Freedom is a right.” I was carried over to the strange vehicle whose falcon-wing door was open. He set me down on the carpeted floor inside. “Good luck,” the Big said. “Thanks,” I nodded and waved as he tapped the doorframe twice, as if he was signalling the driver to get going. Right on cue, the door shut pneumatically. A moment later, the vehicle started moving. It sounded like a Tesla from back home. There was no engine noise, only the muffled crunch of the wheels on the gravel of the highway’s shoulder. When ceiling lights lit up the interior, I gasped at my futuristic and luxurious surroundings. The entire body of the limousine was made of some sort of high-tech glass. What I’d assumed were lights illuminating had actually been the glass-like material of the roof and upper half of the side walls becoming transparent. I’d seen electrochromic tech before on airliners, but seeing it in such a large contiguity blew my mind. Just then, I realized that there was nothing underneath the windshield, and I could see right out the front of the limo! It was driving itself autonomously! I watched for a while as it accelerated to highway speed and turned my attention back to the interior furnishings. One long, white couch-bed stretched against one side of the spacious cabin from front to back, and curved there to form a loveseat against the back wall. The opposite wall had a strange looking cabinet recessed into it, with a variety of amenities behind transparent panels made of what looked like the same material as the limo body. I cringed when I saw that whoever had stocked the cabinet had graciously provided a stack of diapers for me. Just as I was wondering whether the limo had a TV screen, the entire side wall lit up. Wow, the glass was a screen too?? The logo of an AI reminiscent of a home or phone assistant back home sprung into animation with a bounce and a twirl. “Welcome, Isabelle, to the Luxuria Experience, I’m Luxuria,” a voice that sounded perfectly human annunciated. The tone could only be described as… luxurious? “Umm… hi. How do you know who I am?” I responded, slightly startled. I could feel my diaper warming. “I have some basic information on you that I received when your journey was created. Speaking of which, I wasn’t able to detect your privacy settings, so I’d like to go over them with you, as mandated by the International Data Protection Laws. First, would you like me to collect anonymous analytics from our interactions to improve my intent-parsing quality?” “Uhh… no thanks?” “Okay, I won’t use any analytics. Would you like me to connect to the internet for neural recognition? I can also remain entirely offline if you’d prefer.” Damn, this dimension’s privacy laws were just as amazing as their tech. Years ahead of us. “Offline please?” “Excellent choice, my voice recognition software is still state-of-the-art.” “Finally, would you like to enable holographic mode? I’d recommend it for an improved experience.” I thought about it for a second before replying. Holograms are cool. And harmless. Why not? “Sure,” I nodded. The limo body turned opaque again, and a bank of ‘lights’, which were really white pixels on the ceiling screen, lit up overhead. I watched with childlike fascination as the animated logo materialized out of the wallscreen and morphed into a humanoid-like body with flexible tubular arms that didn’t resemble anything I could think of. I couldn’t see where the projectors were, but it looked much more solid than I expected! When the avatar reached out with a hand, I shook it without thinking. Only after the act did I realize that I had just… touched light? “How is your projection solid? Isn’t it a hologram made of light?” “It is. The wave-particle duality of light allows photons in holograms to maintain a solid state under certain high-energy configurations, since photons are their own antiparticles,” Luxuria explained. “Interesting.” I didn’t know a lot about particle physics, but from what I did know, it was theoretically sound. We’d just never achieved a high enough energy density to do something like this on a scale larger than a few photons to reach any empirical confirmation. “My sensors predict that you’ll leak in about two minutes. Would you like a change?” I gave my padding a squish and disappointedly confirmed it. “I can do it myself,” I insisted indignantly, not wanting a hologram to… change me. Luxuria nodded and grabbed a diaper, powder and some wipes for me. I proceeded to flip my skirt up, untape my diaper, and wipe myself down. Halfway through, I looked up to the hologram’s eyes staring at me. “Umm… can you not?” “Sorry, but you do know that my projection is just that, right? The actual sensors and cameras are built into the vehicle’s interior.” The avatar picked up my dirty diaper and wipes. “Yeah but still,” I whined, skipping the powder and taping on a new diaper. Absolutely no need to degrade myself more than I already have. My parents had once told me that I’d taped my own diapers on as a toddler. I had a vague memory of it, but it was far too long ago for me to actually remember how I did it back then. The only thing I remember along those lines is having to wear stupid pull-up diapers at night. Instead, I based my taping on how the nannies had done it for me. It took a couple seconds of readjusting, but I got it done and ran a finger around the waistband to inspect my handiwork. Not bad for the first time in two decades. It’s definitely nicer when someone else does it for me though… Luxuria turned back around as I stood up and cleaned my hands with an extra wipe. “You did okay. Try to tape it on tighter so it doesn’t fall off when you wet it. And you should use the powder, it stops chafing and keeps your skin dry.” Okay?! Did I just get roasted by a robot? No, an AI. Har har. I stared at Luxuria. My stomach growled, interrupting my sulky thoughts. I was used to having dinner at the orphanage at 7 pm every day, and it was just past that according to the holographic clock. “Would you like something to eat? It’s just about dinnertime,” the AI noted, seemingly having either read my mind or detected my hunger. The time showed on the screen that made up an interior side wall of the limo, and the avatar gestured toward the strange cabinet. “Fine,” I replied, “are we going to stop somewhere for food?” Luxuria laughed, “No need to stop. The AmeniTea here is state-of-the-art; it can cook up anything you’d like. Wouldn’t you rather get to your destination sooner?” AmeniTea? I was confused, but I jogged over and found some drinkware. It looked like I would have to go with a milk-jug-sized mug, or a sippy cup that was my size. I sighed in defeat and grabbed one of the latter. I’d been drinking out of baby bottles and sippy cups the past few weeks, but it had never been my choice. I managed to convince myself that I didn’t really have a choice here either. I brought it over to a drink dispenser situated just above the level of the top of my head. I didn’t see any buttons or labels, but there was clearly a faucet on it. Probably detecting my confusion, Luxuria helpfully offered, “It’s a smart appliance. What would you like to drink?” “What options are there?” “It can make any drink you want, so long as it’s non-alcoholic, as mandated by the government under section 1012E of title 441 of the Little Statutes. The machine has miniaturized pods for several thousand different beverages. It unshrinks and dispenses every drink you can think of, and then some.” “Can I have an apple juice please?” I loved the apple juice they had here. Much richer in flavor than back home. “Sure, what temperature would you like it at?” Luxuria asked. “Uhh… I dunno, 50 degrees?” “Fahrenheit?” “Yeah, isn’t 50 celsius like, hot?” I questioned. Luxuria shrugged. “There’s people that like their juice hot. Put your sippy cup under the faucet.” I swear this AI is out to humiliate me. She just HAD to say the full baby term. I sighed and reached up — tipping my toes slightly — to do as she instructed. The second my hand left the cup, the room was flooded with the delightful aroma of apples and the cup filled with juice. I picked up the plastic vessel again — carefully since it was full — and took a sip. It was delicious! The aroma certainly helped, and I practically guzzled the rest of the cup. Luxuria refilled it for me, and turned the top half of the limo transparent so I could enjoy the splendid nature view on either side of the highway as I drank. I watched as the sun set, directly ahead of us, into mountains that I could just barely make out in the distance. It was the first sunset I’d seen in this dimension, and I was stunned by its beauty. The sun was much bigger, yet of softer tones, than back home, and the vivid colors streaked across the sky like a masterful watercolor painting. The moment was made even sweeter by my impending freedom that I could almost taste. I took a deep breath to savor the tranquility of everything. I’d come a long way from the dirty floor of a shack in the middle of nowhere. No matter where life brings me from here, this moment will be one that I’ll cherish for years to come. Chapter 8 — Exodus In the 10 minutes it took for the sun to set and the sky to turn dark, I’d gradually emptied my sippy cup and bladder. In one end and out the other. I heard an audible rumble from my stomach announcing the return of my dinner cravings. “So there’s miniaturized food as well?” I asked the hologram floating beside me. “The ingredients are miniaturized, yes, but each dish is made fresh. What would you like?” “Something spicy,” I answered without hesitation. Orphanage food had been filling but way too bland for my liking. I remembered a delicious burger recipe that my grandfather had often made for me when I was little. It would definitely make a good challenge for the robot cook. I went for it anyway, just to see what the machine was capable of. “Make me a burger with the buns buttered and toasted. Melt a slice of cheddar cheese on top of a beef patty, then add a slice of tomato, two half-rashers of bacon side-by-side, two slices of pickle side-by-side, two concentric onion rings, breaded and fried, and Buffalo sauce, in that order from bottom to top. Make a side of thick-cut sweet potato fries, topped with melted cheese and chipotle sauce. For dessert I’ll have mango sago pudding.” I was on a wishing spree! Take that, machine. There’s NO WAY you can make that. “You’re certain you can eat that much? Have you had any food not made for Littles since you got here?” I thought about Luxuria’s question for a moment. “Uhh… No, not really…” I finally put two and two together. If everything here is massive, then the food would be too. “Right, the size of the food. In that case, make the burger smaller and I’ll just have, say, 3 fries.” That I should be able to finish. I didn’t like wasting food. “Oh, and size the pudding down accordingly?” Luxuria nodded. “Will that be everything?” “Yup, thanks.” I confirmed, still confident that a machine would never be able to make a meal that complicated. Around twenty seconds later, the smell of the patty cooking started wafting from a glass panel on the AmeniTea. A table flipped out automatically from the opposing side wall, at just about the right height for me to sit and eat at, perched Japanese-style on the bed. Less than five minutes after I’d ordered, the panel slid open and revealed my dinner on a large porcelain plate. The avatar brought it over to the table as the AmeniTea panel slid shut again. “Bon appetit!” Luxuria beamed. I thanked her and clambered onto the bed with a small jump. After saying grace, I grabbed the burger with both hands and took a bite. It was the most delectable food I’d had in weeks! My first bite brought back a flood of childhood memories. I hadn’t had this meal in ages! I picked up a fry the size of a hot dog and brought it to my mouth. The sweet potato was fried to a golden crisp, but the size meant it was just slightly too mushy for my taste. The cheese melted a second time in my mouth, and my taste buds exploded satisfyingly from the spice of the Buffalo sauce. I may have been dubious of the robot’s capabilities, but by the time I finished the dish, I was convinced that the only downsides to it were the slightly off taste of unshrunken ingredients and something missing that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. When my plate was empty, Luxuria swapped it for my pudding, which also made for the perfect dessert for this experience. The food had tasted almost as good as my description sounded, and definitely better than “unshrunk meal” could ever sound! I was stuffed, but satisfied. After dinner, Luxuria put the pudding goblet into the AmeniTea, and the table sunk back into the wall. I heard a hiss and a light patter as both were cleaned… along with slightly more muted hiss coming from my diaper! A feeling of warmth spread through it. I’d just gone without any warning. “Would you like to see a movie?” the avatar offered, returning to its floating position facing me. “Sure. Anything sci-fi you can recommend?” I wanted to see what this dimension’s science fiction entertainment looked like, given that the world around me was basically sci-fi already. “I’ve got just the film.” I snuggled up to a soft cushion on the bed and watched as the screens delimiting the cabin lit up with billions of pixels blending together, each of which must have been too small for my eyes to register. Together, they seamlessly formed a realistic background of stars in space at a resolution that took my breath away. While I was somewhat prepared for that, I was definitely not expecting the Star-Wars-style scrolling text that was holographically projected in front of me. I let out a giggle of delight, both at the quality of the visuals, and at the absurdity of the retro style photobombing an otherwise incredibly futuristic setting. The movie was reminiscent of Interstellar, with realistic depictions of relativity and physics. If only more writers would depict science and technology more accurately. The single thing I hated the most about movies and books was the unrealistic depictions of hacking scenes. Hooded man furiously typing with green hieroglyphics and ones and zeros… The movie’s plot centered on the last human family searching the Milky Way for a habitable world. They teleported around the galaxy by folding the fabric of spacetime in a futuristic spacecraft. I never saw the twist coming, which was when the AI that helped the humans and kept them safe the whole time was actually hiding the habitable planet from them. I laughed out loud when it turned out to be caused by a bug in its code. You’d imagine their static analysis would have caught that. I looked worriedly at the avatar floating beside me, but Luxuria just shrugged. “I’m nothing close to a true AI, if that’s what you’re concerned about. There’s laws prohibiting military-grade machine intelligence.” The movie soon ended with the AI sacrificing itself for humanity’s greater good and the human family getting to the habitable planet safely with human embryos to settle the new world. It was a rather Disney-like cliche ending, but I liked movies that way. It sucks when a main character fails or dies. That’s what happens in life already, why make a movie or write a book about it? When the credits started rolling across the floor, up the side wall, and then back across the ceiling, I yawned and got up to stretch out my legs. I’d certainly had a long day. From an orphanage to a self-driving limo speeding across the country. I shook my head. It felt like I was living in a fantasy. A quick diaper change later, I was back on the massive bed hugging the cushion. Before I snoozed off, I said a quick nightly prayer. Dear God, Thanks for everything you do for me. I don’t know where exactly I’m heading, both in this limo and in life, but I know it’s to a good place you’ve prepared. Thanks for showing me once again that you care about me and love me. And thanks for sending these good people my way. Please keep all my friends safe too, and help me make the right moves. In Jesus’s name I pray, Amen. The next morning, I woke up to daylight and soft music. I blushed furiously when I found my thumb in my mouth. Must have been another stupid effect of that hypnosis. I’d never experienced this at the orphanage before, probably because I’d always been given a bottle or a pacifier to sleep with. I wiped the saliva off my thumb and rubbed my eyes as I sat up. All the cabin screens around me had been turned off, resulting in the glass body of the car being almost transparent. The scenery and asphalt sped by outside in an unnaturally fast blur that made my head hurt. “Morning Isabelle. Did you sleep well?” Luxuria greeted me as the limo body turned opaque again. “Morning. Yeah, I did, thanks. Umm… how fast are we going?” I asked in suspicion. “One-ten.” “Miles per hour?” “Yeah. There isn’t much autonomous traffic, and there’s good visibility, so the lanespeed is slightly higher than normal.” “Lanespeed? There’s a dedicated lane for self-driving vehicles with a dynamic speed limit?” “Indeed. Every autonomous vehicle is hooked up to Mothership, the central control system, so we can safely go faster than human-driven cars,” Luxuria explained. Mothership… Tesla? Is there even a Tesla in this dimension? “Is that also the reason I don’t have to be stuck in an annoying toddler car seat?” “Precisely. Speaking of toddlers, your diaper is at capacity again.” I could feel mush in the back this time, and I really didn’t want to change myself. I sighed and surrendered my last bit of perceived independence. To an AI. I looked away from the avatar, clasped my hands, and pawed at the floor with my foot. “Umm… Can you do it for me?” I asked Luxuria shyly. “Oh? I thought you did a pretty good job changing yourself before you slept?” The hologram floated gently into my field of view. Ugh. This thing is reeeeally annoying. I blushed. “Yeeaah, but there’s poop and I really don’t wanna do it,” I whined. Luxuria may have called me a “big baby” in jest at that point, but she grabbed the supplies necessary and gently untaped my diaper. The hologram’s zephyry movements were calming and efficient, and I soon had a fresh diaper taped on. The experience was so nice that I didn’t even complain when the avatar used the powder. When she was done changing me, I asked what time it was, just as we pulled onto an off-ramp and started to decelerate. “Eight fifty”, the time showed up on the screen again, this time in a light theme. I wonder if all IDEs have dark themes here. “We’re almost at our destination.” “Which is…?” “Sorry, I’ve been specifically instructed not to tell you. Can I get you some breakfast instead?” That was a little annoying of Luxuria, but I did understand the Railroad’s tangible concerns about disclosing information. “Milk and cereal?” “Sure, what kind of each would you like?” “Skim and Cinnamon Toast Crunch? Do you have that here?” “No, but we have something similar.” Luxuria went to the AmeniTea and fetched a pitcher of milk, a bowl and spoon, and a cute little cardboard box of cereal labelled ‘Cinna-Crisps’. I opened the box and the plastic cereal bag inside, and dumped all seven or eight pieces into the bowl. I grabbed one and ate it in two bites. It looked and tasted like an oversized version of a piece of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but each circular crisp was the size of an Oreo! I poured enough milk to cover all the pieces, said grace, and started eating. When I finished it, Luxuria put everything back into the AmeniTea, and informed me that we’d arrived at our destination, just as I felt the limo stop. The large falcon-wing door lifted up and I saw that we were in some sort of garage. There was a van parked a few feet away, but there was nothing around that betrayed our location. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your Luxuria Experience, Izzy” she said as her avatar floated over to me. I jumped down from the bed. “I did, thanks. It was pretty amazing actually, especially you and the whole solid hologram thing.” “Happy to hear that.” Luxuria produced a lapel pin from somewhere and pinned it to the hem of my dress. “Here’s a profile microchip containing your privacy preferences and some basic information. Keep it on you until you upload it to the international federated blockchain.” She also handed me a bag with three spare diapers in it. “And these should last until you get more.” I blushed as I took it from her. “Gee, thanks,” I nodded semi-sarcastically and gave Luxuria a parting handshake. As annoying as she was, she’d been a pretty great companion. When I turned around, a Latina Mid came over from the van. Mark had told me about Mids, also known as In-Betweeners or just Betweeners. The term applied to the comparatively rare instances where a person was taller than a Little but not quite a Big. They were clearly as rare as Mike had claimed they were, since this was only my second time seeing one. “Hola Isabella, I’m Sofia,” she said in a thick Mexican accent. I was about to correct her about my name, but she seemed like the type of person that didn’t like being told she was wrong, so I kept my thoughts to myself and went with a polite “hi” and a small wave instead. Seeing that I wasn’t wearing any shoes, she told me, “I will take you over so you don’t get your feet dirty, reinita,” and picked me up out of the limo. “Good luck Izzy, and safe travels,” Luxuria wished as the hologram fizzled out. Sofia carried me over to the van, and set me down in the back. Once she made sure I was comfortably sitting in the lap of a giant teddy bear, she handed me a pacifier. “Put that between your teeth so they don’t break.” She ordered in a dead-serious tone. I was a little confused and intimidated by that, but I complied. Sofia shut the back doors and got in the cab. There was a plastic panel separating the cab and the back, which had no windows, so I couldn’t see outside at all. There was some light coming from the gap between the back doors though, which didn’t quite touch each other when they were closed. I perked my ears up instead, and listened as she started the engine and pulled out of the garage. The van was magnitudes less soundproofed than the limo had been, so I could hear every surface that we drove on, from the clank of a metal drain covering to the smooth hum on asphalt. The van clearly didn’t have A/C, so I was starting to sweat a lot. About twenty minutes into the sweltering drive, Sofia yelled out “hold on mi amor!” to me and violently swerved off-road. I heard the coarse crunch of the gravel shoulder for a split second, and then the finer crunch of hard-packed dirt as the van shook and bounced over the uneven ground. The shaking and noise increased in severity as we picked up speed, and I was now glad I had the pacifier. Clearly Sofia hadn’t been joking about breaking my teeth, as my bones felt like they were being jostled out of their sockets! Suddenly, I heard a loud CRACK, and then the wailing of a siren nearby. Sofia swore but didn’t let off on the gas, and the siren slowly faded. I was starting to fear that the van would shake itself apart as I was flung into the air from a particularly deep rut. After a few more minutes and a couple turns, I felt the vibrations dampen out as she slowed to a stop. I unclenched my hands, extremely relieved to still be alive. Luckily the bear’s soft stuffing had protected me from the worst of the bumps, but my diaper got soaked from the bone-jarring ride! I felt the van shift as Sofia got out, and then bright light streamed in when Sofia threw the doors open, causing me to blink. She picked me up and carried me out of the van, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I trembled in fear and panic as I took in the landscape around me. It was an arid desert, being burned by a scorching sun. Small shrubs broke the sandy ground here and there, and stout mountains loomed nearby. I felt a trickle of pee down my leg as I flooded my diaper beyond its leaking point. That served as a painfully ironic symbol for everything that had gone wrong, for my chances of freedom and living a life had just leaked away. Sofia smiled and told me, “Bienvenido a Méhico!” Chapter 9 — True North Strong and Free I sobbed into my pacifier, too dumbfounded to struggle, utterly broken. Why had I been so stupid to trust these people?! When she heard my sobs and saw my tears, Sofia looked concerned and rubbed my back in an attempt to comfort me, but I was going into a full meltdown. “Ay hey Isabella! Calm down! You are safe, I was only ahh, what is de word, ahh, kidding, kidding! I was kidding! Cálmate, princesa, cálmate,” she soothed, hugging me tightly. “Yer wying! Dersh no dezherch in Canada!!” The stupid pacifier was distorting my speech, but it was doing is job of keeping me somewhat calmer than totally berserk. “Mi amor, we are in de Okanagan, in de south of de British Colombia. You are safe, reinita, I just helpet you cross de border!” Her Mexican accent got even thicker when she was stressed, and she looked like she was about to explode from anxiety. “Cwoss de bohduh indu Mexico?” “No no! Canada!” “Pwove it! I dun bewieve you!” Sofia sighed and pulled out a thin, flexible rectangle of plastic. She swiped a gesture on it and opened a maps app. I could see the position indicator indicating that we were just inside the border with Canada, and the background even showed the mountains and labeled the desert as the Okanagan. At this point, I relaxed enough to realize that the best proof I hadn’t been kidnapped to Mexico was right in front of me: Sofia wouldn’t be going through all this trouble to show me where we were when she could easily just overpower me. A few moments later, a black SUV pulled up beside us, and an eleven- or twelve-foot-tall Amazon got out. I’d seen enough giants at this point to not flinch, but I still stayed alert. He ran over to me and gave me a quick inspection, a massive hug, and a kiss on the forehead before I could even react. So much for staying alert. “I’m so glad you’re safe, Isabelle.” He turned to Sofia and shook her free hand. “Thanks for bringing Isabelle over the border. You people are the ultimate heroes.” “You are welcome, Señor. Protect her, the hunters are everywhere I hear.” Sofia passed me over to him, along with the satchel of spare diapers Luxuria had provided. “I will, absolutely.” “Freedom is a right!” She waved and turned around to get back in her van. That phrase again. “Hold on. Who are you and why am I going with you if I’m already in Canada?” I demanded. I was done with not knowing. From now on I’m finding out everything before I do anything. “You’re fifty klicks from the nearest town and less than one from the border. Acimeran border forces have been known to cross over to recapture escaped Littles, which is exactly what you are right now,” he reasoned. “All I’m gonna do is take you further into Canada so you don’t die in the wilderness or get sent back to an orphanage. Any objections?” “No,” I huffed. The Amazon walked the few paces over and laid me down in the back of the SUV. “Hey! What are you doing?!” I protested when he flipped my dress up. He stopped and calmly said, “you wanna sit in your leaky diaper?” “No,” I begrudgingly acknowledged. He proceeded to change me into a diaper from the bag of spares. I sighed, red-faced, when he finished and buckled me into a car seat in the back. So much for knowing everything. Things really weren’t under my control here. At least he was gentle and didn’t try anything. “Okay Izzy, I’m Mike.” He glanced at some kind of holographic heads-up display and started driving away from the border along a small dirt track. “The reason I didn’t tell you my name earlier is because I didn’t want anyone from the Railroad to know my identity. Just a safety precaution.” “How did you know I like to be called Izzy?” I asked suspiciously. “I run an automatic bug scan on everyone that comes near my property, which includes my car. You’re clean, but you’ve got a microchip on you with a bunch of your privacy preferences, which ironically includes your preferred name in conversation. Are you okay with me calling you that?” *** I really did scan her and find the chip, even though that wasn’t where I got her name from. I didn’t want to let on to any more than I needed to right now. She’ll have plenty of time to fully comprehend the magnitude of what I did for her. Or leave. That was a grim thought. I’d snuck a tracking chip with an integrated mic onto her dress the moment she was in my arms, just in case she was dumb enough to choose that option and ended up needing my help. As much as I wanted to, I wasn’t going to stop her from doing that though. “Yeah, you can call me whatever,” she replied as I turned onto a paved road. Deep breath, explain the situation. You got this. “Okay. I want you to know that everything I’m doing for you is to help you. If at any point you want to leave, tell me and I’ll stop the car and you can go wherever you’d like. Just please be careful. However, I recommend that you stay with me for the time being, for your own safety. Even though Canada is a million times better than the US for Little Rights, you’re unfortunately still in danger of being kidnapped by Little Hunters from the US. They WILL smuggle you back across the border and they WILL sell you to the highest bidder before you can say ‘True North Strong and Free’. Because of them, most Littles here actually choose to stay with a Big family or friend for safety’s sake. In fact, it’s so common that we have a name for it: homestay.” “Where are we going?” She asked as I took the on-ramp onto the highway to Penticton. It was a pretty big detour from our final destination, but I didn’t want to drive all the way to the west coast before Isabelle got her citizenship, just in case we got pulled over. “Well first we’re going to the Immigration and Refugee Board for your asylum hearing, where you’ll get registered and get your Canadian citizenship.” Boy did she want to know everything! I guess that’ll help her survive in this dimension, so it isn’t exactly a bad thing… Makes her about as annoying as a toddler though. “They hand out citizenships just like that?” She snapped her cute little fingers to punctuate her point. “To Littles who manage to get to Canada alive, yes. There’s a special clause in the Refugee Act from about twenty years ago.” “The US doesn’t care?” “They tried to stop them at first. When people protested and Canada caused a huge international scene with the first escaped Littles, the US struck a deal with us allowing Littles that cross the border to stay without persecution. In exchange, Canada still has the Safe Third Country Agreement for non-Little illegal immigrants, plus extradition.” “So I can be fully legal and everything?” Izzy’s face lit up in an adorable smile. “Yup, should be pretty much guaranteed.” I kept the other tricks I had up my sleeve to ensure that, including the fact that I’d sponsored her application, to myself. “What happens after that?” “We can stop at Tims for lunch?” “Who’s Tim?” I chuckled. “Tims, or Tim Hortons, is just about Canada’s biggest coffee shop chain. Has been for decades.” She nodded and turned back to the scenery out the window. “What’s a Hellcat?” Izzy suddenly asked a while later, when we were about halfway there. “You met one?” “The guy that broke me out. He was a Little and said he’d been a Hellcat? So, what’s a Hellcat?” “Wow, cool. I didn’t know Hellcat vets were in the Railroad. The Hellcats are an international team of elite special forces. They’re above the law and protected as such by UN resolutions. They’re the best of the best in CQB, and they carry out counter-terrorist and hostage-rescue operations around the world. No Big unit can match their cool, speed, finesse and precision. You were in good hands.” Izzy had a shocked, then sheepish look on her face as I said that. “What’s wrong?” I asked, slightly concerned. “I umm… kinda fought them behind the orphanage.” Her face turned bright red and she looked away from the rear-view mirror where I could see her. I decided to have some fun at her expense. “Ahh you’d better watch your butt now, you’ve probably pissed off their whole regiment.” I teased. “What?!” She squeaked. “Kidding.” I smiled at her and she chuckled nervously. Soon, I pulled into the parking lot in front of the Penticton office of the IRB and parked. There fortunately weren’t many other cars there, so I was able to find a spot in the small lot. Izzy had dozed off en-route, and her pacifier that was clipped to her dress had adorably found its way back into her mouth. It bobbed in and out there with each breath she took. She looked so precious! I gently brushed her cheek with my fingers to wake her up, almost regretting disturbing her. “Hey Sleeping Beauty, we’re here,” I chimed. She stirred and I undid the straps on her car seat. “Sorry about the seat, it’s a federal height law and honestly safer for you.” I’d forgotten to explain that to her earlier since I was focused on getting her away from the border, and I tried to make up for it now. “Mmmm,” she moaned. I was about to set her on the ground when I noticed she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Because of this observation, I made a split-second decision and changed my movement at the last minute, swinging Izzy awkwardly for a fraction of a second and accidentally bringing the sleepy girl out of her slumber. *** I felt myself pulled up suddenly in a motion that jolted me wide awake. I looked around and realized that we were in front of a small single-story office. The lower part of the shiny black coat of the SUV that we’d arrived in was caked in a layer of dust, and the rear passenger door was open. The Amazon… Mike… closed it and apologized to me, “Sorry for waking you up, Izzy, but I just realized you weren’t wearing any shoes.” “Huh? Oh ish okay…” I rubbed my eyes and waved it off. He nodded at that, and carried me in through the front glass door on his hip. The SUV pipped behind us, signaling the doors locking, even though Mike clearly didn’t do anything apart from walk away from it. Bluetooth? RF? NFC? Probably something similar, but more advanced. Aargh, I wish I could learn all of their tech! There were a couple people waiting around inside the air-conditioned office, most of them seated on a row of cushioned chairs along a wall. Heads turned to stare disapprovingly at us when we walked in. I let my pacifier fall to where it was clipped to my dress and gawped back at them. “Why are they looking at us like that?” I whispered to Mike as he sat down with me on his lap. He sighed and whispered back, “Adoption is illegal in Canada. There are, however, a lot of Littles that choose to live like they do in the majority of the US. Some of them are used to the carefree lifestyle from before they escaped, others saw the bright sides of the lifestyle and wanted in. But when they go out and do official government things, like what we’re doing right now, they usually dress and behave as adults. This is the IRB, so you’re dressed just as inappropriately as, say, if you were wearing pajamas or a bikini.” I giggled quietly at the picture. “Some of them probably even think I kidnapped you or I’m forcing you to do this.” An official-looking Little clerk walked over to us carrying a transparent tablet, her lips pursed disapprovingly. This was the first Little I’d seen working a job, and it very much set the tone for what Canada would be like for me. “Sir, I’m going to ask you to let her sit by herself,” she told Mike. She addressed both of us as he lifted me to an empty adjacent chair. “Miss…” she looked at her tablet for a moment, “Green, please be considerate of others the next time you pick an outfit to wear to a government office. I’ll let you both stay this time, but be warned that if you dress and behave like this next time, someone will likely ask you to leave.” I tried to start explaining to the lady, but Mike squeezed my hand to stop me, and I complied with a sigh. The clerk tapped at her tablet and gave us a number two greater than the one displayed on a TV hanging from the ceiling. “When your number shows up, please go into office number three over there, and an agent will help you out,” she instructed, pointing to the TV. “Miss Green must go in alone, per our privacy policies,” she looked threateningly at Mike. I nodded and Mike thanked her, and she seemed to be somewhat put off by that. She blinked and turned to speak to one of the others waiting. After about 10 more minutes, the display updated to mine and I jumped down from the chair. “They’re there to help you, so don’t lie about anything. Answer every question truthfully and provide as many details as you can. Good luck, I’m here if you need me,” Mike reassured. I nodded and walked over to the ajar wooden door labeled with a fancy calligraphic 3, my socked feet slipping on the floor tiles. The Amazon man inside looked up in surprise when I pushed it open and walked in. “What on earth are you wearing?!” He gasped, but quickly recovered. “Okay, okay, can you close the door?” When I did so, he took a deep breath and continued, “Okay… Isabelle, I’m Agent Duncan Schmidt with the IRB. I want you to know that you’re completely safe here. No one else, including the Big that I’m told you came with, will hear about anything you tell me, understand? And please have a seat.” I nodded, climbing onto a chair in front of his desk. “Okay, so I need to know, is he forcing you to dress like this? If so, that's illegal, you have every right that any other person in Canada has. We don’t discriminate by height or size here.” “No no, he isn’t. I just escaped from an orphanage in the US, and I haven’t exactly got anything to change into yet,” I explained nervously. He looked unconvinced, but dropped the matter. “Okay, so I need to confirm a few things with you. Can you state your full name and date of birth?” “Isabelle Dauphin Green,” I answered, followed by my date of birth. He nodded and tapped a couple things on his tablet. “You crossed the US border today and came straight here?” “Yeah,” I nodded. “I have it here on your application that you came via portal from the other dimension?” “Yeah,” I nodded. Application? “What was the date of your dimensional entry?” “Uhh…” I blanked on this one. I’d never bothered to ask anyone for the date, and no one had ever told me. “This past July?” I ventured vaguely. The chess tournament had taken place sometime in mid-July, and I knew that the dates were the same here as back home. Agent Schmidt looked at me suspiciously. “You don’t have the exact date?” “Umm… no, sorry.” “Okay, which portal did you go through? The name given by either dimension is fine.” “Uhhh… I…” How am I supposed to name the localized portal that the UN made?! “The UN one?” “What UN one?” “The one the UN made for me?” “What?? How am I supposed to help you if you make up answers to my questions?!” He looked exasperated, and he’d succeeded in scaring me. I started sobbing my heart out for the second time that day. Chapter 10 — Canadian, Eh? Thanks to the tracker I’d put on Izzy, I was able to listen as Agent Schmidt lost it and Izzy began to cry. Thank God I did that. I sighed as I got up and walked to the office. The Little employee tried to stop me, but I flashed my UN credentials and she stepped out of the way. I opened the office’s door to a depressing sight. Izzy was sobbing and the agent had his head in his hands, clearly too inexperienced for the situation at hand. He looked up at me, as if pleading for help, wanting to complain, and feeling guilty all at the same time. I sighed, picked Izzy up, and sat down with her on my lap. Her head nuzzled into my chest and I slipped her paci back into her mouth before gently patting her back to sooth her. “There there, I know you’ve had a tough day, let me handle it from here, eh?” I quietly comforted the poor girl as I slid my credentials across the desk with my free hand. “She’s telling you the truth,” I told Schmidt, turning my gaze back to him. “I was the one that brought her to this dimension. We opened up a localized portal and saved her from drowning. She’s actually right about the UN part; you can just choose ‘Other’ in the list of locations and enter ‘UN’ into the system.” He nodded and quickly did that. “Now, I can tell you’re new to this, so let me remind you of Rule 323 in your handbook. Isabelle here is a Little, obviously, and she has a sponsor, me. That means she can be fast-tracked through the refugee registration process and get her citizenship and passport now. I saw a stack of blanks in the office across the hall.” Schmidt nodded again and asked a few more questions, all of which I answered for Izzy, who’d managed to calm down and stop sniffling. The agent then got a blank passport from the opposing room and uploaded all her documents to it, along with the full-body scans I’d stolen from the orphanage servers. It was safer for Izzy that they didn’t have the scans — one less data leak to worry about. It had been a walk in the park to hack their servers and delete it after my data transfer anyway. It took just a few minutes for the central office in Ottawa to remotely approve and activate Izzy’s new passport, and we were on our way out in no time. I made sure to thank the agent for helping us, as well as the nice Little who’d both let us stay and tried to stop me. People doing their jobs thoroughly were worthy of a pat on the back, even if they got in my way. *** Mike buckled me into the car seat and handed me my passport, which consisted of a rectangle of plastic that looked like a smaller version of Sofia’s phone. “Fanks, Mike, fuh…” I paused to spit the pacifier out, “for that back there. I had no idea you were the one that brought me to this dimension… so umm… thanks… for saving my life.” “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Congrats on becoming Canadian, you deserve it.” I nodded, but one question still burned: “But why did the UN just dump me in a shack in the middle of nowhere?” Mike sighed, “I’m sorry, Izzy. I’m really sorry for what happened to you with Karen. That was our release team’s fault. You were supposed to go to Kate, Karen’s younger, richer and less heartless sister. Unfortunately, she died from a car accident just before you would have, and, well, that wasn’t something anyone expected and Karen ended up getting custody.” And now she’s IN custody. Hehe. “Again, I’m sorry. I never would’ve let that happen had I known. Most of the time the system works, but sometimes it doesn’t, and there’s nothing we can do except try to fix it.” “It’s okay,” I reassured him, “it’s not your fault I guess. The irony though.” “Yeah,” he breathed. “So, you wanna get the full Tims experience to celebrate your new Canadianness or go for drive-thru?” “It’s safe to go in, right?” I needed to be sure. “Yeah, you should be safe, especially since I’ll be there with you.” “Let’s do that then. I’d never been to Canada back home, might as well see it all now?” “Excellent choice,” Mike commended as we pulled up to park in front of the coffee shop. I got the seat straps off and opened the door… and Mike got to my side just in time to catch me from almost falling out! “Easy there, Tiger,” he steadied me and picked me up. “Hmm, I thought those buckles were supposed to be Little-proof?” “I’ve got a knack,” I shrugged. The SUV pipped again as we entered the Tim Hortons. “How is your car locking itself? Bluetooth?” “Yep, it’s a distance measurement feature. It measures the Doppler effect on the Bluetooth signal waves. You know what Doppler is?” “Frequency of the wave changes as the distance changes, right?” “Wow, you’re smart. What would little miss genius like for lunch?” I stared at the expansive menu, not quite sure of what I wanted, as we joined the line to order. “Afternoon folks, what can I get ya?” A robot server asked. “Chicken salad croissant, combo with a large, dark roast, Double Double and a hashbrown, please.” Mike told it, turning to look at me. “I uhh…” I still hadn’t made up my mind yet, but Mike’s meal was sounding pretty good. “I’ll have the same please, but a donut instead of the hashbrown?” “Excellent choice,” the android smiled. “Make her coffee a Small,” Mike interjected. “Sure. How would you like it?” It asked me. “Decaf, three cream, three sugar, please.” “Excellent, what donut would you like?” “This one, please and thank you,” I pointed at a cruller which it fished out with a pair of tongs and put in a paper bag for me. “You’re very welcome, have a seat anywhere and we’ll bring your food over in a moment.” “Decaf?” Mike questioned, sitting me down at a table and then joining me on the other side of it. I noticed that my seat was much taller than his, so the table was the right height for both of us. Quite a clever design. “I drink coffee for the flavor, not the caffeine,” I explained. On a whim I also noted, “That robot was really good at language parsing. And being nice.” “Oh? And I’m not eh?” He kidded and I laughed. “Well you’re not a robot,” I stuck my tongue out at him. “Mmm.” He nodded and continued in a less joking tone, “Welcome to Canada. Most of us — robots and people — are like this: we respect everyone regardless of size. We even have Littles on all levels of government.” “Well I’m liking it. Better than the crap I had to put up with in the States.” “Watch your language!” Mike chastised, making me jump slightly. “There’s kids around,” he reasoned, motioning towards a family of Amazons beside me. I glanced over and spotted the mother shooting daggers at me. “Sorry.” I sheepishly apologized as another robot arrived with our food. “Bon appetit!” It wished, before leaving with an empty tray from the table beside ours. “By the way, Canadians call ‘three cream, three sugar’ ‘Triple Triple’. ‘Double Double’ means two of each and ‘Regular’ means one of each. “Oh… I was wondering what you meant by that.” I was about to dig in when I realized something. “Uhh… Mike?” “What’s up?” “We didn’t pay,” I pointed out matter-of-factly. “We did, it’s automatic. See?” He tapped at the air a few times and suddenly a hologram of the receipt floated in the air in front of me. “Whoa, that’s so cool! Where’s the projector?” “It’s part of my state-of-the-art cyrano.” The hologram disappeared as he showed me a black earpiece that I’d thought was a rather old-fashioned Bluetooth earbud. I nodded and quickly said grace, before grabbing a bite of the croissandwhich. It was really good! The orphanage food I’d been eating had really prepped up my taste buds for all the proper food since my escape. By the time I finished savoring the sandwich bite by bite, Mike had finished his meal. He laughed when I picked up the honey cruller donut with both hands. It was the size of a small cake for me! “What’s the deal with you Littles and your sweets?” He smirked. “All Littles like sweets?” I questioned. “Every single one that I’ve known or heard of.” “Must be some kind of gene or something,” I offered. “Maybe…” When I finished the donut, Mike took all the garbage to the nearby bank of bins and sorted them into some 10 different types. They must really care about the environment here to go through that big of a hassle with their garbage. “C’mon, let’s go. I need to get you some shoes soon, it’s getting tiring holding you!” he remarked while picking me up again. I laughed. “You know, I kinda like it when you carry me around. Nobody’s done that for me in years!” My eyes welled up slightly as I recalled my dad carrying me as a kid when I was too tired to walk, but I shook it off. Enough tears for a day. Mike checked my diaper discreetly and whispered, “You’re soaked, you want changed?” I nodded thanks. Screw Karen, taking away all my potty training like that. *** I brought up Izzy’s situation again on the highway to Vancouver, “Where do you wanna go?” She stopped suckling on the bottle of water I’d given her. “What do you mean?” “Well, you’re no longer an illegal immigrant, you’ve got your passport, you’re a lot safer now. You still wanna come with me, or I can drop you off somewhere?” “I’d be safer with you, right?” “I think so.” “And I’ll still be free to go whenever?” “Of course.” “I’ll stick with you for now then, if that’s okay? It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else in particular to go.” “Absolutely, Izzy, I’m glad that that’s what you want.” “Are you gonna charge me rent or… how’s that gonna work?” “Don’t sweat it. It’s the least I can do for ya after everything that happened. If you get a job someday and you still want to pay me back then… we can cross that bridge when we get there, kay? Right now I don’t want you to worry about a thing.” “Thank you so much Mike. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. People like you in the Railroad are just amazing…” She thinks I’m with the Railroad. Should I tell her? What would her reaction be? She’s already decided to stay with me on her own volition… I mulled over this a bit and decided to keep it to myself for the time being. If she found out somehow, that would be great, but I wouldn’t be the one to tell her. I spent the rest of the drive chatting with Izzy about her home dimension and mine, comparing differences and noting some surprising similarities. She was an amazing person, and she’d been an aspiring chess player, steps away from her GM title, until the unfortunate incident happened. I promised her that I would do my best to find a way for her to play professionally, even though it would probably require pulling a lot of strings. The first step would involve getting her a chess set, so, seeing as she also needed clothes, diapers, shoes, and everything short of furniture in her size, I drove to a massive outlet mall I knew of in Langley. This time Izzy was more careful with her exit, and waited for me to get to her side before getting up from her car seat. She held her arms out to be picked up and I obliged her with a kiss on her forehead. I stuck a finger into her waistband to check her diaper, which earned me an “Eeep!” It was wet again, so I quickly changed her in the back of the car. “This is the last one in your baggie, we definitely need to get you some more, eh?” I noted and was met with bashful nodding. I knew I couldn’t carry both her and everything we were getting, so I made a beeline for the robocarts once we were inside. I double-tapped a black one and it rolled off its charging dock. I set Izzy down in the padded seat behind the basket for unique purchases, set it to follow me autonomously, and headed for the first shop on my cyrano’s list. On our way there, I asked Izzy an important question: “Aside from diapers which you obviously need, are there any other baby-Little things that you want? You seem pretty glued to that paci for instance? It’s perfectly normal for you to be attached to things like that from your time in the US.” I consciously left out the hypnosis she’d been subject to, in hopes of not triggering PTSD. She’d been through enough for one day. She looked a little red faced and quickly spat the paci out, catching it with her hand. “I’m sorta… drawn to these… they’re really soothing for some reason. Bottles as well,” she added reluctantly, “They’re more relaxing to drink out of and next to impossible to spill. I think the addiction might have something to do with getting hypnotized, that’s how I lost my potty training?” “Makes sense. We can do that. You want some more cute clothes too?” “Ooh I got put in these footed sleepers that were so fuzzy and comfortable, I’d love some of those. I actually had one back home too. And I won’t mind some more pretty dresses either!” She smiled at me and I smiled back. “Sure thing, princess.” She was so precious! Chapter 11 — Some Things Can’t Be Bought This Robocart thing — that’s what the sign on the charging dock called it anyway — is so high-tech. I’ve seen similar robots being used to make deliveries and shelve books in libraries, but never as grocery carts. This is genius though. You never have to worry about leaving your cart somewhere and having to find it again, or having to push it through a crowd of people… The size of the basket doesn’t make sense though… Why is it so small? It certainly wouldn’t fit the list of items that Mike mentioned he was buying… Several store employees greeted us with a smile, but they never offered to help us. Soon, I figured out that only the people with red carts got offered help, and I was sitting in a black one. Apparently, Mike didn’t think we needed any help. When we reached the first aisles of items, I noticed something was off immediately. “Uhh Mike? Why are there only demos of everything and no actual stock?” “Oh I can just scan the barcode with my cyrano and it’ll be added to our virtual cart. We’ll pay at checkout and then pick up everything from the dispensary. Here, you wanna help me scan? That should give you something to do other than look around and keep you from being bored to death?” He fished something that looked like a large signet ring out of a pocket and handed it to me. I took the device from him. It was really light and seemed to be made of plastic. “That is such a brilliant idea!” I couldn’t believe that no one in my dimension had thought of this shopping model before. I never liked online shopping because I couldn’t see and feel the actual product. VR previewing was a thing, but that could only go so far. We’d yet to perfect reproducing textures and the feeling of holding a physical sample in your hands with haptic feedback. On the other hand, in-person shopping was slow and frustrating. People spent way too much time getting things off shelves and into their carts, not to mention all the checkout lines. “I know, right? Best of both worlds.” He seemed to be thinking along the same lines. I twirled the ring around my finger. “Kay, how does this work?” “Point the lens at a barcode and press on the back — there’s a pressure switch under the polycarbonate there. The scanner will vibrate every time it reads the code. If we get two of the same item just scan the same thing twice, and so on; one scan per count.” We reached our first stop in an aisle full of all sorts of different diapers, and Mike tossed me a Frozen-3-themed sample, covered in little snowflakes, Elsas, and Annas. I caught it like a frisbee and brushed my fingers over the fabric of the padding. It felt like I was touching a cloud! “Whoa, this is so soft! Makes the ones I’ve been wearing feel like sandpaper.” “MapleLove. It’s a Canadian brand, and we tend to do things right, even if we don’t really advertise that on the international scene. Scan it twice for two cases for now, eh?” He smiled. “Kay,” I nodded. “Oh right, what size are you?” “Err… I’m not sure?” “Okay, stand up and let me check.” I begrudgingly complied and let him lift my dress up to see. It felt like my wet diaper was exposed for the entire world’s viewing pleasure, and I was definitely going to die from embarrassment! “The princess is of size four,” Mike proclaimed in a whisper, chuckling when he saw the color of my face. “What’s wong, pwincess don’t wike her diapees shown off?” I whacked his arm. “Not funny, Mike. You try it sometime.” He smirked and handed me another diaper from the same brand. This one was covered in little translucent robot characters that reminded me of EVE from WALL-E. I didn’t recognize the characters though, so it was probably a Disney movie from this dimension. Hang on… “Why is this one so thick?” “It’s a nighttime diaper. Extra capacity so you don’t leak. One case should be plenty for now, we can always restock online.” I nodded and scanned it. Mike walked over to an adjacent aisle and the robocart followed suit. This one displayed an assortment of pacifiers and bottles. I was seeing more of these today than I’d ever seen in my entire life. “Any in particular that you like?” “Anything but the ones that expand. Those hurt like hell. Also, pink isn’t my color.” He nodded and picked up a Blue/Green/Purple 3-pack and matching bottles. He also grabbed a plaque for a case of wipes and a wipe warmer, something I’d never heard of but he assured me I would love. Just as I finished scanning all of them, I heard a female voice call out. “Mike! Didn’t expect to see you here today. How’s it going?” I looked up and saw a middle-aged Big with a Little in a sling of sorts. “Hey Maria! Going pretty well, yourself?” As she drew closer, she was about to respond when she saw me. “I’m— Oh my gosh, that’s… that’s…” “Isabelle,” Mike helped her out. “What’s going on, Mike? Why is she here?” “I’m just getting her some clothes and stuff. As you know, the release team screwed up and she got messed up pretty badly in the US, but she managed to get to the Railroad. I met her at the border. The paperwork is all done, I sponsored her and she’s Canadian now,” he smiled. “Wow, I’m glad you’re okay. Maria Torelli, I’m the physician on Mike’s team at the DRC.” She repositioned the sling and reached out her hand, and I grasped it in an awkward handshake. Our hands had so much of a size difference that I would have done better shaking only a finger or two! “This is Michelle, my adopted Little girl— Ooh! Hi snookums! You’re awake!” She looked down and gave Michelle her full attention, gently playing with her for a moment and then sitting her up. I took the opportunity to give Mike an uncomfortable look. He seemed to understand why, and put his hand reassuringly on my shoulder. “Ask her about it.” “Umm… Maria? No offence, but I thought adoptions were illegal here?” She looked back at me and lightly bounced Michelle, who had her thumb in her mouth and was cooing softly. “None taken. In the vast majority of situations, yes. So don’t worry, Mike can’t adopt you, even if you wanted him to, which I very much doubt.” She paused and he chuckled. “But special cases are granted for the few regressed Littles that somehow end up in Canada. Usually it only happens when an adoptive parent in the US screws up somehow, and the Railroad rescues the Little. It’s really a needle in a haystack though. Unfortunately Michelle’s regression was clinically proven to be irreversible, so she’s stuck like this for the rest of her life.” “Fortunately for her, I love her very very much, and I take very good care of her,” she told Michelle friskilly with a kiss. The Little girl in her arms just stared blankly into the distance with empty eyes and a blissful smile. I could tell that she was just a shell of a body, with no personality, no thoughts, and barely any consciousness. It was as if her brain was disconnected with reality. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Maria does seem to love and care about her though. Somewhere in my subconscious, a sliver of envy panged at just how much love Michelle was getting. Having always been the mushy, clingy one in the family, and ridiculed for it, I was a sucker for affection. Mike had definitely given me plenty with his hugs and kisses, especially considering we’d literally met less than 16 hours ago, but a little part of me couldn’t help but crave more of that. Just thinking about it made me feel fuzzy and warm. “Well, we’d better get going, this one needs her diapee changed.” She remarked. Turning to me, she continued, “Looking like you could use one yourself, eh?” The fuzziness dissipated and the warmth relocated to my face at her remark. I wanted to dig a hole and jump into it! I took a sharp breath, but got it together enough to wave goodbye to Michelle as Mike said “See ya!” and Maria disappeared down another aisle. Mike then turned to move to the adjacent store, and the robocart trailed him. From a quick history lesson Mike gave me on the spot, this one seemed to be this dimension’s version of Oshkosh. I cringed a bit at that, but I did ask for cute clothes, and beggars couldn’t be choosers, so I kept my complaints to myself. We found the toddler footwear section, where a friendly sales associate measured my feet to ascertain my new shoe size. Once Mike entered it into his cyrano, I scanned a pack of cute animal socks and another pack of normal pastel colored ones. In the same section, we also picked up a pair of sandals, sneakers to which Mike hilariously referred as “running shoes”, and some cute and furry booties that looked like a pair of little kittens. They were all adorably brightly colored and adorned with cute designs, but a distinctive compass icon on each of them caught my eye. Mike saw me fingering the icon patch on the sandals after I’d scanned them, and explained, “It means they come with GPS tracking tags. It’s a really common feature used to prevent children from getting lost. You can hardly find any kids’ shoes without them these days. We can always disable them or even rip the chips out altogether if you’d like, but I don’t think we’ll find any shoes here that fit you and come without ’em.” In an adjacent section, we found racks of dresses, onesies, rompers, and footed sleepers of various designs and sizes. It turned out that clothes shopping was exactly like back home, since there were several duplicates of each of the hundreds of styles, with retail tags on them. So that explained the robocart basket. Mike grabbed several dresses and sleepers that caught my eye for me. The adorable toddler and fashionable adult dress designs from this dimension both looked amazing, and I could see myself wearing just about anything on the racks. Just to be safe though, I did also get Mike to find me some plain jeans and t-shirts. We headed for the fitting rooms, where I tried on my selections and modeled a few for Mike. He cracked up when I put on a unicorn-themed dress, complete with a matching glittering horn headband. I also had to enlist his help with some of the designs that zipped up the back, which I felt were a pain and decided not to get, even though they looked really cute! I was still very unused to being in a fitting room with another person, even though said person had literally changed my diaper several times by then. It was just something I hadn’t done since I was a little girl. Guess I AM one again. Honestly, I’m still not sure how I feel about that. Thankfully, Mike had the same basic fashion sense as me, so we went through the giant pile of clothes in record time. After trying everything on, I made a few edits to my selections and scanned everything. Mike then put the clothes in the robocart’s basket. On our way out of the store, he took a detour through the stuffed animal section. “Anything you’d like here? Plenty of adults have giant plushies… I may or may not have one myself,” he smiled and gave me a playful wink. “Hmm…” What the heck. Might as well go all the way and splurge on my cuddling desires. “Can I have a dolphin?” I pointed at a pile of them, each one the same size as me. “Sure, princess. It’s your middle name, right?” He grabbed one and set it in the basket. “Well my middle name’s supposed to be the title of the crown prince of France, but it does have multiple meanings, so sure.” After I scanned the stuffies, we proceeded to an IKEA-like store on the other side of the mall. There, Mike had me scan everyday things like cutlery, a sonic teeth cleaner, a desk and chair, and a bed, none of which he had in my size. When he asked if I wanted a crib or a regular bed, I told him about how much I hated the stupid cribs at the orphanage for how prison-esque they felt and how I relished my freedom. For the same reason, I went with a booster seat instead of a highchair for meals. Having spent the past few weeks under almost suffocating restrictions, I didn’t want any more. Mike even managed to find a chessboard for me. When he claimed that he’d beat me with it, I giggled, knowing that, unless he’d somehow left out crazy secrets about who he was, he stood no chance. Our final stop was a Best-Buy-like store called Motherboards. Mike looked like he was giddy with excitement as soon as he stepped foot inside. He was definitely as much a tech fan as I was, if not more so. I couldn’t help but get hyped when I saw the crazy specs of everything, and I literally drooled at the insane hardware that they had. I could easily spend a whole day in this store, but Mike seemed to know what he was looking for. He waved off an overeager sales rep trying to be helpful and made a beeline for a section labelled ‘Displays and Peripherals’. He double-checked something with a sales rep there that I didn’t quite understand, and scanned the items himself with his cyrano. When I asked him what he got, he just smiled and said I’d find out soon. I was exhausted, so I didn’t push the matter. Mike took a left out of Motherboards and led us back to the mall entrance where we’d come in from. There, he showed me how the mall’s centralized checkout system worked. It turned out to be exactly like shopping on Amazon, less the shipping selections, since we were collecting the items right there. When the payment went through, an employee walked us to a receiving bay, where an autonomous flatbed robocart laden with everything we’d purchased met us. The employee checked over everything with Mike, and he confirmed receipt by scanning his cyrano. With that done, they thanked each other and Mike headed for the SUV, where he transferred everything except my dolphin to the trunk. Mike then picked me up, handed it to me, and pressed a button on both carts to automatically return them. Mike tore open a case of diapers and a pack of wipes. He changed me on the backseat before disposing of the used diaper in a nearby trash receptacle. The MapleLove indeed felt amazing. I could hardly even tell it was there, if not for the slight warmth and the bulk. Mike buckled me into my car seat. At that point, I had the first real chance that day to process the sensory overload. Nothing else demanded my attention. My head hurt from all the incredibly convoluted feelings I had, even as I felt content that I had no immediate worries. I abhorred whoever destroyed Michelle with fiery disgust. I pitied the poor girl. I was grateful that Maria had stepped up and shown her love that was as unconditional as a human could give. I still had a twinge of disbelief that I’d managed to escape, and a panging guilt that my friends were trapped in the orphanage. I was hopeful for my future, grateful for Mike’s kindness, captivated by all the futuristic tech in this dimension, and thankful that God hadn’t forsaken me. Above all, there hung an overarching exhaustion from the day’s events. Fatigue soon enveloped me. Hugging my dolphin, pacifier bobbing in and out of my mouth in tune with my gentle breathing, I drifted off to a peaceful sleep and the land of carefree, uncomplicated dreams. End of Part 1 =========================================================== Thanks for reading Part 1 of my story! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing. You can find Part 2 in the original thread linked below, being posted a chapter a week! Please leave a like and a comment, it means the world to me!

Newer than real. Faster than real. Better than real. The TotalVerse is reality. Augmented. Advanced. Improved. Order your TotalSet today. … The prospects of the technology were, on their own, tantalizing. Lab-D technologies had outdone themselves, to the point where it seemed too good to be true. A non-invasive neural interface that delivered optical, stereoscopic, tactile, and olfactory feedback with precision that matched reality to a nearly analogue level. Already, demand far outstripped supply. If getting a PS8 had been difficult, getting a TotalSet to enter the TotalVerse was downright impossible. Scalpers made a mint. Influencers had to call in favors to get their hands on a set. Just owning one was a flex, to the point where people bought knockoff decals that looked like a headset. Visually, it was hard to tell the two metal chips the size of a pinkie nail from a fake, especially tucked behind the user’s ears, which made the fakes all the more appealing. Martin got his through a miracle. Refresh after refresh after refresh, watching all the store pages, none of it worked. Then he got the phonecall. “Hey, Marty–you know anyone who wants one of these headsets? My uncle got one and he says it makes him dizzy, he’s just trying to get back what he spent–okay, you can stop screaming.” It took a five hour drive upstate to get it, but within a day he was home, and in possession of his very own TotalVerse. Sitting on his couch, he buzzed with excitement as he wired it up. Two metal dots behind his ears, and a tiny pinprick of pain as the interface booted up. Then, his room came alive. A woman appeared in front of him, dressed in a purple tank top and matching purple skirt. Her hair, her eyes, and her jewelry were all the Lab-D Purple. His virtual assistant, then. “Hi! I’m Tallie. I’m here to help you set up your TotalSet!” she said. She looked real, as though Martin could reach out and touch her. In a childish impulse, he did so, and to his shock he felt real skin under his hands. His eyes widened. Tallie smiled. “I see you’re touching me. Your default setting is tactile feedback when not in a hazardous environment–would you like to disable that?” The options were already tantalizing. Sweating a little, glancing around uncertainly, Martin asked the awkward question. “Uh… Tallie. Could we have sex? If I wanted to. I mean–” “Certainly!” Tallie beamed, the smile highlighting the dimples on her cheeks. “There’s a suite of options for physical sensations. Would you like to customize my appearance first?” “I–no, not yet!” Martin said. “I just…jeez. Wow. Oh my god.” “I’ve finished calibrating your TotalVerse body settings,” Tallie said. “Your in-world body should match your own quite well, but you’re welcome to tweak the settings! More dramatic changes within the TotalVerse can be acquired from a licensed vendor.” There it was. The micro-transactions had made themselves clear; a TotalSet got him access to the servers, the unparalleled virtual reality world of limitless possibilities. If he wanted anything beyond that–rippling muscles, extreme physical enhancements, a dragon to ride around on–he’d need to get out his wallet. Martin didn’t much care. This was amazing. “Take me to the TotalVerse, please!” Tallie smiled. “Alright! Lie down in a comfortable position, please! I’ll be monitoring your body for safety, but it’s suggested you take breaks every hour.” He grinned, laid back on his couch, and shut his eyes. He opened them in another world entirely. The TotalVerse. Or, well, the TotalVerse lobby. He sat in what looked like an enormous convention hall, with prepopulated vendors selling basic cosmetics. Clothes, body enhancements, in-verse pets. He’d spawned with just a white T-shirt, black pants, and generic tennis shoes, but the stores offered him plenty of opportunities to customize. He’d do that later. For now, he wanted to go out into the world. “Tallie, I want to go somewhere,” he said. She appeared next to him, still beaming. “Your profile still needs a few details before we enter the TotalVerse–please review the following menus and confirm everything is correct!” A series of boxes appeared floating in front of Martin, confirming details. Even as lucky as he’d been, “Martin” had already been claimed as a username, but “MartinPalmer” was still open, so he just kept his full name. The slider options for his body were pretty useless, but he toyed with them to at least give himself the appearance of a slight summer tan and as athletic as the options would allow. He still looked like himself, just more ‘after a good summer’ himself instead of ‘done with a post-christmas binge’ himself. Still, he enviously eyed the greyed-out section on the slider. This was virtual reality, he wanted the body of an adonis. Of course, if he could do it, everyone could and it wouldn’t be special, but now it just meant that those with wealth or the time and discipline to exercise regularly would get the impressive looks, while he’d still be left out. There were minimal default clothes, just a few color options for the T-shirt and pants and an optional purple Lab-D Ballcap. He wanted fashion, but instead selected a blue T and white pants, skipped the tacky cap, and to his surprise when he hit ‘select’, they appeared in the air next to him and fell to the ground with a realistic flop. Glancing around, feeling awkward for stripping in such a large space–even a large, empty space–he stripped down to his virtual boxers and dressed in the new clothes. Everything felt real. If he hadn’t known he was wearing the TotalSet, he’d have no way of distinguishing this from reality. “Alright,” he said. “I’m set. Take me to the TotalVerse.” “Are you sure? Once you lock in your account, settings cannot be changed without spending Total Tokens for modifications.” “Sure,” Martin confirmed. “Just take me in.” “Where would you like to go?” Tallie asked. “Just…wherever. Is there a good place to get acquainted?” he asked. “Would you like to go to one of the TotalVerse Lounges?” Tallie asked. Martin shrugged. He just wanted to go anywhere. “Sure!” “Close your eyes, and I’ll take you there.” He did. She did. When Martin opened his eyes, he stood in a huge, elaborate cocktail lounge. Large steel balconies hung overhead, techno music thumped at a pleasant volume, and hundreds of other people milled about, dancing, chatting, or just taking in the sights. Many wore the same generic T-shirt/pants combination as Martin, but others had more elaborate wear–anything from high fashion to medieval armor. Several had inhuman features; tails, horns, or wings that let them fly from the ground floor to the balcony in a single sweep. Instantly, Martin felt a pang of jealousy. “How much are wings?” he asked aloud. Someone snickered next to him. Martin looked over to see a girl about his height, wearing a cocktail dress and a fabulous gold tiara. She had striking red eyes, and a body that drew Martin’s gaze for more than a moment. “If you want to talk to Tallie here, you have to say, ‘Hey Tallie!’–uh, no thank you. I’m done, Tallie.” “Thanks,” Martin said. “Hey Tallie!” Tallie appeared next to him, chipper as ever, standing between him and the girl. “How can I help you?” Martin leaned to the side. “Uh…” “She’s your Tallie, I can’t see her,” the girl explained, smirking. “Right. Hey Tallie, how much do wings cost?” Martin asked. Tallie raised her hand, and a menu appeared with a merchant page. “There are a variety of mod vendors who sell wings–prices range from fifty thousand to eighty thousand thousand Total Tokens. Would you like to shop for options?” Martin’s eyes widened as he did the math in his head, converting real money to tokens. That was way out of his price range. “No thanks.” Leaning aside again, he asked the girl, “How do I make her go away?” “You say, “I’m done, Tallie,” the girl explained. “I’m done, Tallie.” His virtual assistant blinked out of existence, leaving him facing the girl again. “Hi, I’m Martin.” “Daemon,” she replied. “You must be new here.” He chuckled. “What gave it away?” She looked him up and down. “No mods, no clothes, you don’t know how to call your Tallie–trust me, it stands out. Nothing to be embarrassed about, once you spend a few tokens you’ll be looking sharp.” Martin blushed. “Well, that’s the thing–” “Ah.” Daemon laughed. “Token poor, eh? Don’t worry, I know some people who can help with that.” “I’ve got a job,” Martin said. Daemon smirked. “Why don’t we talk somewhere more…private?” “Another room?” he asked. “Off the TotalVerse,” Daemon explained. “I’ll give you my Chaos handle, we can chat–you do have a Chaos account, right? The popular chat service?” “Oh, yeah. I mostly use it for gaming,” Martin said. “We should talk there.” Daemon looked around the club. “There’s eyes everywhere, and you don’t want to get in trouble and have your account locked–you only get one shot, y’know.” “Oh, sure.” Martin shrugged. “Okay.” They exchanged contact info, and she waved at him. “Talk to you soon, Martin. I can’t wait to see what you spend your tokens on.” Daemon disappeared in a blink, leaving Martin alone in the club. Glancing over, he walked to the bar, feeling a bit uncertain. “How much is a…how about a lemon drop?” “Just one token,” the bartender explained, leaning over the counter. With a start, Martin realized that she looked identical to Tallie, save for her outfit. “You want one?” Martin did the math in his head–one token was cheaper than a drink at a real bar. “Sure.” From nowhere, she passed him the shot glass, and Martin downed it in one swig. The alcohol hit him–a mild surprise. He’d known the sensory control was solid, but this was incredible–and he wanted to know what else he could experience. But to experience it, he needed tokens. “Eh, screw it,” he said. “Hey, Tallie. Take me back to real life.” “Alright!” Tallie said, blinking into unreality across from him. “Just close your eyes!” He obeyed, and felt his couch underneath him. The buzz of alcohol, though, hadn’t gone away. “Tallie, am I still tipsy?” Standing over him, his virtual assistant nodded. “Would you like to sober up?” “No, I just didn’t realize it crossed over,” Martin sat up. Reaching out for his phone, he pulled up the Chaos messenger, added Daemon’s user ID, and sent a message. ‘You mentioned tokens?’ Her message came back a second later. ‘I’ve got a lead on a way to generate tokens. Since the software’s still new, there’s a few exploits–from within your account controls, I can underflow the system to max out your tokens. It’ll only take a few minutes.’ Martin’s eyes widened. After the stroke of luck with getting a headset at all, he hadn’t expected to be rolling in virtual currency. ‘Won’t I get banned, though?’ ‘That’s the thing–the bug is untraceable. I did it on my own account, you saw what I was wearing, right?’ Daemon had a point. Martin considered for a moment. He didn’t want to get permanently locked out of his account due to hacking, but if she’d done it… And besides, what fun was virtual reality if he couldn’t do anything? ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘What do I need to do?’ ‘Just go into your user settings and pull a couple ID numbers for me,’ Daemon sent back. ‘I’ll send the list. That’ll let me tweak your account balance.’ ‘Okay, great.’ Martin said aloud, “Hey, Tallie. I need some numbers, can you read them to me?” He read Daemon’s list aloud, and when Tallie gave him the codes, he typed them in diligently. ‘Thanks’, Daemon said. Martin started to type out a response, but curiously, before he could hit send, Daemon’s name grayed out. “Weird…” He wasn’t sure what to do next. Maybe he already had the tokens. Maybe it’d all been a scam–but if it had, he wasn’t worried, he didn’t have an account balance to clear out. “Tallie, take me back to the club,” he said, laying back and closing his eyes. When he reappeared, he looked around for Daemon, but she was nowhere to be seen. He checked his account balance, but it still sat at a single digit number, his starting balance from opening an account. “You’ve got a message!” Tallie said. “From an anonymous user.” “Uh…” Martin frowned. “What is it?” “It says, ‘Fifty thousand credits, and we’ll give your account access back.’ And then there’s a TotalVerse Banking account number.” Tillie beamed while she spoke, totally at odds with what she’d just said. Martin looked around the club, shocked. He half expected to see Daemon smirking at him, but all he saw were the faces of other new users in their various attire, a few of whom were glancing at him curiously. “What?” “It says, ‘Fifty thousand credits, and we’ll give your account access–” “Yeah, no, I heard you.” Martin gaped. “Tillie, show me user settings.” “I’m afraid your user settings are password protected,” Tillie smiled. “Can you tell me the password?” “I…but…” Martin started to say. He had no followup. He’d fallen for a stupid scam within ten minutes of opening his account. And then he noticed the warmth in his pants. Looking down, his eyes widened, shocked as he saw a dark, wet stain spreading down from his crotch, turning the white fabric bright yellow. “Tillie, what the hell?” “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question,” Tillie said. “Why did I just–” Martin looked around, horrified to see the smirks being cast his direction. In a quiet hiss, he finished, “Piss myself?” “It looks like your potty training settings have been adjusted to zero,” Tillie said. “You can reset that at any time from your user settings. Would you like to go there now?” “Yes!” Martin snapped. “I’m afraid your user settings are password protected,” Tillie smiled. “Can you tell me the password?” Martin blanched. His account had been bricked, unless he was willing to pay a ransom or continue pissing his pants in the TotalVerse. “I…” A passing guy snickered. “You got scammed, bro!” While Martin took that in, Tallie chimed in again. “It looks like your clothes are dirty. Would you like to have them cleaned, or change to a different outfit from your inventory?” “I don’t have any other clothes!” Martin snapped. “Yes you do! Your inventory has plenty of options,” Tillie said, raising her hand. A menu appeared, showing he had one other piece of clothing in his wardrobe inventory–a plain, white, puffy diaper.” Martin swallowed. “Take me back to the loading room, please.” They vanished from the bar, and reappeared in the starting area. He took a breath. “How much does it cost to clean my clothing?” “You may have your clothing automatically refreshed once per day,” Tallie said. “Additional cleanings cost credits, depending on the item.” “Can I buy other clothes?” he asked. “I’m afraid that option is password protected,” Tillie smiled. “Can you tell me the password?” “Dammit!” Martin snapped. “Ok. Ok, this is fine. Can I still, like, buy stuff?” “Your ability to purchase mods and clothing is password protected, but your other options are currently available,” Tillie said. “Is there something you’d like to buy?” “No, I just…” Sitting down, Martin took a deep breath. “Shit. So I can either ditch my headset completely, or deal with…ugh. Diapers.” He’d have to think about it. It was just annoying enough that he might put up with the embarrassment and nuisance, if it meant getting the other benefits of the TotalVerse. Besides, as fun as the Verse parts were, the most important aspect was the augmented reality. Those settings would be lifechanging, the kind he’d wanted the set for to begin with. If nothing else, getting to bang Tallie whenever he wanted would be well worth the sticker price. “Okay, Tallie, I’m ready to leave the TotalVerse,” he said. “Alright! Close your–” He already had his eyes closed, and he returned to reality. Once again, he was laying on his couch, the t-shirt went away and was replaced with his tank top, and his wet pants… He was still in wet pants. Opening his eyes, he looked down, shocked to see that his jeans were just as soaked as his pants in-verse had been. “Uh…” he said. “Uh…” All his user settings had been modified. Not just the in-verse settings. If he wanted the potty training back, he’d have to take off his headset completely. “Uh, Tallie…” he started to say. She blinked into appearance on his lap. “Would you like to have sex now?” His concerns faded. He could take off the headset later. And maybe he could just buy some diapers for regular-day use, too. ... Hey there, author note! I'd like to know what you think of the concept in this story. Aside from the plot itself, there's a lot I could do with the concept of a VR universe like this. I'd like to hear your comments! Also... I already wrote another story in this universe, it's in early access on Patreon & SubscribeStar. "Gamer Pants: the Stat Dump" will be out publicly next month, but you can read it early if you want to support my writing! https://www.patreon.com/posts/67843661 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/628275

Hello! This is the first story I've ever written, so I'm still getting a feel for my writing style and learning a lot! Appreciate any and all feedback as long as criticism is constructive. I'm not sure how long I want to make it, but so far I have about 8 chapters that I've already written and it doesn't feel close to done with what I want to do by the end. I feel I should mention as well I'm not a huge fan of baby talk in stories, but in the spirit of making things apparent while still feeling natural, there are some instances where it'll be done when pacis or something are involved, but I'm sorry if it's inconsistent hah. Clearly by the title it takes place in the Pokemon world, so if you're into that or the games, then awesome! If not, then I'm sorry if things end up a bit confusing ;^; I've posted 3 chapters elsewhere already, so I figure I'll do the same here! CW for the story, I may update as more chapters come: Diaper messing, diaper wetting, forced regression, hypno. Chapter 1 It was a beautiful sunny day on route 7, just outside of Hammerlocke city. The Rookidee were chirping, Ribombee and Cutiefly going from flower to flower, and standing outside of a new building just outside of town was a curious, new trainer, Rina. She looked up at the building, a sign above the door stating simply “Pokémon Nursery”, however the curious thing was up until recently, it had been a completely abandoned building, and it seemed to have little to no association with the other two more well-known Pokémon nurseries in the region. The front of the building was adorned with flower boxes beneath a bay window, and beds alongside the bottom. Rina walked to the side of the building to look around the corner, in order to see if there was anything interesting or telling around back. A fence blocked her path, but she could still make out quite a bit. A small playground stood to the side of the building, with more flowers behind it, towards a fence she could make out at the back, and a small pond could be seen peeking out from directly behind the building, slightly out of view. Everything seemed to be normal enough, and she definitely had a few Pokémon that she thought may benefit from a place like this, just so she didn’t have to spend a ton of her own time getting them through those early stages of training, and she could keep working on getting her stronger partners ready for more gyms. She wanted to win, she had to be the best! She didn’t have the time to build out the perfect team all by herself. As she stood there, she patted down the front of her skirt, wiped off her jacked trying to tidy up, checked her pink hair in the reflection of the window, before thinking “Why are you so nervous? It’s just a Pokémon nursery! They’re here to help trainers out!” With that she closed her eyes and opened the door, causing a small bell inside to jingle, signaling someone had walked in. As she walked into the front room, she looked around taking everything in. The whole foyer definitely had a bit of a preschool aesthetic to it. From the outside it seemed like a quaint cottage, fitting for the area, but inside, aside from the front wall, it felt very modern. Pastel colors adorned the walls, alongside various cute baby Pokémon decals. A sparse, new bulletin board was on the left hand side of the room, along with a few chairs for people to wait for assistance. Another door stood in the back of the room, to the right of the main welcoming desk, behind which stood a kind looking Indeedee who simply smiled up at the trainer. She walked nervously up to the Indeedee, who just continued staring. “Hello, is there anyone else here? I’m interested in your nursery services! Do you have a list of services or prices I could look at while I wait for whoever runs this place?” The Indeedee’s ears perked up, and she smiled, jumping up and down excitedly listening to the new trainer, before walking around the side of the counter, standing next to Rina, and holding a hand up for the trainer to grab. “Oh, you want me to follow you to who runs this place? Alright…” and with that she grabbed the creature’s hand, now being led towards the door to the right. She thought the whole thing to be a bit odd. Typically, the way this worked was you talk with the person at the counter, they ask which Pokémon you’d like them to watch, they charge you P500 for each, and that’s that! However, there wasn’t a person in sight, nobody outside, no prices, and not a single Pokémon to speak of other than the one that she assumed worked here! Was she their first customer? There was no way! Though she had to admit, everything looked so new, and with it seemingly not related to the other nurseries, maybe people were just being apprehensive and sticking with who they know. As she was moving she noticed there was no PC to be seen. No matter, she could drop off her Sylveon, Ribbon, while she went and grabbed some lunch just to see how things went before she committed to leaving more, just as a test. As she got to the door and opened it, she wasn’t prepared for what awaited her inside. Rina opened the door and was immediately hit with the smell of baby powder. She looked around, and what she saw shocked her. “What in Arceus…” she muttered. Her eyes were looking everywhere. She’d never been inside the rooms in Pokémon nurseries, but she had to wonder, were they all like this? Like an actual…nursery? It had it all. A changing table was pressed against the back wall, the drawers beneath stocked with a multitude of diapers, bottles, lotions, you name it. To her right sat a rather large crib, above which an adorable Eeveelution mobile dangled, reflecting all sorts of beautiful lights. Pillows and toys were spread all over, though it had a bit of the tidy mess look to it all, like it was just ready and waiting to be played with by someone. She noticed a Lapras shaped training potty in the corner at the foot of the changing table, and some sort of chart above it. To her left she heard another door open and looked over to see the Indeedee walking through it, presumably to bring her whoever ran this place. Looking closer though and taking it all in, she began to notice things. First, there were other Pokémon here. She noticed a trash bin at the head of the changing table, at the foot of which sat a diaper pail and a rather odd looking Trubbish, but it was so still she thought it fake or something of the sort. She gave it an awkward smile and a wave, and to her shock it actually gave her a kind wave back, before settling into motionlessness yet again. She looked towards the large crib pillows, and noticed they were unmistakably Whimsicott fluff. Was it still in there, or was that just leftover fluff? She walked closer to the crib, and only then did it hit her how large it was. It was person sized, not baby Pokémon sized. Sure, larger Pokémon hatched from eggs just the same as small ones, but they typically didn’t need all of…this. Did they? She wasn’t all too sure, she’d never hatched one, but she couldn’t imagine most Pokémon this sort of environment. Continuing on that line of thought, she started second guessing the changing table. She walked over to it and picked up one of the diapers. They were also, like the crib, too big for baby Pokémon. Her mind was racing, but before she had too long to think about it, a voice popped into her head. “Oh welcome, welcome to our Pokémon nursery little one!” The voice said. Rina turned around to find what could potentially be the largest Gardevoir she had ever set eyes on or even heard about. She was walking out of the room with the Indeedee in tow, and continued her psychic speak. “My name is Bella, and sweet Indeedee told me you were interested in our nursery services!” she said with a quite clearly excited smile. “Is the customer you or are you inquiring for someone else?” Chapter 2 Rina looked up at the massive Gardevoir, probably a good three feet taller than her. Was this an alpha? Surely someone with an alpha Pokémon in this day and age wouldn’t be using it to help run a nursery! She decided to reply instead of thinking of more things to confuse herself. “Hi yes! No it’s me that’s interested. How much do you all charge? I didn’t see any signage or advertisement anywhere out front, or in the foyer.” she asked, trying to speed things along and be on her way. “…Charge? Oh sweetie you have it all wrong! We do this strictly because we enjoy taking care of the little ones! It brings so many of us such joy, and I’m so glad to hear that you’re interested!” said Bella’s voice, ringing through Rina’s head like a song, while she brought her hands to her face in excitement. Maybe she was their first customer. Bella looked down at Rina’s outfit, and noticed the pokeball hanging from Rina’s purse “Oh and is this your partner? If you just hand them over to Indeedee here, she’ll see to it they’re in perfect hands!” Rina nodded, kissing the pokeball goodbye, even if only for a couple of hours, and handed her Sylveon over to what seemed to be the…secretary? Assistant? She was curious, but just left it at helper. “Well I suppose that’s it then, thank you!” And with that she turned to walk away and head out, when suddenly she felt something touch her. Bella was reaching out and grabbing her hand as she was walking away. She turned around confused and just looked at the Gardevoir, wondering what she wanted. “Oh no no no, sweetie! Come now, just relax and lets get you all situated” Was the last thing Rina heard in her head before there were some dancing lights all throughout her vision. Pink. Purple. Blue. Swirling together, making her eyes, then her whole body heavy. Oh no. Was she being hypnotized? Suddenly a lot more things started making sense. The lack of people, the baby amenities fit for a human, this wasn’t a Pokémon nursery for Pokémon, this was a Nursery run by Pokémon for people! The thought didn’t last long though, as before she knew it, the dancing lights were over, but the heavy feeling remained, and it was all consuming. She thought she’d collapse to the floor, but before she did, she felt herself being lifted up in front of Bella, before being embraced in a gleeful hug, followed by the two of them floating over towards the changing table together. As she was laid onto the soft top of the table, she could barely keep her eyes open. Thoughts weren’t connecting. Rina at last tried to say something, but all that she managed to get out was “nnn…..baby” Bella looked down at her in sheer joy, and all Rina heard back was “That’s right sweetie! You’re going to be an absolutely adorable baby! Don’t you worry about a thing, leave it all to us!” before falling into a deep slumber. While she slept, various images and scenarios appeared and were dreamed up in her head. She was in the mountains, training hard with her team. She saw her pokemon hurt from a battle, but fighting on regardless. Babyish imagery began flashing intermittently. A pacifier, a bottle, a diaper. Next thing she knew, she was dreaming of the nursery. The crib, the changing table, and Bella. After who knows how long, Rina began to awaken, reaching up to wipe the sleep from her eyes groggily. “What a strange dream” she thought, looking up and seeing the same dangling mobile she’d seen in the crib in her….dream? Wait no, that part wasn’t a dream. She sat up quickly, and it was then that she felt, and heard, the crinkle coming from beneath her clothes. Wait. These weren’t her clothes. She was dressed in what seemed like a kindergarteners outfit, blue top, a red skirt. Reaching down to lift the skirt up though, was when she saw the bulk that she felt. A Togepi egg print diaper, taped around her waist, the perfect size for her. She wanted to scream, but that’s when she noticed the pacifier in her mouth. She reached up to pull it out, but her body wouldn’t obey! Her hand just stopped when she touched it. She wanted to spit it out, but it was like she couldn’t remember how to. Clearly some sort of effect of hypnosis that the Gardevoir had used on her. She sat there, crossed her arms, and pouted, unconsciously sucking on the paci a little bit, thinking about what to do. She had to get out of here. Escape, something! The longer she stayed here, the more danger she was in. As she got to her feet, wobbly on the fluffy cushioning of the crib mattress, it was clear there was no way she was climbing out. The bars of the crib came up to about her chest. It was about then that Bella walked back in from the other mystery room. “Oh my is the baby awake?! Look at you! You are just the cutest thing! We’re so lucky you’re the first trainer to come through our doors!” Came through Rina’s mind, and the surprise of a sudden voice was enough for her to lose her balance and drop down right on to her butt with a puff of powder and a crinkle. Tears began to well in her eyes. She was embarrassed, humiliated, didn’t know what had been done to her mind, and she was trapped! It was all too much, and despite the paci being stuck there for now, she began to cry and wail around it, causing Bella to rush over in a panic. Using psychic, she effortless floated the girl out of the crib and in front of her, and before Rina could say or do anything, Bella felt just inside the side of the girl’s diapers. Rina’s eyes went wide in shock, and she instantly tried swatting the Pokémon’s arms away. “Hmm, you’re still all clean. Why so fussy, darling? Are you hungry?” she asked more rhetorically rather than just asking Rina herself. She floated the girl down to the floor into a sitting position, before starting to hover off into the next room over. “You wait right there! I’ve got just the thing!” Was the last thing Rina heard before the Pokémon disappeared, before shortly emerging back carrying a baby bottle full of white liquid that she could only assume was milk. Next thing she knew, she was being floated up into the Gardevoir’s arms and cradled. She knew what was coming, and she was going to fight it. She puffed her cheeks out around the paci angrily. She would make it clear this was all a mistake, some sort of misunderstanding. “Alrighty baby girl, say ahhhhh!” rang in her head, and Bella removed the paci from her mouth. Instantly, Rina began shouting. “I’M NOT A BA-mmmph!” was all she managed to get out before having the nipple from the bottle shoved into her mouth by some unseen force. She kept trying to talk around it, but all she could get out were murmurs. “Such a fussy baby. Shh, shh, it’s okay! This will help fill you right up!” She managed to hear through her struggling. The girl didn’t suckle, didn’t drink, but every so often a drop would come out of the bottle and land on her tongue. It was milky, but it was thick and sweet. Was this baby formula?! She began wriggling to get away and out of her arms, but the Gardevoir held her strong. After a moment though, her stomach let out a groaning growl, and the girl blushed. She cursed her body for betraying her, and Bella picked up on it instantly. Rina saw Bella’s hand start to glow before coming up to her eyes, and she heard her voice again. “So you were hungry! Still not drinking, though? I didn’t want to do this, but if you’re going to be difficult. Drink up, little one! It’s yummy! You’ll feel much better after, too!” the voice said in her head. The suggestion with the hypnosis was all it took, and the girl began suckling. She was completely aware of what was happening though, she didn’t feel heavy or sleepy at all like last time. She tried to stop, but her mouth wouldn’t obey. She tried to grab the bottle out of the air, but it wouldn’t budge from being pushed into her mouth by the powerful Pokémon’s abilities. As the thick, sweet liquid washed over her mouth more, she was taken aback by how delicious it was. It tasted way better than it had a second ago, and she remembered what she heard. It was just another part of the hypnosis, she told herself, but it didn’t matter. As she started drinking more, she felt a rhythmic pat on her bottom, her diaper crinkling with each “thump….thump…”, and she was taken aback, but she was so absorbed in trying to stop herself, while at the same time not fully wanting to because of the taste. Before too long, she stopped trying to resist. She stopped caring about the hypnosis. She stopped caring about the pats. She just drank, and then the bottle was empty. Chapter 3 Once the bottle had been emptied, it floated over onto a table. As it left her mouth, Rina just sat there in the Gardevoir’s arms, shocked. “There there, all better!” She heard in her head. She was still reeling mentally from the situation. As easy as could be, she had been stripped of control and forced to drink a whole bottle of formula like it was nothing. She tried to stay calm, but she had to admit she was a little afraid. “What...did you do to me? Why?” She managed to ask once realized her mouth was no longer occupied. “Why couldn’t I stop? Why couldn’t I take that thing out?” She asked again, pointing at the pacifier sitting next to the empty bottle. Bella was a bit taken aback by the questions. “Oh my, I’m so sorry, but you seemed so upset, but then you wouldn’t drink from your bottle! I had to get you to somehow, so I may have used a little convenient hypnosis to get the job done. As for the pacifier, same thing! It just makes my job much easier without fussy little ones throwing them all over, and having to get a new clean one!” Hearing what she heard confirmed everything, and she about burst out screaming, but tried to keep calm. “Okay then. Lastly, what the heck is this place, and why am I being treated like a baby?! I’m a Pokémon trainer, this is a Pokémon nursery, why is it all backwards?!” she asked, this time raising her voice a bit more as she went on. Bella thought a bit at the question. “Well, this is a Pokémon nursery, a nursery run by Pokémon! We aim to take care of any and all who come through our door, Pokémon or trainer! And while I must say you are a tad fussier than I imagined for someone who seemed interested using our services, you are just cute as a button!” she said psychically while patting Rina’s diaper, and booping her nose. Rina was starting to get it. “I was interested in the nursery for my Pokémon! I’m an adult, not a baby. I don’t need to be here, I can take care of myself, let me go right now!” she shouted, starting to struggle and try to break free from the large Gardevoir’s arms again. While her physical struggle seemed to have little effect on its own, her words seemed to make the Gardevoir set her down on the floor, and Bella looked to be thinking a little bit at what she said. Now that things seemed to be settling down, she went to free herself from this accursed diaper. Each movement causing a crinkle, a constant reminder of her situation, she couldn’t bear it any longer. She reached down to take it off and…wait how did she take it off? She felt all over, poked and prodded at every inch of the cloud like garment. There were tapes holding it on at the sides, but no zipper, no button, nothing. She pulled at one of the tapes a bit, but something in the back of her head told her that wouldn’t solve the problem, so she stopped without trying. She was speechless, it had to be another part of the hypnosis from when she fell asleep earlier. She went to talk again but was interrupted by the pacifier being placed back into her mouth. “Ah ah ah” she heard in her head with a chiding tone “Don’t try to take that off, we can’t have babies like you having any accidents!” and that was enough to set her off again. She threw her arms down, and puffed her cheeks out in a huff. Rina reached over to a nearby pokeball shaped pillow and grabbed it, before throwing it across the room in a huff. Rina stood up with a wobble, still not used to the bulk between her legs, and tried to look defiant. To just about anyone, this would just look like a toddler having a temper tantrum. “Not babee! Let ee go!” She shouted around the pacifier, stamping her foot on the ground, before feeling a sudden swat on her padded behind by some unseen force. “Hey!” she shouted again, this time looking straight at Bella, who seemed wholly unamused by the display. “Not a baby, huh?” she heard in her head. “After that display young lady, I’m not convinced of that at all! You’re fussy, you aren’t eating properly based on how hungry you were, you throw tantrums instead of talking. No I think you’re exactly where you belong!” The tone of voice in her head instantly made Rina avert her eyes, like a child being scolded. Bella was right to a point, but the whole thing was ludicrous! Next thing she knew however she was being lifted up and placed into the crib again. There she stood, belly full now, trapped yet again. She placed her hands atop the gate, as she watched the Gardevoir take a few steps back. “I’ll go have a chat with the Pokémon you left with us, and we’ll see where we stand. Now you just stay put and think about what I said. If you’re still dry by the time I get back, well then that’s extra big girl points for you!” she heard before seeing Bella head back into the other room and close the door. That was it, she was saved! As soon as she talked with Ribbon, this whole thing would be figured out and she would be on her way! It was just then that she thought about the last thing Bella had said. Still dry? Suddenly she realized just how much formula she drank earlier, and she had a problem. She had to pee. She flopped down on her bottom in the crib, her diaper puffing out a bit and crinkling still with each movement. How long would they be?! What was there to talk about?! If Ribbon had any sense she would just rush out and free her! It was then that the Whimsicott that had apparently been her pillow floated over to her and snuggled against her cheek. She gave it a hug gently, before letting it be whisked away, floating throughout the room. The pressure in her bladder grew, so she stood back up, fidgeting more. She looked around for a clock in the room to gauge how long it had been. Nothing. She tried thinking of other things to distract herself. She needed to go train more with Ribbon, maybe they should go to the wild area tomorrow when this was all over! She could also use a few more good team mates to deal with a few gyms she had yet to win against, yeah, that seemed like a good plan! She glanced over at the changing table again, paying more attention. How had she not put two and two together as soon as she stepped into this place? It was all so obvious in hindsight! Was it their goal to just trick trainers into coming here? Was it malicious? It didn’t seem so, just...silly. She looked down at the Trubbish next to the waste bin, before putting two and two together and feeling disgusted, realizing that it was the diaper pail, and the trash this Trubbish was made from was just diapers. Efficient at least, but. Gross, and not something she planned on contributing to. She kept trying to think of other things, the pressure growing the whole time. How long had it been? 5 minutes? 20? It felt like basically an hour! Until suddenly she couldn’t take it anymore. “Huwwy up!” she shouted out from behind the pacifier, while doing the potty dance to keep any last bit of dignity she had. At long last the door opened up, Bella walking out with Rina’s Sylveon in tow. “Tank oo! Come thave me!” sounding infinitely more childish than she meant, but it got the point across. But Ribbon didn’t move. Not in the sort of disobeying her trainer, sticking its nose up at you in battle and ignoring commands sort of way. Instead, it just stared at Rina with bright cheery eyes, and let out an enthusiastic “Vee! Vee!”. Rina couldn’t believe it. What had that Gardevoir done to it? It looked totally normal! Not hypnotized, not hurt, what was going on?! She began to hear in her head “Sorry for taking so long! We were having such a lovely discussion that we seemed to lose track of time. It’s okay though! Your lovely Sylveon wholly understood I was coming from a place of love and care and couldn’t agree more! You push the two of you so hard, you need a nice bit of pampering, and a bit of a reset! Ribbon here even agreed to help out, and who can blame them! You’re picture perfect adorable!” Ribbon just nodded while Bella said all of this, and Rina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She glared at her Pokémon, and just whispered “twaitor” around her paci at the mention of Ribbon wanting to help. Then the voice came again “And look at you! Still dry even after all of that! I must say I’m surprised! For one as little as yourself, maybe you’ll be graduating to pullups sooner than I expected!”. That one sentence was enough to bring Rina’s attention back to the matter at hand. The revelation she wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon, combined with the growing urgency to relieve herself was too much. At first a trickle, and then like a flood, a loud hiss broke the silence in the room, followed by an “Oh. Maybe I spoke too soon!” from within from Bella. She couldn’t believe what was happening. She reached her hand beneath her skirt, she pressed her legs together, anything to try and stop it, but nothing mattered. The flow remained torrential despite her efforts. She felt the warmth spread around, making the diaper swell and expand, eventually forcing her legs apart. Bella watched on in excited glee, while Ribbon held a paw up to her mouth, stifling a giggle. She thought the thing would burst or leak, something, at any moment, but it didn’t! It just kept filling and filling, until at long last, it was over, and she was done.

Sometimes, when time is short, and clean up must be done quickly, I revert to something I did before I discovered diapers. I wet and mess in a pair of cotton briefs. All the joy, none of the hassle, toss 'em in the laundry and go on with the day. They don't hold much, but for short term, they fulfill a need. It's my alternative to drugstore disposable diapers. Anybody else do this when you were a kid? Anybody still do this on occasion now?

Disclaimer: contains sexual content... Kitty-Kat’s Little Adventure Kitty was absolutely buzzed with excitement as the tv flickered to her favorite show. She focused on bright colors, glancing over the jumbled words that appeared on the screen. Reading was not a needed skill when she had her daddy to tell her stories all the time. At daycare, they taught her how to spell her name and that was all she needed to know. Daddy called her his little Kitty Kat. Though, sometimes it was Little Miss Crinkle Pants, Lil Stinker, or Poo poo Machine like on her bib, tied around her neck. But of course, she was daddy’s kitty first and foremost. There was no question about that as she bounced in his lap, legs splayed in only a very thick diaper. “Dada wook!” she exclaimed, unfazed by the dribbling milk coming from her mouth. “Oh, yes very nice! Does Kitty like the colors?” Like a bobblehead, she nodded enthusiastically, two bleached blonde pigtails swinging back and forth. “Drink your baba. Be a good girl.” The rubber teat teased her lips eventually being allowed to enter. A feeling of calm washed over her, focused on the moving images that did make much sense. Falling back into the comfort of Dada’s broad chest, she continued to suck down all thirty-two ounces of the creamy white liquid. Despite the protest from her very chubby tummy, Kitty continued to drink. At almost 5 ft. 10 in, twenty-four years old, and weighing one-hundred and forty pounds, she felt tiny in his muscular arms. He was at least a foot taller, able to lift her and all the extra baggage she carried. Dada said chubby girls were healthy girls. That’s why he’d fattened her up from the stick she had once been. That was a long long time ago. The dark days. A time when she had no Dada and was all on her own. Where would she be now if he hadn’t rescued her? Kitty didn’t like to think about that. Going to a boring school called Harvard and studying to be a lawyer… it was not very fun. Do you know what was fun? Daycare! Every day she got to play dress up and make finger paintings for Dada. Plus, Rosie and Evie were there and they were her bestest friends in the entire world! They weren’t like the ones from before. What were their names? It was a long longgg time ago. She knew they weren’t good girls because Dada said they weren’t and he is always right. That’s why he rescued her that night, her head fuzzy from the icky drink that was definitely not her baba! He’d become her new home… taking her away from the loud place and her big girl clothes that no little girl should wear. It was for the best, Kitty knew now. She’d put up a terrible tantrum but Dada said that was ok. It’s how little girl behave. Just not too often… then it was just bratty. ooOoo This was why Friday nights were his favorite: no work, all the beer he could drink, and best of all… playtime with his little Kitty- Kat. The hypnosis series was a success, leaving her even more dependent and in need to mess. Finishing the last drops of her bottle laced with laxatives, Deliria, and his special milk, to say she was on another planet would be an understatement. The drug, Deliria, did exactly what it sounded like. Within minutes she would be delirious, increasing her libido until she was nothing but an icky mess of sweat, tears, and poop. Of course, he’d taken special measures, locking her little kitten. His Kitty couldn’t get all the fun! While she got playtime at daycare this was Dada’s time. To her, he was Dada and that’s all he would ever be. Nowadays adult babies were all the rage on the black market. Diaper clad and with their minds turned to mush, never would he have trouble finding his own woman. It’s not like he was ugly. Being a personal trainer, at the gym five days a week, many ladies came up to him. Tall, tanned skin with dark hair, chiseled jaw, and smoldering blue eyes (their words, not his!) he could have anyone he wanted. But he chose his little Kitty. The switch in her mind was all too obvious, watching as her eyes rolled to the back of her head, eyes fluttering shut. Rocking her hips as the drug took effect, the crinkling padding was enough to turn him on. He’d fitted her with four diapers, extra absorbent and leakproof. Now, after the past two hours of continuous laxatives… Lord have mercy. Her lips wobbled, little whimpers emitting from her throat. “Dada!” she breathed. “Tickwle Dada! Hewp!” frustration coated her voice as her movements quickened, unable to achieve her desired release. So unbelievably sexy… if only the world could see the gem he had captured and what they were missing. “Does your kitten tickle, princess?” he groaned. “Tell Dada to touch you. Use your words.” Even if she could speak, the girl was too lost in her own world. His hand moved to her chest, rolling the two little pebbles between his fingers, wrinkly and dark compared to pale hue. They’d played this game long enough for the fingerless mitts no longer to be needed. Kitty knew better than to touch her little buttons. Little girls were not mature enough. That’s why it was Dada’s responsibility. It could’ve been minutes or hours but like a bubbling volcano of lava, her stomach rumbled, churning beneath the touch of his hand. “Is my Kitty gonna make a present for Dada?” ooOoo “Just let go…” his breathe, warm and minty, tickled her ear. “Dada’s got you.” Her emotions were a kaleidoscope of colors. Pure ecstasy... euphoria... but with a little touch of salt. It was like being lost in a maze. The exit so close yet so far. She could hear his voice, feel his presence, but the words died on her tongue as soon as they arose. Her heart thundered in her chest, threatening to break free. It was as if her entire body was a wire, tense, waiting to snap. As her toes curled and back arched, quick breathless pants escaped her lips. Had she died and gone to heaven? Trembling, the sound of rumpled diapers filled her ears. A moment later, there was a boom. Had her heart exploded? It felt like it was about to. “That’s it baby. Make poopies for Dada… such a good girl.” Poopies? Grunting as her belly, let out a big push and a warm load filled her back side. Seated on Dada’s lap, her thighs continued to spread, the dark brown padding expanding rapidly. By this point, her head was consumed with just as mush as her tush. Hours could’ve passed and she wouldn’t have noticed. Kitty didn’t have a care in the world because floating among the stars, life could not get much better than this. However later… it was not so magical any longer. “No, Kitty, no tears. Do you want a spanky?” his voice was dark and scary. The girl shivered, suckling urgently on the rubber bulb between her lips. She only wanted more playtime! Now he was being a meanie! Against her will, tears sprouted in her eyes, a funny feeling, almost heavy, tingling in her chest. Her leg kicked, hands forming into fists. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t- “Don’t make Dada pull out the straps.” he squeezed her face in his hand, bent over her on the changing mat. The tv played in the background. Sports. Kitty just wanted her show back. Whining loudly, a sharp slap landed down on the inside of her thigh. Changing times were never her favorite because it was always chilly and she had to stop playing. Right now, it looked like a literal bomb had gone off yet still bucked her hips. Sliding further around in her mess, climbing up her backside she was desperate. Nothing would sooth her aching kitten. Dada said all kittens had to wear collars and her’s just happened to be between her legs. It was very annoying being constantly itchy down there. Rosie’s mommy itched her Kitten but Dada said it wasn’t proper for little girls. Now, she was angry. Her tummy felt funny and the happy feeling had disappeared. “Mowe poopies!” she demanded with a pout. Poopies equaled happy feelings and happy feelings equaled happy Kitty. “You can poo as much as you want darling,” he held his hands up. “But no more happy feelings until Next Friday. Does Kitty understand Dada?” No. She did not. Covered in poop, the girl wailed, feet and hands slamming down upon the ground. Needless to say... she was no longer in a happy mood and the adventure was over. ooOoo Hey everyone!! Here’s another story :)). My goal is to try to post original work on my tumblr: livelovediapers24- at least once a month so stay tuned! Thank you for reading!! I should update Lulu's Little Adventures soon!!

Hey everyone! It's Sophie! Pudding and I have been writing a few short stories recently so I'm just going to post them all at once. If you like them and want to support our writing, please check out our Patreon: www.patreon.com/sophieandpudding This one actually comes from an ABDL web-zine we worked on, starring 22 talented writers and artists! You can download it for free at: https://princessmolly.gumroad.com/l/nursery-warp-2021 The illustration at the end of the story is by JuiceBox! Check him out on Patreon at: www.patreon.com/JuiceBoxArt -------------------------- Lost in Translation Written by Sophie & Pudding Translations by Lilyblax Illustration by JuiceBox Premise: Grace Gardener travels to France to visit her old crush, Violette. Resolute in her plans to tell Violette how she feels, Grace is constantly stymied by unexpected foreign customs. Will Grace be able to admit her feelings in time, or will she become Violette’s little girl instead? Disclaimers: diapers, wetting, messing, French -------------------------- "Here's you go, Miss Gardner." The flight attendant passed me a pillow with a bright smile. Every time she looked at me, she seemed particularly happy. Or maybe that's just what you pay for when you buy first class. I settled back in my chair and tucked the pillow under my head. Outside the little window, the sky was the darkest blue and the moon was the brightest white. I couldn't see the ocean beneath the clouds, but I knew it was there; there's not much else between New York and France. I'd never been outside the United States before, but I couldn't turn Violette down when she asked me to visit. Violette and I had been best friends all through high school, but she went back to Paris for college. After she graduated, she moved around a lot until she settled in a French city that I would embarrass myself trying to pronounce. In high school, I had a huge crush on Violette. She was unwavering in her optimism and unfettered in her confidence. She made me do things I would never do on my own, things I haven’t done since. But even as we said our goodbyes, I couldn't work up the courage to tell her how I felt. Somehow, this trip felt like a second chance. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. I closed my eyes and let the hum of the airplane lull me to sleep. When I woke up, the sun was pouring in through the little window and an overhead voice was addressing the cabin: "Nous allons commencer notre descente dans quelques instants." I rubbed my eyes and sat up in the seat just as the pretty flight attendant appeared at my side. "Good morning, Grace," she said with that same bright smile. "We will be landing shortly, so let's get you all buckled up." Unexpectedly, the flight attendant bent down on one knee - so we were the same height - and pulled the seat belt over my lap. She clicked it shut and pulled the strap tight. Then, as she stood back up, she patted me on the top of my head. I stared incredulously as she walked down the aisle. "That was weird," I muttered to myself. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Before I was fully awake, the plane began to lilt forward and dip into the clouds. I pressed my forehead to the window to see the vast, grassy hills as they emerged from the fog. A small city grew ever closer, until I could see cars on the streets and people on the sidewalks. With a jolt, the plane landed on the runway and I let out a sigh of relief. I didn't even realize I'd been holding my breath. People all around me started to get up and gather their bags. I pulled at the seat belt around my waist, but I couldn't figure out how to unlatch it. Maybe it had a lock or something? The cute flight attendant passed by and I reached out to get her attention. "Excuse me. How do I unbuckle this?" "Be patient, Grace," she smiled. "I'll help you after the rest of the passengers are through." "But..." I tried to protest, but the flight attendant was addressing the crowded aisle in French. I sunk into my seat and pouted. I guess I didn't have a choice, did I? I watched as families and businessmen walked past me. Sometimes they would look at me and smile. Sometimes they would wave. A few women would speak to me, but I didn't understand what they were saying, so I would smile and nod. I could have sworn most of the passengers spoke English before we left. While I waited, I fished around my bag for my English to French phrasebook. I'd been studying it all summer, but I suddenly couldn’t remember a single one. Maybe I just needed a quick refresher. "Grace?" I looked up from my book at the flight attendant. Everyone else had left the plane. "What are you reading, hm?" "I... uh. I'm just trying to remember some phrases," I stammered. "Oh? Do you have a favorite one?" I started to notice her sunny disposition could be taken as condescension. "No," I muttered, looking at the cover of the book. I'd just reviewed ten different phrases, but I couldn’t remember any of them. "That's okay, honey," she said. "It's hard to learn new words." I sulked at the implication. Effortlessly, the flight attendant reached down, unbuckled my seat belt, and helped me to my feet. My legs felt a little wobbly after sitting for so long and she had to hold me up until I caught my balance. "Do you need a, um..." The flight attendant paused to think of the word, as though she didn't speak perfect English. "Push chair?" "No, I'm alright." I didn't want to be in a wheelchair the first time Violette saw me in five years. I was trying to make a good impression! "Okay then. Follow me." The attractive, condescending woman - was I just describing French women in general? - led me off the plane, holding me by the hand in a way that was altogether inappropriate. Was this a cultural thing? It had to be a cultural thing. But after we entered the airport and the flight attendant let go of my hand, I was overwhelmed with longing. My hand hadn’t been held like that in a while. “Vois-tu ta maman quelque part?" she asked. I stared blankly at the flight attendant. "Is someone meeting you?" she asked in English. "Oh, um. My friend Violette. She’s a little shorter than me, with blue-green hair." I looked around for signs of my friend, but the flight attendant took me by the hand once again. We were halfway down the terminal when I caught sight of Violette's teal tips. She always dyed the ends of her long, wavy hair. I thought she would get over it after high school, but she still sent me pictures each time she picked a new color. "Violette!" I shouted, waving my free arm. I managed to pull my hand out of the flight attendant's and run a dozen or so feet down until my arms were around Violette. She smelled like cinnamon and snowy mornings. I melted into her like chocolate fondue. "Gracie, je pensais que tu t'étais perdue!" she laughed. I didn't know what she said exactly, but it was wonderful to hear her voice. After the hug, I looked up at her with a touch of confusion. "You’re taller," I realized, at least a few inches taller than me. I checked her shoes, but she wasn’t wearing heels. "Ou alors tu as rétréci," Violette said. Then she turned to the flight attendant and started a conversation in French. I tried to wait my turn, but the longer it went on the sillier I felt. I couldn’t understand a single word… I tugged Violette’s sleeve to get her attention. "I'm so sorry, my darling," Violette apologized after looking at my expression. "I know those words are hard for you, and you must be oh-so-tired after your long trip.” She kissed the flight attendant on the cheek, which made me a little jealous. Then Violette took my hand in hers to led me to the baggage claim. "I slept on the flight," I explained as we walked. "And you don't have to..." Hold my hand? I'd longed for her to hold my hand for years, so why was I going to complain? I decided to stay quiet instead, a blush on my cheeks. "You're going to love it here," Violette said in a dreamy voice, pulling me along by the hand. I was having trouble keeping up with her and my legs still tingled from the flight. Every few sentences, Violette would slip into French and I would lose her train of thought. When we got to the baggage claim, there was only one bag left: a pink one with cartoons on the front. Violette went to grab it but I pulled her back. "My bag is green," I told her. "It's the same one we took on our camping trips." Violette tilted her head and said, "This is the one we took on our camping trips, you silly little sweetroll." "What? No, mine’s green…” Despite my protest, Violette grabbed the bag and read the tag out loud: "Petite Madame Gracie May Gardner." I narrowed my eyes and pushed in front of her to read the tag myself, but the words... they didn't make any sense. Maybe they were in French? That made sense, right? But why would my name be on a bag that wasn’t even mine? Unless... "Could the airline have switched my stuff to a different bag?" Maybe there was a problem with my suitcase and this was the only one available. But Violette didn’t seem to care about the luggage mystery. "Come now, Gracie." Violette pulled me along in one hand and pulled the rolling suitcase along in the other. I followed her halfway across the room before I was out of breath. I pulled on her hand until she stopped. "I need to sit down for a minute, Vi. My legs are killing me..." Thankfully, there was a bench only a few steps away. Airports were notorious for sitting space. "Je devrais peut-être trouver une poussette," Violette mused, looking around the open baggage lobby. I sat on the bench and pouted. "I can't understand you when you speak like that," I told her sharply, with as much assertiveness as I could muster. "And why are you calling me Gracie?" "Quel autre surnom pourrais-je te donner, princesse?" she said, still speaking French and glancing around the room. “English, please. I don't understand it when you—" "Ah!" Whatever Violette was looking for, she seemed to find it. She ran off with all the whimsy of a woodland sprite and I was left alone with the pink suitcase. I spoke quietly to myself: "I can't tell if this is going well or not..." I took a moment to look around the airport; I could hear the sounds of cars outside and the chatter of people, but none of them were saying words I could understand. Even the words written above the baggage claim or the signs at the help desk were gibberish to me. I felt like a stranger in this world, and when Violette came back pushing a giant stroller I was sure that was the case. "What the fuck is that?" I demanded. "C'est une poussette pour une princesse qui a fait un très long vol." I didn't understand her, but the question was rhetorical. It was a baby stroller, but it looked like it was sized for an adult. The metal was painted pink and the cushion was decorated with little cartoon princesses. Even the buckle and harness were bigger, easily enough to accommodate a fully grown woman. How did something like this even exist?! Then I realized why she had brought it over in the first place. "No," I said seriously. "No way." "Gracie." "No!" I shouted a little louder. "I’m not getting in a stroller!" A few people nearby turned their heads to look at me and I felt sick with embarrassment. "The car is parked very far away," Violette said. "At least twenty minutes walk." I hesitated. A twenty minute walk? I could barely make it to the baggage claim, and my legs weren't feeling any better. "Maintenant, sois une gentille petite fille—" Violette began, but I cut her off with one loud word: "English!" "You aren't going to learn any adult words if I keep speaking to you like a baby," Violette said harshly. A few more people turned to look at us and I sunk into the bench in shame. Violette had never spoken to me like that before… "I don't know what you're so upset about," Violette sighed, softening her tone. "Why do you think the airport has these? It's normal." I looked at the oversized stroller. Normal? I had never heard of adult strollers in France before... but why else would it be in the airport? I put my thumb to my mouth and bit nervously on my nail. "You're sure?" I muttered. "Tout à fait normal pour les filles de ton âge," Violette nodded. "Monte." With a bit of difficulty and a lot of reluctance, I climbed into the giant stroller. Violette buckled me in and I leaned back as far as I could to hide myself. This was so humiliating. Violette pushed the stroller through the baggage claim and outside to the parking lot. I kept waiting for someone to laugh or point at me, but even as dozens of people passed, no one gave me more than a cursory smile or a pleasant wave. Out of courtesy, I would sometimes wave back. Was this really normal? True to Violette's assessment, the car was parked a full twenty minutes walk away - a distance that now, in retrospect, I knew I couldn't have walked on my own. How ordinary was it to feel so weak after a long flight? What did people call it? Jetlag? Yeah, that had to be it. There was a brief flash as Violette took a surprise photo of me and I opened my mouth to protest. "Cela fera une belle couverture pour notre scrapbook!" she said. "Violette..." I actually sounded whiny. "This kind of thing may be normal in France, but you have to ask before you take my picture in a baby stroller." "Ne fais pas d'histoires. Je vais prendre plein de photos de toi et de tes nouveaux amis. Des amis français." I pouted. She wasn't going to stop this French nonsense, was she? But maybe she was right: maybe this was the best way I could learn the language. As Violette packed my suitcase into the trunk of her car, I fumbled with the buckle on the stroller. But no matter how I tugged or twisted or pulled, I couldn't seem to free myself. By the time Violette came over, I was red with irritation. "It's stuck! This stupid thing... I swear all the buckles in this stupid country—" Violette pushed my hands away and clicked open the buckle on her first try. I looked up at her with red cheeks as my frustration turned to embarrassment. How did she… but she lived here. Of course she had experience with this stuff. Right? "Monte, Gracie." Violette held open the door to the back of the car rather than the passenger seat, clicking her tongue impatiently. I rolled my eyes and climbed into the car. There was a car seat strapped in one of the seats. That was weird; Violette didn’t have any kids. I sat next to it and - before I could even find the seatbelt - Violette clicked her tongue again in disapproval. "In the car seat, silly," she explained in English. "I… what?" I stared dumbfounded. This had to be a joke… "It’s the law, Gracie," Violette said seriously, crossing her arms over her chest. No way that was true. Americans had to sit in car seats? She was taking this too far! "Vi, this is stupid…" I muttered, looking at the huge car seat beside me. It was definitely big enough to fit an adult and I was starting to notice a trend. I didn’t remember reading anything about this online, and I’d done a lot of research on French customs. But all those people we walked past in the airport… there was no way they were acting. "We can’t leave until you get in," Violette said. "So unless you want to live in this parking lot…" I glared up at her, but her confidence was unshakable. I knew Violette; she would wait here until the end of time if she was trying to prove a point. At least the car seat was in the privacy of her car - it was much less embarrassing than the stroller. "I still think this is stupid," I muttered, lifting myself into the carseat with deep annoyance. "You're American," Violette giggled. "You think everything is stupid." Violette wasted no time reaching down into the car and strapping me in. Another buckle I didn't understand. Once again, I was trapped. Violette put the car in Drive and turned to look at me. A warm smile spread across her face. "Tu vas être si mignonne quand nous rentrerons à la maison. Une jolie couche, une jolie robe, des nattes. Mon Dieu." "Based on your tone," I muttered, trying to close my legs with the buckle pulled between them, "it sounds like you’re flirting with me." "Very good, Gracie!" I stared incredulously into her rear-view mirror, catching sight of her smile as she said those words. Violette was actually flirting with me? I bit my lip and sunk into the carseat. Maybe not everything was stupid. The car ride was predictably dull, but the view was gorgeous. Outside the windows, the city buildings were never more than three stories tall and the rolling hills made a beautiful backdrop. All the streets were only two-lanes, and we even drove on the correct side of the road. I kicked my feet idly, nowhere near touching the floor, and let my imagination take me to Violette's house. Did she have a room for me? Or was I staying in her room? I never asked. Then a strange feeling pulled me back to reality. Out of nowhere, I really had to pee! I hadn't gone even once on the plane; I hated public bathrooms more than I hated anything! But it never mattered - I had an iron bladder - until that very moment. "Hey, um. How much longer until we're there?" I wiggled awkwardly in my carseat, shifting side to side. "A little while yet, Gracie sweetie." That was not the answer I was hoping for. "Like... five minutes?" I was kicking my legs a little faster now, and I'd have crossed them if I could. "Tu vas finir par faire pipi dans ma voiture, n'est-ce pas ? J'aurais dû te changer à l'aéroport." "Hey! I don't know what you're saying but you sound annoyed." "Let's play the alphabet game, Gracie, would you like that?" "Umm..." I really had to pee, but maybe the distraction would help. "I guess..." It was a lot harder to play the alphabet game when you can't read any of the words! All the street signs and storefronts were in French, and I didn't know how to pronounce any of it. Even if I saw the right letter, I didn't know how to say the word. And there weren't any billboards like there were in the States. I only made it to letter D before I felt a heat pool between my legs, soaking into the denim of my jeans and pooling under my butt. At first I didn't understand what was happening, and then I realized I didn't have to pee anymore. Before I could figure out what to do, tears filled my eyes and my lip started to tremble. I couldn't let Violette see me like this! If she did, she'd never like me! "Oh tu as eu un petit accident?" Violette cooed from the driver's seat. "N-no, I'm fine!" I answered, not understanding the question. "I'm just... just tired! Um..." I fumbled for the buckle as tears spilled down my cheeks. I had to get out of this thing before we got to her house. I kept wiping the water from my cheeks but it wasn't doing me any good. I couldn't hide my tears no more than I could hide the accident I had. Within minutes, we were pulling in a small stone driveway in front of a cute two-story condo. Violette got out of the car and opened my door. "No, go away!" I shouted, shoving at her hands, but small slaps on the tops of them shut me up. She reached forward, unbuckled my seatbelt, and lifted me up out of the seat. I cried as she sat me on my feet and took a look at my jeans. "Pauvre chou, allez, on va rentrer à l'intérieur et te changer." I turned to face away from her so she couldn’t see, but the back was even worse than the front. My butt was completely soaked and I couldn’t look up from the gravel driveway. "Je vais te retirer de ces guenilles et te donner des vêtements plus appropriés." "Please stop talking in French. Please, I—" My words were interrupted when Violette pushed my thumb between my lips. In the span of two heartbeats, my anxiety began to trickle away. I wanted to pull my thumb out of my mouth, but it was the first time since I'd wet myself that I felt like I had some level of control. Everything around me was so new and scary: the country, the customs, and then my accident. Even Violette was acting strange. But with my thumb in my mouth, it felt slower. Manageable. Was this why babies suck their thumbs? I couldn't even remember the last time... Violette took my hand and led me up the stoop and in the front door. I felt like a two year old following her mommy around: soaked pants on display for the whole neighborhood. But somehow, with my hand in hers, I felt safe too. When we were both inside, Violette closed the door behind us and I took three steps into her foyer. The house wasn’t particularly big, but the open living room and kitchen made it seem gigantic. I mustered every ounce of willpower to pull my thumb from my lips and turned to look at my best friend. "I'm so sorry," I told her. "So sorry about your car, and... and I didn't mean to... I promise it will never happen again. I promise..." "Ne t'inquiète pas, je ferai en sorte que cela ne se reproduise plus," Violette said with a warm smile. She walked up the stairs with my hand in hers and I followed a step behind. With my free hand, I kept rubbing my eyes. I felt so foolish. The whole day had been a terrible disaster. How was I ever supposed to ask Violette out now? I would be lucky if she was still my friend after all this... At the top of the stairs, there was a small landing with a toy chest in the corner and a soft looking rug in the center of the room. In the corner, there was a rocking chair. Then there were two doors. As I was led past the first one, I peered in to see a bathroom. So then... Violette and I were sharing a room? But when she opened the door, I could never have expected what I saw. It was like any adult's room: a dresser, a queen-sized bed, a full-length mirror, and a closet. But on the far wall, there was an alcove maybe a quarter the size of the room itself. It was set into the wall, trimmed with white moulding, and a small butterfly nameplate above it - near the ceiling - reading "Gracie". The alcove itself was painted pink - a stark contrast to the neutrality of the room itself - and decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. Against the back wall was a huge white, wooden crib. On the other wall, there was a table with a thin mat on top of it, like a changing table. And lastly, a set of ten square shelves were stocked with stacks and stacks of diapers. I stared dumbfounded at the dichotomy of Violette's room - of our room - and shook my head in disbelief. This was... no way. "What the hell is this?!" I shouted, anger and confusion filling the space where my embarrassment was only a moment ago. How could she do this?! "This is your home, Gracie,” Violette said simply. If she was intimidated by my display of ferocity, she certainly didn’t show it. She nudged me inside the room and closed the door behind us with a little click. "I mean it, Vi! What... what is... what the hell? You think I don't see how big those things are? You think 'oh Grace will just think they're for some kid' - I'm not even staying here! I'm going home on... on... um..." Why couldn't I remember...? "Oh mon Dieu, quelle crise de colère!" "I can tell when you're being condescending!" "Le français sonne comme ça," Violette laughed, but I wasn't amused. I shoved past her and twisted the door handle. It didn't open. Then, faster than I could blink, Violette spun me around and pinned my back to the door. She stepped closer to me and cradled my cheek in her hand, rubbing her thumb across my face ever so softly. She leaned in so our lips were only a few inches apart and I felt my heart race in my chest. Then she tilted her head and kissed me once on the forehead. The warmth spread through that spot on my skin like the wetness through my jeans, filling me up with emotions. But rather than fear and shame, I felt... safe. "I'm so happy you're here, Gracie," Violette whispered, tracing her free hand down my side and to the hip of my wet pants. I had to remind myself to breathe. "Moving to France was the hardest thing I've ever done... I've worked for years to make a life for you here. For us. I never wanted to leave my little girl behind..." I had no idea what she was talking about. I was never her little girl before! Right...? But the more I thought about it, the less sure I was. Her optimism was unwavering; she always told me things would be okay, no matter how scary they seemed. Her confidence was unfettered; she always told me I was safe with her, no matter how unlikely that was. She made me do things I would never do on my own - she made me hang out with the other kids, talk about my feelings, and accept everything that I am - things I hadn't done since. But even as we said our goodbyes - a forehead kiss at the airport and a final crinkle of her hand on my hip - I couldn't work up the courage to tell her how I felt. Somehow, this trip felt like a second chance. "Do you really wanna be a big girl, Gracie?" she asked, a nervous smile on her beautiful lips. But somewhere in me, I knew she deserved an adult. That's what I'd been trying to be for so long. So I nodded my head. "I am a big girl," I said assertively, or as assertively as any girl in pee-soaked jeans could manage. "Then you'll say it with big girl words," Violette said, then took a step back. “Veux-tu que je te remette des couches pour le restant de ta vie? Veux-tu être ma petite fille? Je sais que tu l'es déjà." I stared dumbfounded at the girl of my dreams. She'd asked me a question, and it was clear she wanted an answer. But I had no idea what she was asking. I knew, without a doubt, if I told her to try to speak English, that I would always be a baby-babbling little girl to Violette. But if I answered wrong... I couldn't come back from that, could I? I tried to read Violette's face. She stood with a smile and excited eyes... eager? Curious? Or did she know that even if I answered correctly, I could never know for sure. She could pretend she asked a different question and I would never know the difference. In truth, I wasn't answering Violette's question. I was letting her decide my future. My choice didn't matter: only hers did. In that way, I really was just her little girl. "Yes," I said, with the utmost confidence, not knowing to what I was agreeing. "Tu es sûr?" she asked. I didn't know what it meant, but I could read the intent. She was asking for confirmation. "Yes," I said again. "Okay," Violette said, speaking my baby-talk language for the last time. I felt like I had crossed a threshold, like I was taking a step I couldn’t come back from, and the feeling was literal when Violette led me by the hand into the nursery nook. My cheeks were red as I looked at the changing table, at the crib, at the diapers. "On va te changer, ma petite fontaine. Tu dois être tellement mal à l'aise dans ce pantalon mouillé." Her voice and cadence were so melodic as she unbuckled my jeans and peeled them down my legs. Next went my panties; she prompted me to step out of them as they reached my ankles. I'd daydreamed about Violette undressing me countless times, but never like this. I could never have imagined it would be like this… naked from the waist down, soaked in my own pee, and standing adjacent to an adult-sized changing table, in an adult-sized nursery nook, filled with adult-sized diapers and an adult-sized crib. Next to Violette, I felt the very opposite of adult-sized. Violette reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it up over my head. Instinctively, my arms raised and I was standing in just my bra. She took a step closer and leaned in; my heart raced as our lips closed in on each other, but she turned her head and our cheeks touched. Her arms wrapped around me and unsnapped my bra, pulling the straps down off my arms and leaving me as naked as the day I was born. I looked up in her eyes with tears in mine, overwhelmed with shame and fear. But her smile seemed to take it all away. "Violette..." I muttered, a plea for her to stop all this. I couldn't be a baby. I wasn't a baby! "Maman," she corrected, a stern look in her eye. A felt a rush of heat in my face and electricity up my spine. "Maman," I repeated... the first and only French word I knew. The only one that mattered. "Gentille fille," Violette smiled, and though I didn’t know what she said in words, the pride of her sentiment made me warm inside. She pushed me back ever so slightly until my bare butt hit the changing table. I looked up at her, biting my lip, and she gave me a supportive nod. "Lève." I didn't need a translation for that one. I slid back on to the changing table, like it was a doctor's table, but Violette wasn't having any of it. She spun me by the ankles and pushed me gently onto my back. I looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars - unbearably dim in the afternoon sunlight - and knew that my cheeks were shining much brighter. I felt Violette's hand on my thigh, trailing her fingers up to my knee, and pulling my legs apart. I had imagined this moment so many times, but never like this. I felt something cool and wet against my thigh. It made me jump, but Violette hushed me. "Du calme, ma petite princesse. Maman est juste en train de te nettoyer." I shivered in place as I figured out she was wiping me clean with a baby wipe from the changing table. She moved slowly and deliberately, rubbing the insides of my thighs and then between my legs. She was cleaning me up because I pissed my pants like a... like a… As Violette stepped across the nook to the cube shelves and I heard the crinkling of plastic. She turned the simple act of a diaper change into something sacred, like it was a ceremony. In a way, it was. She unfolded the diaper in front of me, standing at the side of the changing table. In my peripherals, I could see the plastic unfurl, crinkling sounds filling the air. I watched the wings as she pulled them apart, huge and wide like the arms of a hug. And the print on the front was so infantile, with baby blocks and teddy bears. How had she gotten them in my size? How had she gotten this table, or that crib, or that stroller at the airport? Why was everyone - from the flight attendant to the people in the parking lot - so comfortable with seeing me as an oversized baby? The only reason I could think of was the obvious: this was normal. Violette lifted my legs by the ankles. She raised them high in the air so my butt was off the table, and then - when it came back down - it rested on the soft padding of the diaper. The scent of baby powder filled the air and I sunk deeper into the changing table. I felt so fresh. Clean. Pure. Any parent could tape on a diaper in two seconds flat. Practice makes perfect, right? But the way Violette did it was perfect in a totally different way. She took her time, adjusting every little part of the plastic to be symmetrical. She pulled the thick center between my legs and pressed it to my hips. She folded and creased the wings so that each tape was pulled tight and snug across my body. She drew lines with her fingers around the legbands, checking for anywhere I might leak. And when she was satisfied, she patted the front two times, sending a shiver up my spine. By the time Violette pulled me up to sit on the table, my head was swirling with things I'd never felt before. Important. Adorable. Protected. Loved. Why would I ever want to be an adult, when I could be her little girl? If I had an answer at one point, I certainly didn't anymore. "Tu as été une si gentille petite fille. Maman est si fière de toi. Allons choisir une de tes plus belles robes." I was oblivious to her words, but the tone of her praise melted me from the inside out. She picked up the suitcase she had brought up with us and laid it down on the changing table. As I moved, even a little bit, I crinkled; I harmonized with the zipper of the case opening. When she pulled out the pretty sundress that was too short to cover my diaper, I anxiously put my thumb to my lips. "That's not mine, Maman..." "C'est dans ta valise, Gracie. Cela signifie que c'est la tienne. N'est-ce pas?" I nodded, agreeing to something I didn’t understand, although I knew what would happen next. She would put me in that dress and it would be mine. Sure enough, after a word of praise, Violette pulled the dress over my head and lifted me onto my feet. She took me across the room to see myself in her full-length mirror. As she tied my hair into pigtails, I stared at the hem of my pink sundress and the diaper it failed to conceal. There was no going back now... Once my hair was done, Maman clipped a ribbon to my dress. She took the pacifier hanging off the end of it and popped it in my mouth. The girl in the mirror was nothing but a baby, through and through. So when I felt my tummy gurgle, I knew the was no point in asking. But what little adulthood I had left demanded I ask anyway. "Maman," I muttered, turning to face her. I spoke with a lisp around my pacifier. "I gotta go potty…" "C'est à ça que servent tes couches, mon ange. Nous le savons toutes les deux." I looked up at Maman with resignation. I didn’t know what she said, but it didn’t matter; I knew my fate. Just in case I forgot, my tummy gurgled again to remind me. It was unavoidable, inescapable, and approaching inevitable. Long ago, maybe a lifetime ago, I knew when I needed to use the potty and I could make it there in time. Now, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to. I did my due diligence; I did what my adulthood demanded of me. I asked, even though Maman and I both knew it was all for show. I had to ask, because she had to say no. It was performative. Distantly, somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear the echoes of shame and humiliation begging me to defy Maman. As those pleas fell on deaf ears, I watched the girl in the mirror. I saw a blush on her cheeks and the way her teary eyes shined with longing, a longing for things to be easy. She wasn’t happy with what she was about to do, but she was happy for the praise that would surely follow in words she couldn’t possibly understand. Maman wrapped her arms around me, rubbing my tummy through my dress, and whispered softly in my ear: "Je t'aime, Gracie." Though my dumb baby brain couldn't translate her words, my dumb baby heart could feel them more clearly than anything I'd ever known. I stared at Maman in the mirror and bit my pacifier. I didn’t want to hold it, even if I could. So with my Maman’s arms around me, I bent forward just a bit and began to push. At first, nothing happened; I thought maybe I wasn’t a baby after all. Then, with a second push, I felt the seat of my diaper expand and fill. It was so easy. Nothing in my life had ever been as easy as messing my diaper, and that's how I knew I was never meant to be an adult. [END]

Hey everyone! It's Sophie! Pudding and I have been writing a few short stories recently so I'm just going to post them all at once. If you like them and want to support our writing, please check out our Patreon: www.patreon.com/sophieandpudding -------------------------- Bnuuy Brainwash By Pudding *Author’s Note: I wrote this as a birthday gift for my favorite dumb bnuuy, Claire, and she was gracious enough to share with you all. Premise: Claire is a new initiate in the Dependent program, where she is regressed to a full-time baby. What awaits Claire in her new life? Disclaimers: brainwashing, hypnosis, diapers, wetting, messing -------------------------- “You can’t do this to me!” They always said that, without fail, without exception, as though that very simple and defiant proclamation might have changed their fate. What did they expect would happen when they said that? Did they fancy that the fate chosen for them would suddenly and miraculously be reversed? That the very extensive program designed purely and strictly for this purpose would just do an about-face and decide that they indeed couldn’t do this? Regardless of motivation, it was all academic at this point anyway; once a person was nominated to undergo this conversion, there was no turning back, or reversing the process, or presence of an off-switch or anything of the sort. And beyond a doubt, the program worked — it had worked on thousands of other people before this little bundle of sass and spunk, and it would work on thousands and thousands more after her too. She was certainly attractive, with brown eyes that shone with intelligence and thought, an adorable nose and a smile that was best described as too pretty for a girl as clever as she was. Although presently, smiling seemed to be the last thing on her mind. Rather, she wore a scowl with all the efficacy of a child; much more of a pout than anything intimidating. It wasn’t hard to see why someone might want her transformed into a Dependent. What was her name? Claire? That was a pretty name, and suitably juvenile too. A glance at the chart revealed that her wife had nominated her for the program, citing in her application that Claire was often lost in daydreams and fantasy worlds, and couldn’t be trusted with adult tasks. Which was in no way to say she wasn’t capable, just that when given the choice she’d always rather lose herself in passions than devote herself to something meaningful. Just like any child, really. “Oh, you know, they always say that Claire.” “But!” she scrunched up her nose and shook her head, “maybe other people deserved it, but not me, I’m not supposed to be here. My wife-” “Is the one who sent you here, yes, that’s very good!” There was a brief and delightful silence from the girl as her pretty brown eyes fell under the weight of her frowning, and she tried to figure out if that was true or not. This, too, was all too common. She’d probably see it as a betrayal, rather than the act of love that it had been. “She wouldn’t, she loves me, and… and and and…she wouldn’t do this to me.” Bingo! “And it’s because she loves you that you’re here, Claire. My name is Miss Pudding, although you don’t really need to remember that for very long - you won’t be in any state to call an adult by name, soon enough.” “Pudding!” “That’s right, sweetheart! That’s my name,” the woman clapped her hands in quiet and singular applause, and continued, “and you’re Claire, although I’m to understand that your Momma-to-be has something more appropriate in mind as a pet name for you.” This was about the time Pudding expected Claire to realize the gravity of her situation, and the brown-eyed-beauty certainly didn’t disappoint. She looked around slowly at first; as the fire in her heart faded and the metaphorical smoke was given a chance to clear. She was in a room with lilac walls and carpet, lacking any other defining features apart from the bed she was strapped firmly down to by the wrists and ankles. “Please, please please, you gotta let me go…I won’t tell anyone, I won’t, and I’ll um…” Tears were starting to pool at the edges of those pretty pretty eyes, and she really did look beautiful, especially in such a state. “You’re trying too hard, Claire; there’s no escape and by the time we’re done with you, escape won’t even be something you want. So just relax and try to enjoy yourself.” There was a click sound as the lights went down, and as though the lights had been her own eyes, Claire faded quickly into sleep. * * * When she woke up, Claire wasn’t in the lilac room anymore, and she wasn’t in the bed, and she wasn’t in the dark. Around her she could hear the busy chittering of what sounded like children, although she couldn’t focus on them right now; she was so awestruck and stunned by what she was wearing: a gingham dress in lilac that flowed over her body the way that snow painted a layer over the world in winter. Wearing a pretty dress was right. Something thick between her legs that she immediately lost focus on if she tried to think about it. That was right, too. And something in her mouth that a part of her brain told her was a pacifier and a louder voice inside of her told her was okay. Promptly, defiantly, she ignored that voice, and spat the thing out from between her lips. The pacifier fell only far enough for the momentum to be arrested by the clip attached to her dress. She could feel panic trying to rise in her chest, both fueled and suppressed by the final realization that she wasn’t alone anymore. Her eyes looked around, panned the horizon from her place sitting on the floor, and she saw now what she’d thought were children. Her brain tried to tally them up, although any counting past four seemed to get jumbled, and so she concluded there were simply ‘lots’. Lots of adults, dressed in pretty outfits. Dresses and shortalls, onesies and skirtalls, footed sleepers and cute polka-dotted ensembles. The largeness of the room made Claire feel very small by comparison. Claire winced and rubbed her head; feeling braided plaits that danced and pulled under their own weight of hair and ribbons. Something didn’t feel right; her head didn’t feel right, her thoughts didn’t feel right. None of this felt right, or sensical, or familiar. A voice that reached out to her did feel familiar, though. A voice she knew, a voice she trusted. “Hello again, darling girl.” Looking up at the woman who stood above her, there were a lot of floating thoughts in her head. Safety. Happiness. Trust. Miss Pudding. And another name that came to the forefront the way a message might in a magic 8 ball: Nana. “Nana…?” Claire felt uncomfortable with that word; she felt conflicted. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and like it was the first time she’d ever said it. Moreover, her voice felt strange… or her choice of words, maybe. Like most of the words she reached for flittered out of her reach. “What happened… what… what did you do to me, Nana?” The standing woman knelt and put her hand on Claire’s cheek with a warm smile – the kind of smile that made Claire flush with warmth for reasons she couldn’t understand — and spoke to her in words that felt like honey; sweet and thick and sticky. “Nana didn’t do anything you didn’t want, sweetie.” “She… she didn’t…?” Claire felt so confused. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. She remembered the Lilac Room, and she she remembered the darkness, and she remembered… swimming? No. She remembered sinking. And then floating. She remembered feeling scared, and then safe, and then… her memory felt foggy. Or maybe it felt like it was receding the way that waves did after they crashed upon the shore. Nana had such a warm smile and such pretty eyes. How had Claire never noticed that before? How had she never noticed those pretty blue eyes? She wanted to look away and found herself patently unable. A voice in her head told her that it was okay to float in those waters, and that Nana loved her. Of course Nana loved her. Obviously. “What… what is this, Nana?” She tugged at her dress, at the pretty purple gingham material, and managed to look away just to look down at it. There was an oddness between her legs she was still aware of; a thickness, a foreign strangeness. And just as soon as she focused on it, her attention fluttered away like a butterfly all over again. “It’s your dress, Claire. A pretty pretty dress for a pretty pretty girl.” “For a pretty pretty girl…” Claire mused quietly, trying to see if the words fit as well as the dress did. “That’s right, darling! You’re Nana’s Pretty Girl! How’s your drawing coming?” “Drawing…?” Claire felt ever more confused, but her eyes scanned the floor where she was sitting for any sort of answer and found a sheet of paper with a crude drawing of a three stick figures in dresses, holding hands. “Oh!” Suddenly, Claire was awash with enthusiasm and excitement as she started to point fervently at the paper. “This is… um… this is um…” And just as quick as the excitement came, it gave way to foggy confusion. Quicker still, a three-tone chime sounded in the room and every single person paid attention. Claire couldn’t be sure what it meant, but as sure as she knew Nana loved her, she knew that the tone was important! “It’s time for your favorite game, darling, you should hurry!” Nana encouraged her, and Claire nodded. She knew which place she liked the most. The one with the lilac game controller, the one next to the fingerpaints and the fairy wings. Quick as she could, she crawled over to the small, curved screen by the nearby wall and sat herself down in front of the display, taking the oversized controller in her hands. An image of a bunny came to life, and Claire heard herself giggling happily. Colors flicked up on the screen, and she pushed the buttons, and her mind floated away into a happy bliss of lights and colors and instructions. * * * “I dun’ feel good, Nana…” There weren’t any sounds around her anymore, just the walls of the Lilac Room. Claire sat upon the bed, and Nana sat next to her. How had she gotten here? How long had it been? Her tummy twisted in anxiousness, and she squeezed her thighs tight around what she knew for a fact was her diaper. That made sense. “You need to go for another swim, darling, that’s all. Are you ready?” “A swim…?” “Into The Blue.” Claire might not have been feeling good, but those words made the most sense to her. She loved The Blue, almost as much as she loved her Nana and her Momma. The idea of getting to visit made her giggle happily, and it took all her energy to steel herself and focus and calm, before obediently staring into Nana’s eyes. * * * “I’m a baby.” “I’m a little baby.” “I love my Momma.” “I love my Nana.” “I can’t take care of myself.” “I’m a baby.” “I’m a good little baby.” “I love my dresses.” “I love my diapers.” “I’m helpless.” “I’m a baby.” “I’m a dumb and happy little baby.” “I love being a baby.” “I love being dependent.” “I’m too pretty for thoughts.” “I’m a baby.” “I’m a diaper-dependent, incontinent, devoted little baby.” “I love my Momma.” “I love my Nana.” “They do the thinking, Claire does the stinking.” “I’m a baby.” “I’m a beautiful, brilliant baby bunny.” “I’m too pretty for thoughts.” “I’m helpless, obedient, pretty, and submissive.” “Thoughts for for grown-ups, diapers are for Bunny.” “Bunny obeys.” “Bunny listens.” “Bunny is a baby.” “Bunny is better this way.” * * * “I’ma bunny…baby…baby bnuuy…” Claire wasn’t sure why she said those words, but her thoughts swirled with words just like those, and each one of them felt as true and genuine and real as her looking at the grass and saying it was green. And Bunny was so good at colors! That’s why she wore a purple dress in her drawing, and Nana wore yellow, and Momma wore teal. Bunny was in the middle, holding hands, and that was the best bestest place for her! “Nananananana!” Claire giggled as she felt Nana lean down next to her and slip fingers under her dress to check her diapers. Bunny wore diapers. Claire was Bunny and she loved her diapers because of course she did! There was a heavenly and familiar musical chime, and she didn’t even need to be told – she had to get a best high score with the pretty rabbit! She hadda get to 72! Claire crawled across the foam tiled floor and plopped down between two other babies that were just like her, and she took the purple controller awkwardly in her hands. “Bunn--nnyyyy!” She giggled at the heterochromatic rabbit and pressed all her buttons just the way she was told. Bunny loved to be obedient! Helpless and Obedient and Pretty and Submissive. Bunny HOPS! * * * “Oh my goodness, darling, someone’s a stinky little princess, isn’t she?” “I can’ helps it Nana… I was sleepsin an’ I’ma baby…” “That’s right, darling! Messing in your sleep during nap time is very normal for a girl your age.” Distantly, a part of her brain told Bunny that she didn’t used to do that. That she didn’t used to play with the others until she got tired, and then go to sleep on the floor in the playroom, and then poop her diapers. But that didn’t make any sense at all, and that was why Bunny didn’t do the thinking. Bunny was too pretty for thoughts, after all. Helplessly, she let Nana pick her up and put her against her hip. Had Nana always been so big? It didn’t matter. All grown-ups were much bigger than Bunny was, and that was because and also proved the fact that, she was a baby. Bunny and Baby both started with a B, and she sure didn’t know many more letters than that, so it had to be true. Obediently - as though this routine had happened a thousand times - she cuddled into Nana like a koala as she was carried over to the changing room. Prettily, she smiled. Her giggle was so vacant, and her eyes were glossy and happy and empty. Bunny sucked her fingers all the way there, until Nana put her binkie back between her lips. Submissively, she laid down on the padded changing table and kicked her feet happily. “You’ll be ready to go home soon, and see your Momma. Won’t that be wonderful?” “Yuh yuh yuh! I wanna see my Momma ‘cause she’s a good an’ I love her an’ an’ an’!” “And she’ll be so proud of how your conversion is progressing, darling.” “Yuh yuh yuh Momma gonna love my this.” While babbling back and forth with her Nana, Claire knew a few things. She knew that this adult woman was changing her very mushy diaper that she had no recollection of using, and that there were countless others who could just look over and see. She knew that she’d gotten so much smaller since being here, and she knew that she needed her diapers beyond doubt. She knew that she heard Nana’s voice in her head, and her words were always the right thing to do. She knew that she was a baby girl. She knew that she loved her Momma. She knew how much she loved to play her bunny game on the screen, and how much she loved her binkie, and how much she loved her drawings. She knew how much happier she was now. And she knew how much many more happy it made her to be told what to do. Burning deep inside of her, Bunny knew she was created to please and fulfill and make people happy. “All changed!” Nana smiled, patting the front of Bunny’s diaper with a sense of accomplishment. Already, Bunny couldn’t wait to get down off the changing table and get back to playing. “Nanananana I wan’ play an’ I wan’ draw an’ I wan’ make more drawings for Momma!” “Well you’d better hurry, Bunny, you might see your Momma sooner than you think.” With her brown eyes filled with determination, Bunny nodded her head earnestly. “Bnuuy will draw lots of the pictures an’ make lots of good an’ give Momma LOTS of smiles!” True to her Nana’s prediction, it wouldn’t be too much longer before Bunny’s Momma came to get her, and ordinarily that moment of parting would have been a bittersweet one indeed. Of all the caregivers at the conversion nursery, Nana was most known for her imprinting on her charges and sending them back out into the world was always an event of mixed feelings. That made it especially wonderful that Claire was to be a part of a new program where she’d have a state-appointed caregiver relocated to live just across the street from her and to assist her Momma in her continuing development. And, of course, it only made sense for her appointed caregiver to be her Nana who she already loved very, very much. So as Bnuuy drew another picture of herself with her Momma to one side and her Nana to the other, as she hummed and wriggled her diapered bottom as she wet herself without a care in the world, she’d occasionally mutter a few words to herself and giggle. “’…an’ they liveded happy evers afters…” [End.]

Hey everyone! It's Sophie! Pudding and I have been writing a few short stories recently so I'm just going to post them all at once. If you like them and want to support our writing, please check out our Patreon: www.patreon.com/sophieandpudding -------------------------- A Mommy’s Love By Sophie *Author’s Note: This story is just some cute hypno diaper smut about a Mommy who takes some extra precautions to make sure her baby stays in diapers. Disclaimers: diapers, hypnosis, wetting, messing, oral sex -------------------------- I sat with my feet over Mommy’s lap, stealing glances at her out of the corner of my eye. We had been watching TV for the better part of the hour, and I was starting to think things might actually be settling down. Just in time, too. Ever since she woke me up with a kiss on the forehead and a finger in the leg-band of my diaper, she had been in full-on Mommy mode. It was a fun game we liked to play; I was her baby and she would take care of me. Sometimes it was cute and innocent, and other times… well… Today, Mommy wasn’t playing around. She changed me into one of the most infantile diapers I had - with a booster for the extra thickness - and a dress with fluffy sleeves and a round collar. I tried telling her I could be a grown up, but her casual remark on the state of my diaper that morning put the argument to rest. My bedwetting was a new development. Mommy spoon-fed me breakfast and gave me a baby bottle of chocolate milk. I didn’t even complain because she never gave me chocolate milk in the mornings. Then she pushed my paci in my mouth and sat me in front of the morning cartoons while she did the dishes. After an episode or two, Mommy came back with a plan for the day: “I wanna hypnotize you.” We had done it before, and I loved playing along. It was always a lot of fun, and the thought of her controlling me was… well, I wasn’t about to say no. Unfortunately, by the end of it, I didn’t remember any particular triggers. She was just talking a lot about how much I love her, or about how much I wanted to make her happy. Then it was over. As the day went on, her teasing escalated. She took me out to lunch in my frilly party dress, where she made me say ‘pretty please’ to the waitress when ordering my food. Then we went to the grocery store, where she checked my diaper in an empty aisle with a firm press to the front of my dress. When we got back to the car, she laid me down in the back seat and changed me into a dry diaper. I knew her car windows were tinted, but it didn’t make me any less embarrassed. When we got home, everything started to settle down. We talked about ordering pizza for dinner and she put a grown up show on the TV. Every so often her hand would slide up my thigh to the front of my diaper, but the mood had changed. We were equals, or close to it. I started up a few conversations to test the waters. Every so often she would lightly tease me, like how cute I am or how well behaved I had been today, but that was normal. Even when she was just my girlfriend, she was always a little bit my mommy. Just a little bit. Another ache rumbled through my tummy and I stole another glance at Mommy. It was now or never. I took my feet off her lap and got up on my feet, crinkling with every small movement. I raised my hands above my head to stretch, flashing the seat of my diaper just a bit. She didn’t react. “I’ll be right back,” I muttered, stepping away from the sofa. “Where ya goin’?” Mommy asked without looking away from the TV. I froze in place and bit my lip. Moment of truth… “I, um… I’m gonna use the bathroom…” The second it took her to reply felt like an hour. But unexpectedly, Mommy said: “Okay. You go be an adult.” For a moment, I stood dumbfounded. I thought for sure I would have to argue with her. I would have to beg or offer something embarrassing in return. Curtsies were a recent go-to of hers, or asking in baby talk. I must have been standing there a while, because then she said: “What are you waiting for? You’re an adult, aren’t you?” “I… um…” I should have turned on my heel and hurried off to the bathroom, but I was thinking about something else. About her. About how kind she was for letting me use the bathroom at all! She didn’t have to do that. I just wished I could show her how much I appreciated her… “Go on,” she encouraged, waving her hand to shoo me away. I almost left, but then she added: “You know how to use the potty, right? All adults do.” A thought came into my mind. I knew how I could make her feel appreciated. I knew how to please her. So I took an unsteady step back toward the couch and slid down to my knees, looking up at her with bright, loving eyes. She tilted her head curiously. “Something wrong?” she asked. “Is being an adult too hard?” A tight cramp in my stomach was replaced shortly thereafter with butterflies. I reached forward with both my hands until they were hooked in the waistband of Mommy’s leggings. She lifted her butt almost instinctively, like I did when she changed my diapers, and slid her pants and panties down to her knees. Then her ankles. Adult. That word echoed in my mind. Mommy spread her knees apart and I leaned in to kiss between her thighs. Instantly, I could hear her breathing change. I could feel her hips moving ever so slightly against my face. Time slipped away from me as my tongue slipped in and out of her. Then another queasy ache filled my belly and I let out a muffled whimper. I really needed to use the potty, and Mommy seemed to read my mind. “Don’t you still have to go to the bathroom?” she asked. I nodded and pulled away, sitting upright on my heels. I looked up at Mommy with a glossy expression. I was just about to stand up when she added: “Like an adult?” I couldn’t leave her like that. I just couldn’t! I loved her so much, and I wanted her to know it. I wanted her to know how sexy she was, how important she was to me, and how much I appreciated her. I wanted to make her happy. I wanted to bring her as much pleasure as she brought me. “Gosh…” Mommy moaned, my tongue between her legs. “If you can’t prioritize getting to the potty… then maybe you aren’t an adult.” I whimpered. I was an adult! I could be! But… but… “An adult would get up and use the potty,” Mommy added, quivering as she spoke. She was breathing heavily and I felt another cramp twist my stomach into knots. An adult would get up and use the potty… “Last chance,” she warned, playing with my hair as I continued to flitter my tongue between her thighs. “If you want to be an adult, go use the bathroom.” But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Being an adult, using the potty, none of that was as important as pleasing my Mommy. I wanted her to be rewarded for everything she did for me. I wanted to make her so happy. “Then you made your choice,” Mommy moaned, tugging my hair and pushing me deeper between her legs. “You aren’t an adult anymore. You’re my obedient little baby, and grown-up things are off limits to you now. No more potty. No more decisions. Your only purpose is to make Mommy happy. And if you do a very good job, Mommy will train you to love your diapers as much as you love your Mommy.” I was crouched on my hands and knees, squatting back so that my diapered butt was only barely touching the heels of my feet. Another ache churned in my stomach, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about Mommy’s moans and gasps. I was so focused on making her happy that I didn’t notice until it was too late. As Mommy’s hips spasmed and waves of pleasure flooded through her body, I began to fill the seat of my diaper. She continued to writhe and moan as I continued to mess myself, until we were both comfortable and exhausted. “Such a good baby,” Mommy whispered lazily, reaching down and pulling me up into her arms. I curled up on top of her, against her breasts, and she passively patted the seat of my diaper. Each squish made me shiver with embarrassment, but I knew it was something I would have to get used to. After all, I would never be able to use the potty again. Then Mommy started a very familiar sentence: “Let’s…” ‘Get you changed’ were the words that always followed that tone. But my hopes were dashed when she finished her thought: “Let’s get you started on that training. We have a long way to go if you’re going to love your diapers as much as you love me.” I blushed, but she was right. I would need a lot of training to love anything as much as I loved her. [End]

Hi everyone, it's me again, coming at you with a new Academy Works story. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you should maybe start by reading Academy I (Part 1) or Academy B (Part 2). These stories aren't really linear, so you can skip those, but it might help you understand what's going on a little bit better. Anyway, this is Academy T. It kind of steps outside the precedents set by the first two stories, so I hope people realize that Academy Works is a lot more than just a series about a regression facility. ? Same as last time, if you want to support me there's a Patreon link you can go to. Thanks for reading and leaving comments and stuff!! ~Mia~ --------------------- Academy TBy Mia Moore "The tower built for the sun and the tower built for the moon are in pursuit of different heavens." -The Source Chapter One Talita Campbell sat on her bed, staring blankly at the rails surrounding her. She was hungry. Her diaper was wet. She wanted to get out! But no matter how long she stared at the contraptions, she couldn't figure out how they worked. Every time Mommy lowered the bars, it seemed like magic. So Talita did the only thing she could to get her Mommy's attention: she cried. The LED on her bedside baby monitor glowed softly in the morning light; Mommy was listening. "And who’s a fussy baby this morning? The sun is barely awake and already you’re so eager to get up and go play, huh baby girl?" Play. With the others. That was how Talita spent a good deal of her mornings and afternoons. Playing in the playpen with neighborhood kids, or playing outside in the grass, or being taken to the park. Her Mommy had told her that it was good for her to play with the other kids, and that did make sense, although Talita knew she wasn’t a kid and neither were the others. Her thoughts were derailed - as they so easily were nowadays - by Mommy reaching down and slipping her finger between her onesie and her skin to check what she already knew was going to be a wet diaper. Talita always woke up wet. "Mommy…" Talita muttered as her Mommy took down the rails. She pressed a button, or kicked a lever, or something! But to Talita, it was magic all the same. She wiped her wet eyes and tried to close her legs, squishing the diaper between her thighs. She couldn't even remember the last time her knees touched. "Hm?" Talita's Mommy helped her off the bed. She waddled across the room to the changing table. "Can I please wear undies, just this once...? I promise I won't have any accidents, I promise..." Every day for almost a month, Talita had asked that question. It almost felt routine, as was her Mommy’s quick dismissal. But today was different. Instead of an outright no, Mommy paused to think about it. Talita's heart raced and she jumped in with renewed confidence. "One time! One time, and I swear! If I have any accidents, I pinky promise I'll never ask again!" "Oh, you pinky promise, do you? And you know what happens to little girls who break pinky promises, don’t you darling?" "...uh huh." Talita swallowed glumly. "And you want to make a pinky promise that if you have even a single accident today, you’ll never ask again?" "Maybe…um… maybe not a single accident..." "And maybe you can show Mommy how dry you can keep this diaper today, and then we’ll talk?" "Mo-mmeeee, I want to wear undies! Pretty pleeeeeaaaase?" The truth was, Talita wasn't sure she could keep up her end of the bargain. For well over a month, she had woken up in a wet diaper. Every day, it felt like a struggle to keep what little of her toilet training she had left. But if she truly was so helpless as to have an accident without even thinking, then maybe she didn't have the right to ask for underwear anyway. However, Talita had always been a risk taker. Sometimes things ended up bad and sometimes they didn’t, but Talita never regretted it. Life was more fun when she took her chances. Or, it was until she woke up in this place. "I can do it. Not any accidents." Though Talita's voice was full of confidence, her stomach was flipping with anxiety. Mommy helped her onto the changing table and looked her square in the eye. They were the same height when standing, down to the millimeter, but there was something diminutizing about sitting on the changing table that made Talita feel smaller. "Okay," Mommy said. "But if you fail, and you break your promise, then you'll be a Bad Girl for a month." Talita's eyes went wide and the color drained from her face. A month? But even if Talita had an accident, the least she could do was keep her promise. She could do that, for sure. "Otay..." The ‘undies’ in question were far from being the kind of panties an adult might wear. These were thick, cotton, stuffed with a lining of padding with prints of strawberries and unicorns on them - training pants by any assessment. To Talita, they were the most mature thing in the whole world, so much so that it distracted her from her dread as she watched her Mommy pull them out of the drawer. One day. Just one day. No accidents. She could do it. There was no way Talita was going to end up as a Bad Girl again! Mommy changed her diaper and wiped her clean. Talita wouldn't be wearing a diaper for the first time in months, but her Mommy powdered her all the same. Then, without ceremony, she slid the strawberry training pants up her legs and around her hips. Talita looked down at her knees and touched them together, a shiver of delight rushing up her spine. She was a big girl now! Everyone at school was going to be jealous! "Now it’s important you remember, Talita my darling girl, that you’re making a deal with Mommy." The woman held her finger up with all the earnest seriousness of... something serious. Talita couldn’t follow her own metaphor. So she linked pinkies with her Mommy, and just like that sealed the deal. "I’m so essited, I’m gonna be... gonna be so... so flippin’ cool, Mommy, you don’t even know!" "Well, let's get you dressed then. Daddy is making breakfast." Talita was all sunshine as her Mommy dressed her. She wore a short dress with frills underneath, flashing the seat of her training pants when she so much as bent over. Frilly ankle socks adorned her feet, along with a set of white ballet flats. Her long hair was tied in loose pigtails with plastic bauble elastics. Finally, a pacifier was clipped to her dress and pressed firmly between her lips. She was a picturesque toddler in the body of an adult, but Talita didn't even seem to notice, let alone mind. Talita walked with one foot in front of the other - something she couldn't do when waddling in a diaper - all the way to the kitchen, where Daddy was plating eggs and toast. Though she and her Mommy were the same height, Daddy was a bit taller with mussed hair and a clean beard. The couple couldn't have been more than ten years older than Talita, but they were her parents nonetheless. "Eggies!" Talita clapped her hands happily, then tried to reel in her enthusiasm. She wanted her Daddy to see just how cool and mature she was today. "That’s right, cupcake: eggs with toast." He flashed her a warm smile. "It’s not got seeds innit right, Daddy?" Talita screwed up her nose. "I dun’ like the toast with seeds innit." "Not a single seed as far as the eye can see, cupcake." Talita pursed her lips and looked skeptically, then nodded her head. "You took them all out, Daddy?" Explaining that white bread didn’t have seeds in it was going to be an exercise in futility, as it often was with Talita. She was beautiful, immature, darling, and very very dumb; so her Daddy just smiled and nodded. Breakfast in the Campbell household was all too ordinary. Talita ate bites of toast, spilling crumbs down her bib and into the little pocket at the bottom. Mommy told Daddy about Talita's promise and how she didn't need diapers anymore. Daddy got up early from the table to ready Talita's stroller for the trip to her school. Yes, breakfast in the Campbell house was all too ordinary, if Talita really had been a toddler and not a 29 year old woman. "Can I walk instead?" Talita asked as Daddy buckled her into the stroller. "I'm a big girl today, so it makes sense." "How about," Daddy said, snapping the last belt in place with a metallic click, "if you can get out of the stroller before we get there, you can walk the rest of the way." Talita's eyes lit up at the challenge and nodded her head, immediately getting to work on the buckles wrapped over her shoulders and around her waist. Ordinarily, perhaps a long time ago, Talita may have considered the best way to win this challenge. Like, for example, to wait until the last possible moment before getting out of the stroller so that she could have victory and get to show up to school walking on her own and not be so tired from the walk that she needed a nap as soon as she got there. Cool kids didn’t need a nap until at least lunchtime. Talita, though, was a very special variety of bimbaby. The kind of girl to whom such advanced machinations would never occur. In fact, they were only a few minutes from the house when she was so sure she’d managed to wriggle free already. "Daddy I did-" Her words were cut short by a frown and a gasp as the straps over her thighs and lap held fast. In all her excitement to work on the shoulder straps - which she could squirm out of and cheat her way to freedom - she’d completely forgotten to account for the others that held her firmly in place. "Did what, cupcake?" Her Daddy asked, slightly amused, as he pushed the stroller. "Nothing Daddy..." Efforts must be doubled!

I sometimes leave my diaper on for an hour or two after messing. I just carry on pottering about; enjoying the odd extra squish and the warm comfort of wetting myself. But do others scrabble to remove their poopy load and clean up ASAP? Just wondering. xx

And Then the World Crinkled By: Snackers Chp. 1 The universe has a sense of humor. Or, at the very least, I’m convinced that whatever you and I understand reality to be… it’s got jokes. My life must be a particularly funny joke. I am not even sure how or why I ended up here. I can reasonably assume it is part of the ‘grand comedy’ and that ‘I’ exist somewhere between the opener and the punchline. Maybe I am the punchline. If I were to advise you about how NOT to become a beacon of cosmic humor, this is what I would do… Step one in my poorly written pamphlet would be “Stop complaining, it really isn’t that bad.” I would also add a subtext of, “It could be MUCH worse.” I did not follow this simple rule before I ended up here. I walked through life making a steady stream of complaints and shoulder shrugs. I could, and still can, eye roll on an Olympic level. In my defense, this is normal behavior for a teen where I am from. Where I exist now, it is apparently not. I want to state up front that the reality I grew up with is not a figment of my imagination. I am not crazy. Everyone thinks I am because I remember something no one else does, but I am absolutely sure of one fact. I AM POTTY TRAINED. I swear I am, and that SHOULD be normal. I potty trained when I was three years old. My aunt ribbed me for years that I was a devil to train, but past the age of four I have never had a problem making it to the bathroom or even considered the bathroom as anything worthy of much thought. It’s kind of the same way I don’t really think much about eating, drinking, breathing or sleeping except when I need to do one of them. So this is why I think something or someone is playing a joke on me. I made one off color remark about hating the bathroom and how it was inconvenient to wait in line to sit down and pee between classes. It is bullshit that I drink water, just to pee it out later. I didn’t really mean anything by it; I was just complaining. In all fairness, I complain about everything, its normal. I complain about boredom. I complain about the weather. I complain about new games not being released yet… I communicate through negativity, it is how I express myself as a teen. It all happened after the break between classes. My math teacher hit his number stride which put half the class to sleep. I dozed off too and either the world collectively decided to play a prank on me, or something beyond my understanding pulled the rug out from under my feet. “Samantha? What do you think you are doing?” asked Ms. Taylor. I was a little stunned because she’d caught me by the wrist and was holding firm. Usually, teachers were very hands off with students. She was supposed to go get an administrator if I were acting up. But I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was just walking. I frowned and checked my clothing to make sure I wasn’t out of school regulation. I had on a plaid skirt, and a hoodie that was probably a little too large. It wasn’t out of regs though. I looked at her hand on my wrist before looking up to her. “Um, I’m going to my locker? Pretty much the same thing I do every day between classes. Is that wrong?” Ms. Taylor sighed and used her other hand to flip my skirt, suddenly flashing my black panties to the hallway. “HEY!” I said quickly pulling my skirt down. Ms. Taylor didn’t seem to care and started walking back down the hallway, surprising me as she suddenly tugged me stumbling behind her in a new direction. My hand remained on my skirt, still a bit shocked. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a student take her diaper off. Students wear diapers for a reason and I’m not about to subject our poor janitorial staff to your foolish acts of rebellion on our school floors.” “Diapers?!?!” I blurted out, not entirely sure I’d heard her correctly. “Why on earth would students wear…?” Right on beat, as if to answer my question before it had even been voiced, Skye walked by us. Skye was indisputably the social queen bee of my school. Well, I say she walked but more realistically she waddled. She was flanked by her gal pal Ami with an i. It must have been a Friday home game at our school. I knew this because both girls were wearing cheerleader uniforms, which you could only do in class if it was a home game. The usual skirt was shorter than I remembered and did nothing to hide their diapers. I just gawked at them not even trying to hide what they were wearing. Skye had on a disposable with pink, yellow and light purple butterflies decorating it, and Ami with an i had something thicker under a pair of yellow plastic pants with three rows of ruffles on her bottom. “Hi Ms. Taylor,” both girls said in unison as they crinkled by. They gave me the side eye as they passed, which was business as usual, but … I just couldn’t stop staring. I even craned my head back like I was a Toucan or something trying to keep an eye on them as they walked by. Ami with an i noticed and did a little waggle of her butt at me causing the ruffles to flap in a flippant way. I made a face which must have resembled the caveman Spongebob meme, completely stupefied. Did I just get something like ‘the finger’ from a diapered butt? “Bye girls,” Ms. Taylor said not even slowing as she tugged me down the hallway. I struggled to form coherent speech as I was led. So many things did not make sense. I was barely a blip on Skye’s radar, I doubt she even knew my name. The chances of her debasing herself by wearing diapers just to pull a prank on me were very slim. As we turned a corner, we passed a few other students and it only served to deepen the creeping sense of dread I had coming over me. Kim from my earlier math class was wearing overalls with a pink heart on the front and a pacifier in her mouth. There was no way the slight bulge around her middle was anything other than a diaper. It was the same for Jason, a guy from my home room. His clothing was almost normal, with the exception of the low hanging jeans and the obvious diaper fringe poking out. “Why is everyone wearing diapers…?” I asked quietly as I was dragged along. From what I could see, EVERY student was in diapers. A few of them stopped and stared at me, one boy even gave a childish ‘ooooooOOOOooooo’ like I was in trouble and the whole school knew it. Ms. Taylor took me past the front office and over to the school nurse. Honestly, I didn’t really know the nurse that well, I think her name was Mrs. Fielder or Felding or something. She was a 40-something woman who was usually nice enough. She looked up as we approached and immediately fixed her gaze on me, quirking an eyebrow. “Little miss rebel here took her diaper off,” Ms. Taylor said. “Hmmm… Samantha Jones. First time she’s done this, I don’t see her in here much,” the nurse said as she turned to the computer at her desk. “No worries, I’ll see to her, let me just check her student file.” Ms. Taylor nodded, finally easing her grip off of my wrist. I was quick to yank it back, rubbing at a slight sore spot. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been dragged around like a naughty toddler. “She has a stock of disposables, Princess Padding specifically. They should be in her locker and I’d imagine in her backpack. I have extras in the back here too. Oh, and her parents authorized spanking, corner time, mouth soaping and enemas if she gets out of line,” the nurse said as she pushed herself up from her desk. “WHAT?!?!?!” I exclaimed. The nurse had just said some things, and I knew what these things were, but they did not make any sense in referencing me. She might as well have said that there are no cats in America and the streets are paved with cheese. The nurse was already getting something from her storage room and Ms. Taylor was gesturing for me to get up on an exam table. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, HELL NO. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO! I’m out, whatever you’re up to, whatever is going on here, I want no part of it,” I said as I bolted for the door. Ms. Taylor was fast, but when the words ‘spanking’ and ‘enema’ were mentioned in conjunction with my name, I WAS FASTER. My butt was on the line, literally. The door burst open and I was careening through the hallway like a pinball. I hit a trash can, knocked over some poor teen toddler boy, caused a teacher to drop an armful of papers. I tried to sputter an apology in passing but I didn’t stop moving. I crashed out the front entrance of the school and ran into the parking lot. I made a panicked dive behind a car to check if I was being followed. I half expected the school resource officer to come rushing out after me with a stun gun in one hand, diaper in the other. School hadn’t let out yet, so the parking lot was still mostly full of cars and empty of people. I waited two minutes and when no one seemed to be coming I tried my best to stay low and sneak from car to car until I was out of the parking lot and through the path that led to the suburbs just off school grounds. I was lucky enough to live close to the school. It was about a mile and a half, but I could cover that distance in 25 mins at a walk. I could do it in half the time running in a panic, which was exactly what I was doing. I managed to put some distance between me and the epicenter of insanity. I only slowed my pace as I got about a block from my house. The world seemed normal-ish… Houses looked the same. Birds in the trees, blue skies, cars on the road. Although looking twice, a lot of the cars driving by had really big safety seats in back. There were also a lot more Mini-vans then what seemed normal. I brushed that oddness from my head and hopped the fence to my backyard, rushing for my old treehouse. It was my tiny, rickety, fortress of solitude in this world. I rushed up the ladder and hunkered down. I don’t know how long I was there, but there was a vague sense of time passing as I sat there, knees hugged to my chest. I couldn’t stop muttering ‘diapers’ ‘cheerleader butt’ and ‘evil teachers and nurses’ over and over again. The irony that I’d picked my childhood safe space to escape too was not completely lost on me. I’m not sure how much time passed, but at some point I heard movement outside as someone started to climb up the leader to my little fort. I readied my legs. If a teacher, nurse, zombie or trickster god intended to put a diaper on me they were going to get a sketchers size 9 to the face. What came up instead took me completely by surprise. It was my neighbor Daniel, only it wasn’t. Daniel was a bookish and shy guy who liked to play video games and paint little miniatures. We were fellow nerds, and usually walked to school together. We’d been best friends forever. The difference between the Daniel I was used to, and the Daniel poking their head up was that this Daniel was a girl. The face was still the same, with light brown eyes and a pair of glasses that were a little too big, but his dirty blonde mop of hair was now well past his shoulders and held to one side with a cute flower hairclip. “Umm… Daniel?” Hearing the name seemed to almost be a slap in the face. She frowned as she started to climb the rest of the way into the treehouse. “It’s Dani. Why would you call me that?” she asked. “You’re a… girl?” Dani rolled her eyes. “Well, yah? I mean, I have been since I was like 7.” As she came into the treehouse, I got a good look at what she was wearing. She had on a cute wide neck sweater and a pair of short shorts. My eyes widened as I saw that her shorts bulged over a diaper with the fringe poking out around her mid-drift. “Not you too…” I sighed. Everything was so confusing… sooo wrong. “You are being hella rude right now. What’s wrong with you?” Dani asked as she sat down on her knees. She put her hands on her hips like she was a pouting parent talking to her errant child. It was a very odd look for her, one because she was wearing a diaper and looked pretty juvenile with the hair clip; and two because I actually did feel a little chastised for some reason. “I uh… Somethings wrong,” I said as I leaned away from her, shrinking before her pout that was actually way cuter than it had any right to be. “I’ll say, do you know what people are saying at school?” I shook my head no. “You took your diaper off and had to go to the office. Are you even wearing one right now?” Dani asked as she reached for my skirt. My hands quickly shot to my skirt to hold it down. The motion caused Dani to raise her eyebrow at me. “I’ll take that as a no… Sam, what’s going on? What happened to you today?” “What happened to me? What happened to you!? Why are you in diapers? Why are you a girl?!” Dani’s frown deepened and she sighed. I can’t stress how un-Daniel like this girl was. Where was the shy and timid guy that followed me around like a puppy? This girl had confidence and seemed very sure of who and what she was. “All right, I’ll play along. What happened to me is I came straight home out of concern for my best friend who I am pretty sure is in some trouble at school. I am in diapers because that’s normal, and I am a girl because that’s what I am.” My shoulders slumped a little. It couldn’t be that simple. I mean, sure Daniel was a little effeminate, and … she looked really good as a girl, but… How did this all change in a day? “Sam, what’s really wrong? You look like you’re about to cry. What on earth happened today?” “I don’t really know. Everyone is wearing diapers. Ms. Taylor tried to drag me to the nurse to put me in one too. You’re a girl when just yesterday you were a guy. None of this makes sense.” Dani considered what I’d said and leaned over to hug me. She crinkled as she moved and I was definitely not used to contact like this from Daniel, but when her arms came around me I immediately hugged back. “I think you’re really stressed, but lets work through this. Why does none of this make sense? Why don’t you want to wear diapers?” I shook my head. “Why WOULD I wear diapers?” “Because you’re not old enough to be potty trained,” Dani stated matter of factly. I blinked and eased myself out of the hug. “I am potty trained.” Dani looked very skeptical. “I AM!” “Suuuuure, let’s just ignore that diaper pail in your room that your mom is always getting on you to empty. I had to wear a clothespin on my nose when I came over yesterday,” Dani teased as she made a show of holding her nose. “WHAT?! Ewww, I’ve never, I mean, like, I’ve not worn a diaper since I was a baby.” Dani rolled her eyes again. “Would you stop doing that? I’m serious. I don’t need diapers. I’m potty trained. EVERYONE at school should be potty trained.” “Sam… no one our age is potty trained. Certainly not me, and certainly not you. Do you know how many times I’ve changed you after school? How many times you’ve changed me? Hell, how many times we’ve been changed side by side by our parents?” There was no way that was true. I had zero memories of it. This was a nightmare. A very real and very weird nightmare. I tried to add up 2 and 2 but kept getting something very different from 4. Dani saw me tearing up and was quick to put her hand on my shoulder. “Okay, lets assume for the sake of argument that you ARE potty trained. What’s wrong with diapers? Do you hate them?” I blinked, almost surprised by the question. “I… I just don’t want to wear them. Diapers are for babies. Until today I hadn’t even thought about diapers in years… I don’t want them and I don’t need them,” I said firmly. No sooner had I said it, then I felt a warmth beginning to spread between my legs. There was a soft pitter patter noise and both Dani and I looked down at the same time to see a growing wet pool quickly forming under me. Dani sighed. “Riiiiiight.”

It's always fun when this time of year rolls around, and holiday themed stories make their appearance. The same can be said about Halloween. I had hoped to write one of my own for Halloween, but that didn't happen. This idea popped in my head last week. I'm hoping I'll be able to finish it by the end of the month, but I don't want to make promises that I can't keep, and I don't want to rush a story and get stressed out. It takes place in the Diaper Dimension. If you're unfamiliar with that content, there are a ton of amazing stories on this site that can bring you up to speed. I didn't create any of the setting, just borrowed ideas along the way, and its impossible to give full credit where credit is due. This is not a smutty story. More of a PG-13 kind of thing. I don't plan on using any bad or unsavory language, and there's no scenes where you need to cover your eyes. Also, no Littles were harmed in the production of this story. Well, at least not in chapter one. Thanks for reading. ..... The Present(s) - 1 Arrival, 2 Anticipation, 3 Agreements, 4 Antechamber, 5 Actualization pt 1, 6 Actualization pt 2, 7 Acceptance, 8 Awareness, 9 Ambush, 10 Almost midnight, 11 At Midnight, 12 After Midnight 1 Arrival The present. The ‘here and now’. The ‘what’s happening’. The ‘very second’. That’s where James Park tried to keep his head. To keep his focus on what he was doing, not thinking about the past or future, only trying to move from one moment to the next. He had to maintain that mindset, because life was rough for a Little in a Big world. For James there was only the next job, and the next job would be his last. A comforting thought, but that was also thinking into the future. A Little ‘no, no’. There were pitfalls in his line of work, nothing could be taken for granted, and losing focus was dangerous. While on this side of town, every thought counted, every action was under scrutiny, and every word could be used against him. He had to set his mind right if he planned on avoiding what happens to Littles who make mistakes. In the present, he stood shivering on a sidewalk opposite from an impressive skyscraper, scrying the busy intersection for a spot to make it across the street. A picturesque snowfall hushed the loud city street around him. It possibly could have been comforting, if James wasn’t so concerned about being late. He tightened his navy overcoat across his chest, his chin length dirty blonde hair had collected white flakes at the tips. It wasn’t a bitter cold. It was crisp, precise, on point with the season. However, it was a different story when the wind would kick up. A quick gust almost pulled the tiny scrap of paper from his hands. A paper with a place, a time, and a promised payout. An Amazon couple slowly strolled his way from further than the sidewalk. Their loving arms entwined and wandering eyes on the hanging wreaths and colored lights. They carried on in empty conversation and laughter. James turned away to pretend he wasn’t there, but he felt their eyes linger as they passed. He was used to the looks, but he wasn’t used to being late, or being called up at the last minute. It raised his hackles. The present. He needed to get across the street. Contracts were quite specific on arriving on time. Unfortunately, there was no stop to these cars. He again jumped to press the button to trigger the crosswalk, then jumped a third and fourth time, but he doubted he had the force necessary to change the light. This side of town wasn’t built with him in mind. His flailing about caught the watchful eyes of a Big doorman from the tower on the other side of the street. The man was tall and dressed in a red uniform, standing guard in front of a wide array of gold trimmed glass doors. James knew he had the man’s attention, this guy was a helper of sorts, and he’d help him get past this traffic. The two made eye contact, exchanged a pair of nods, and the doorman pulled a shiny brass whistle to his lips as he walked into the road, raising a hand to part the cars. Deep down, he hated the favor. Or that he needed the favor. He also hated the man’s condescending smile. Even if James tried to return a polite one. But what he hated most was the way he called him ‘Little guy’. “Hey Little guy,” the doorman said as he pressed a white glove against his back, hurrying James across the street. “I assume that you’re here for the party?” There was something about that smile that wasn’t right. As sinister as it was genuine. James answered, “Um. That’s right.” The Little struggled to keep pace with the Giant’s larger strides while cowering from blinding headlights. What was at the waist of a Big was eye level for a Little, and the high beams burned from both sides. When they got to the curb, the doorman gave a final tug to the back of his jacket, sending James stumbling over the sidewalk almost into the glass doors. The doorman spoke. “Now what do you say, kid?” James wasn’t a kid, but it wasn’t worth the argument. Not on this side of town, not against this man. It was all a job, all a performance. That’s how he learned to swallow that pride like poison and keep his mind on the present. He gave a slight bow. “Thank you, sir.” The taller man ruffled his hair with a gloved hand before opening the door for him. Then all at once he was inside. Away from the cold wind, snide doorman, and into a busy lobby. The Giant room was tall and wide, an open space like a concert hall, with the acoustics to match. It would probably echo had it been empty, but it was full of life. Lively ropes of garland hung from the walls, spiraling trees filled with ornaments in every possible corner, and there was even a robotic oversized Santa mechanically waving at passersby. James could hear its jolly laughter over the brassy holiday music that filled the air over the throng of people seemingly everywhere. All three types were present in the lobby, highlighting the caste system based on size. The tall Amazons moved about with confident authority, manning stations and desks, or other ones seated on plush chairs and sofas, sharply dressed presumably for their holiday party. Betweeners hustled about fulfilling the Big’s wishes to prove that they were worthy of being above Littles, or at least they hoped. Then there were the others, the Littles, the ones so very out of place. Against a wall stood a long line of about twenty or thirty in a row, like a band of preschoolers on a field trip, anxiously awaiting — they couldn’t possibly all be there for the party, could they? James didn’t know that there would be others like him, or he wouldn’t have taken the job. Suddenly, things didn’t feel right, and he was about to turn around when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was warm and feminine, but also firm and binding, like his contract. So there was no getting out of this. She chirped, “What’s your name, Little guy?” There it was again. James spun around wielding a fake happy face. He followed the hand on his shoulder to a perky Tweener with wide open eyes, like she was excited to see everything. She wore business casual, lots of makeup and a lopsided Santa hat. There was a tablet in her hands and a walkie clipped to her belt. Party coordinator, Little wrangler, or for this job, possibly his boss. “I’m James Park, and I’m here for the party.” “Oh, you look so excited! Let me check if you’re in the right place.” She tapped a pen along the edge of the computer screen until she found his name. Unfortunately, he was in the right place. “It looks like you’re partners with Kinsey tonight,” she said as she pointed to a Little girl moping against the wall like the rest. “I’m Jennifer, but you can call me Jenny. Or Miss Jenny. Whatever is easiest to say.” James hesitated. “Jenny, I didn’t know there were others. I mean, I normally work alone, and I— “ “You’re nervous, I can tell.” Jenny reached around and rubbed his back, then he felt the slight push towards Kinsey and the other Littles lined against the wall. “I bet you’ll feel better about things after making new friends. Kinsey is super nice, maybe she’s single and ready to mingle.” The present. He was just another Little in a long line. Jenny lied. Kinsey didn’t seem nice, just pretentious and bored, and anything but kind. Though she looked pretty in that fashion conscious black dress, so that was something. They exchanged polite greetings before spending the next few minutes in silence. He kept glancing her way, expecting her to say something, anything. He looked around at the other Littles of all kinds, like someone pressed a randomizer button, and the Littles of every flavor popped out of a machine. Dark hair, Light hair, short hair, long hair, tomboys and girly boys, every color of a Little rainbow, and every single one dressed in their best to impress. However, he and Kinsey practically looked the same. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, down to their button noses. Most of the other partners were talking with one another, James thought it was proper to at least attempt the same. “So Kinsey, what brings you here?” He grimaced. It came out awkward despite all of the courage he spent to break the ice. Kinsey recrossed her arms and slid further down the wall before loudly sighing. “I was told they only invited professionals, and now I’m stuck with a newbie.” A newbie? She might as well have called him a baby. A pretty strong insult coming from the mouth of a fellow Little. James leaned into her personal space. He took crap from Bigs and Tweeners, but when it came to his own size, nope. “I’m not a newbie, I’ve been around, this isn’t my first time with Amazons. I’ve probably been working longer than you.” “Oh, yeah.” Kinsey side-eyed him for a hundredth time. “What exactly do you do, James?” It wasn’t really a secret, but he didn’t exactly want to admit to his line of work. He shook his head. “Nah, you first.” Kinsey delicately placed both palms on her chest. “Easy. I’m a model. You may have seen some of my work, but judging by the fact that you’re wearing last year when it’s almost next year — you haven’t.” James felt that burn. On the inside. She asked, “What about you, Little guy?” Oh, man. He felt the heat rise, like a soft blush from spiked eggnog, it settled into his cheeks. James cleared his throat, there was no way the truth would put a stop to this ridicule. Neither would a lie. “I’m a singer,” James answered. “What kind of singer?” Kinsey turned her head as if she knew she was prying him apart. Alright, time to get honest. James worked as a singing telegram. He sang Little ditties in babyish costumes for tips, traveling around to different offices and events — basically embarrassing himself in front of Amazons for hard cash. He would like to think it was worth it, but even at his last gig, he still wasn’t sure. Simply put, it paid the bills and zero chance for social promotion. Even by a Little’s standards. The job also didn’t have the best of reputations. Mostly by a Little’s standards. There was something about giving the Amazons what they expected of Littles that aggravated everyone else his size. There was a usual song and dance to his — his song and dance. A routine of sorts. Show up wearing their silly costume, sing your little song, and collect your little paycheck. It was all demeaning, of course. The songs were standard Little music: ‘I’m a Little Teapot’, ‘Ba-Ba Black Sheep’, or whatever preschool jam was popular or relevant for the affair. Also, it was important to be cute, but not too cute, just the right amount of cute. That’s what the costumes were all about. The pre-made costumes were a tad bit infantilizing, always short shorts, sometimes coveralls, or worse, with snappies between the legs and zippers that ran down the back. But he set his limits: no dresses and no diapers. It had to be said. There were others he worked with that didn’t set those limits, those that didn’t mind showing up for a show thickly padded, which James thought was an invitation to disaster. However, he couldn’t blame them. They were in the business of getting tips, it was part of the territory. Push the envelope, reap the rewards. He had done the same himself, his longer hair was a part of that game. James had more than once been a target of suggestions for barrettes or pigtails. Kinsey prodded again. “What kind of singer, James?” They had a name for singing telegrams, more embarrassing than the job itself. He couldn’t bear telling her. She stopped, then grinned. “Don’t tell me that you’re a Gramcracker.” “Fine, I won’t tell you that,” James snapped back. It took a moment for her to believe him, like he fabricated his lifestyle just for this little talk; but when she figured it out, her whole demeanor changed. From apathetic to downright angry, and in rapid time. “You’ve got to be kidding me, diaper-bait.” She pressed a finger into his chest. “You mess this up for me, I swear-” Miss Jenny hustled by with her tablet, and Kinsey halted her brow beating until the Tweener passed. “I can’t believe I’m partners with a stupid Little like you,” Kinsey whispered. “You’re one to be talking,” James defended himself. “What’s so bad about what I do for money, huh?” “I shouldn’t have to explain it to you, I just can’t wait to hear your cute Little singing voice. Just try not to pee your pants and get us both put in diapers.” “Like you’ve never worn a diaper before,” James scoffed. Kinsey became suddenly alert, he definitely struck a nerve with his comment on diapers. “What are you suggesting, Gramcracker?” He knew he shouldn’t push her buttons, but the way she called him Gramcracker gave him no choice. “What kind of fashion magazines are you in? Little fashion, or ‘Little’ fashion? Emphasis on the Little part, I bet you’ve been padded more than your fair share.” James barely had a chance to smirk before Kinsey wheeled him against the wall. Her index finger was under his chin like a knife. “What I’ve had to wear because of stupid Littles like you is none of your business. If I wore a diaper, it meant I could be trusted in one without using it. Now, it'd be best for you to shut your mouth until it’s time for your little jingle.” She added, “You got that, Gram-gram?” He gulped. Just then, Miss Jenny made another round with her walkie wildly squawking. Kinsey pretended her threatening finger to his throat was nothing more than a friendly embrace. “I’m so glad to see you two are getting along,” Jennifer gushed. “When the bells chime it’ll be time to head to the elevators so you guys can get properly dressed.” The pair of Littles just smiled back, angry claws still digging into one another. This was going to be a long night, James thought to himself. Kinsey probably thought the same. Who knew what partners meant, and James struggled on keeping this whole thing professional. Kinsey released him as soon as Jenny looked the other way. After that, James kept his mouth shut as things fell into motion. They were organized into couples of boys and girls, some girls and girls, some boys with boys. And they were forced to hold hands. They were hors d'oeuvres for the devilish tastes of the Amazons, made to order, and ordered to please. A chorus of bells sang out from everywhere, tinny small ones, toneful medium ones, and heavy bells that shook the bones. All at once the chaotic atmosphere changed into programming. The chaos became order, the music stopped, and the uneasy quiet of hushed voices and shuffling feet took over. The well-to-do Amazons were the first on the elevators, heading to the top floor to the party. The Tweeners made sure to write their drink orders and remind them of seating arrangements. Older Amazons in ball gowns and fancy headdresses gave the long line of Littles one last look before heading up and taking their creepy leering faces with them. One last job. Then no more. Last but not least, it came time for the Littles. A small group of Betweeners herded them through the lobby and cattled them together onto an elevator. A Big elevator could fit a lot of Littles, and all of them hopped aboard. Jennifer stood with her kind in the middle of the mass checking over details with another Betweener that had a walkie and tablet in tow. The elevator had a mirror for a ceiling, an overhead reflection that the Littles didn’t need. They all stared at their reflection as they looked up into one another, holding hands awaiting what awaited them. That's the issue with the future. The future is captivating. It tugs and pulls at the present until the mind isn't on what's currently happening, the mind is elsewhere in a nameless space, sharing dreams and nightmares of what’s yet to come. James could take a guess on where their minds were at this moment. Probably already on floor 100. Later that night, in the future when this present was past, James would reflect on this moment just like that overhead mirror. The bright eyes looking up to something they couldn't quite see, soaked in a frightful quiet because there were no words for this ‘feeling’. A feeling that couldn’t be described as terror, more like an anticipation for malice. The bad was coming, but they could hope that it wouldn’t be all bad. Or too bad. But if it got too bad it would eventually be over. That’s the way it was with Amazons. Everyone hoped it would be worth it, that metaphorical pot of gold on the otherside of this rainbow. The fame, fortune, or some other prize that brought them to this moment didn't matter anymore. They were there. James had to assume that they were mostly like him, or Kinsey. In show business or hospitality for the Bigs. Which meant contracts, and unions, or guilds, or whatever. Signed contracts were a two way street, what kept him in line also kept him in clean underwear. Life wasn’t easy being a Gramcracker in a shark tank, but there were legal protections in their union contracts. If they performed to specifications, they were untouchable. Unfortunately, paper could only do so much. Binding agreements didn’t stop the pinches to both sets of cheeks, top and bottom, but it kept the kidnappings at bay. The oddities of this assignment plagued him for some reason, so were his reasons for taking the path that led to this moment. This job was different, last minute, high paying. No pre-made costume, no set list. Only an address and a time to arrive. Kinda suspicious for a final show, but James could rationalize it. There was an extra zero on this check that wasn’t on the others. He’d go out with an end of year bonus and never be seen around these parts again. Once again his head was in the future. That future was coming closer by the second, as the elevator slowly climbed to floor 99. Floor 100 was the top of the building where there was a high end club housing this ‘party’, but floor 99 was for Littles and Tweeners, those who made this party a reality. What was reality? The present. Kinsey closed her fist tightly around his hand and gave it a painful squeeze. She whispered right into his ear. “I hate you.” James turned to whisper back. “Good. I hate you, too.” Ah, the present.

Gosh I feel like it's been months since I finished posting Academy I. I'm sorry for the delay on starting this one. I have a few chapters ready to go, but I hope to do a lot more over winter break. Anyway... If you haven't read Academy I, I recommend you read that one first. I don't think it's strictly necessary though? I'm trying to write these as individual narratives, but it will definitely benefit the reader to have some information from A:I. Oh and again. If you want to support me, there's a Patreon link you can go to. Thanks for reading and leaving comments and stuff. ~Mia~ ---------------------------- Academy B By Mia Moore "True judgement does not use balanced scales, for the fool’s pockets have been filled with many of the devil’s stones." -The Source Chapter One Bala Khatri woke up to stark, bright lights. They glared off the shiny walls, ceiling, and floor. The room was big and shadowless, stretching an impossible distance. As Bala's eyes adjusted, she caught sight of something else: a person. But as she approached, she found that she was looking in a mirror. Bala was still dressed in scrubs from her night shift at the hospital. She was on her way back to her car when the van pulled up. She had managed to mace one of the suited men, but the other hit her hard across the face. In the mirror, there was swelling along her jawline. Where was she now? A pit the size of a melon sat in her stomach, sprouting dread, demanding that she shout out at the empty room with the shiny walls. To threaten them. To deny them. To appeal to them. To beg to them. Bala was no stranger to the perils of being a young woman who worked long hours and late nights in the city. She rubbed her fingers up her arms and found herself shivering. Cold? Scared? Bala quickly realized the room wasn't as big as she thought: the mirror was causing a lot of the distortion. She worked her way around the brightly lit room until she found a handle to a door, though the door blended in so much it was hard to notice. Bala tried the handle, but it didn't turn. "Damnit..." She fished through her pockets for her cell phone, but it wasn't there. The ID tag on her waist wasn't there either. "My family has no money," Bala called out, the echo of her voice eerily flat against the walls of the room. "If it’s a ransom you're hoping for, you might as well kill me now. I’m sure my organs are worth more to you." Always the pragmatist. Nobody responded. Maybe they were organ harvesters, though - it would explain why it felt like a refrigerator in there. Bala kicked at the door, but she wasn't the strongest woman in the world. She wasn't the biggest, either. She knew her way around a can of pepper spray, but that wasn't going to help her in here. Why would someone kidnap her? Was it a sex thing? Bala stepped away from the door and paced around the room. She rubbed her bare arms, hugging herself tightly. It felt colder and colder the longer she was awake. "Sit down," a voice said, filling the room with a soft echo. It was neither masculine nor feminine, and didn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular. Bala looked around for the source of the voice, but there was nobody else in the room with her. No cameras. No speakers. Not that she could find with her eyes, anyway. Had she imagined the command? "I won’t," she replied, in defiance. The voice didn't repeat itself. And for the next ten minutes, Bala was left to her thoughts and her own preponderances. Gosh it was cold. Colder with every passing moment. "Sit down." The voice repeated. "Tell me why you're doing this!" No response. Bala took a deep breath and saw the air in front of her nose. Was it really that cold in here? She was shivering in place. "Please... I have a family. I have a daughter. She's two years old. She needs her mother!" Bala didn't have a family. She didn't have a daughter. She had a mom who visited once a week and a roommate she had known for two years. She had a lot of friends at work, people who would quickly realize she was missing. Bala was never late to work. There was no response. No amount of impassioned pleas, truthful or not, seemed to impact the disembodied voice. She shivered, rubbed her arms, and paced the room. "Sit down." It had to be pre-recorded, didn't it? Bala had been trying to time the intervals between the commands, and they seemed roughly similar. But they were so far apart that she couldn’t compare the inflections or tones. Was it a person? Reluctantly, she shouted at the ceiling. "If I sit down, will you turn up the heat please? I'm going to get hypothermia, you know?" Not yet. It wasn't cold enough yet. But it was cold enough that she kept clenching her swollen jaw. No response. Bala did her best to hold out hope for a crack, an edge, something to grab onto verbally. But if the voice was truly a recording, her shouting would get her nowhere. So when it next repeated: "Sit down." She sat down. Immediately, the space on the floor where she sat began to glow a soft red. Bala nervously examined the room, pressing her palms to the floor. It was giving off heat, like a space heater. She wondered if the rest of the room was warming up, or if it was only the glowing spot. And why did they want her to sit down? Was it just a display of power? "I'm sitting now, what do you want?" There was no reply from the voice. It was American; she had figured that much out. And if she had to guess, it repeated about every ten minutes. Would it give her another command in ten minutes, then? Experimentally, she reached as far as she could, in each direction, and found the floor only to be warm on the tile where she was sitting. The room was still cold, but the warmth travelled well up her body and it left her feeling... comfortable. As comfortable as she could be, sitting on a hard floor in a freezing room, ordered around by a disembodied voice after being kidnapped. "Put your thumb in your mouth and keep it there." What? Bala thought. Why? "I'm not putting my thumb in my mouth," Bala said to no one in particular. "What is this all about? Are you trying to humiliate me or something? That isn't happening!" No response. No anything. So Bala sat quietly with her arms crossed, soaking in the heat of the tile beneath her. Then, ten minutes later, the tile turned off. The heat vanished, and the voice repeated itself. "Put your thumb in your mouth and keep it there." "No, I..." Bala was smart enough to have a preschool understanding of cause and effect. She needed to follow the directions, or the room was going to stay cold. On top of that, there was the faintest breeze of frigid, icy air. They were making the room colder? Because she hadn't obeyed? The voice repeated itself three more times. Bala found the corner of the room by the mirror and balled herself together as tight as she could, knees to her chest and arms tucked into her shirt. The air in the room was biting; no matter how she tried, she couldn't stop shaking. It was definitely below freezing, and her head was starting to hurt. “Put your thumb in your mouth and keep it there." What did it matter? It was one stupid thing. It wasn't even that embarrassing, if she thought about it. People suck their thumbs. It wasn't weird. So with a bit of hesitation, she put her thumb in her mouth and kept it there. The moment that she did, she could feel the spreading warmth beneath her on the floor. It was like slipping under a blanket in the middle of winter. It was like a hug at the end of a twenty-hour double shift at the hospital. Bala shivered, but this time it wasn't because of the cold. She had her thumb in her mouth, sure. But so what? The whole experience was exhausting for Bala. Every time she tried to fight, it got colder. Then she was sitting in the corner of a room and sucking her thumb. Worse yet, she knew the voice would continue to demand things from her. Whatever their goal was, it wouldn't end with thumbsucking. "Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep." Bala sighed and looked down at the floor as the voice gave her a new command. What was she supposed to do with that? What kind of command was 'go to sleep' when you're a literal kidnapping victim? But she also knew she had little choice in the matter. "I need to use the bathroom." To her surprise, the voice responded right away with a new command. "Do not speak unless spoken to." It responded to her? Then they could hear her. She took her thumb out of her mouth and tried to get to her feet. "Please let me out! I'll do anything you want, just let me out of here!" Maybe it was the standing up. Maybe it was taking her thumb out of her mouth. Maybe it was talking without a prompt. Whatever it was, the heat started to vanish from the spot where she was standing. In a fury, Bala went over to the door and tugged at the handle, kicking the tiled walls. "Let me out! I know you can hear me! Let me out! Whatever you want from me, I don't care, I'll play along, just let me out!" Bala kicked at the door and screamed at the room for nine minutes, until the original command repeated itself. "Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep." "Fuck you!" The room was getting cold again. Bala could see her breath and her arms were covered in goosebumps. What was she supposed to do? Give up? "I'm not going to do it! I'm not going to listen! I'll freeze my butt off before I listen to you again, unless you get in here and talk to me. Or… or let me out. I don't care!" Bala was short of breath and sucking on icy oxygen that hurt her lungs. She paced the room, trying to keep warm. She tucked her arms back into her shirt and shook her head side to side. Stay moving. Keep active. But by the time the voice repeated the command - "Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep." - Bala was struggling to breathe. It felt like the air around her was full of glass. Her heart was hurting and she could read the signs of hypothermia. The temperature in the room was clearly below freezing. If she didn't warm up soon, she could have liver or kidney problems. With an angry whimper, she sat back down on the floor - in the center of the room - and put her thumb in her mouth. No warmth. No warmth. What was she doing wrong? The words played back in her head so readily. Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep. Sleep. Lay down. Rest. Sleep. Thumb in mouth. She shivered, sucking on her thumb to keep from biting it off, and laid down on the floor. The tile started to glow and warm air radiated from it. Bala had stars in the edges of her vision. She continued to tremble on the warm tile for many minutes later, but soon the heat filled her up. The warm spot on the floor was so refreshing, so relaxing... a haven amidst the tundra around her. Her body began to relax, allowing her aching muscles a reprieve. She sucked softly on her thumb and let sleep take her away from that awful, awful place.

I have been lurking for a long time and commenting for a little while. After reading so many great stories here and all around the internet, I wanted to try and write my own story. And whaddya know, why not a christmas story since it tis the season after all? This story is named after the christmas song of the same name, but really does not have anything to do with the song. (it's just my favorite christmas song). I was gonna call it something like Daria's Christmas in Diapers, but then I worried people might think it was fanfiction for the Daria cartoon... which it's not. The one thing it does have in common with the cartoon is that it takes place in 1997, which is when the cartoon first aired. And that is where the similarities end. So I guess that's it for intros. Please enjoy the story. Chapter 1 Daria was excited for the holidays, mainly Christmas, but also new years. It was almost Christmas. She was gonna go visit her Grammy and Papa for a week or so. School had let out early and the last day they barely even had to do anything! Some of it was even fun Christmas activities too, no homework either. There wouldn’t be any school until after the new year, but they were staying at Grammy and Papa’s for a little longer than that (her daddy said they might stay longer, but hadn’t said how long exactly). A week might not seem like very long to an adult, but to a nine year old like Daria it seemed like a long time. Her mind was racing with all sorts of things she could do while they were there. Her cousins would be there and would have their new toys and games. (Mary had a collection of Barbies that made Daria jealous) She hadn't seen her cousins in a few years, or so she remembered. “Are you all packed in there?” called her dad from downstairs. “Yes, daddy!” she yelled back a little annoyed. But she wasn’t packed just yet, she just didn’t want her daddy to come up and complain. He would probably say she wasn’t doing it right, but she had all her favorite clothes packed in her suitcase. She had to argue and beg a little to get him to let her pack her own things. A small victory won, and she was glad because he never packed the clothes she liked. All she needed now was to pack some toys and things to make the car ride less boring. It was several hours of driving to get out to her grandparent’s house, but for her it might as well be an eternity. She never liked long car rides, they always made her super bored. Her dad was yelling up the stairs again, something about getting ready. “And hurry up! When you’re done put your stuff in the car and come to the kitchen and feed David.” Daria didn't want to feed David, he always made a mess (and one time he threw all the food in her hair and it took forever to get it out). More importantly it was distracting her from her important task. She had a small pink Barbie backpack which she took with her everywhere. For the car ride it would hold all her toys to take along. She couldn't take her whole collection (that would be too big) but she packed two Barbies and several accessories. She wanted to show them to her cousins. She also packed a big coloring book, colored pencils, and a few sheets of glittery stickers. Most importantly she packed her Gameboy. She only had like games four games for it, but it was her favorite toy even though girls didn't usually play videogames. She currently had Micro Machines on loan from a friend. It was a really hard racing game but her friend said they beat it already so Daria had to beat it too or her friend would never stop teasing her about it. Once all her things were packed, she wasted a little time brushing her hair. She had long blonde hair which fell straight over her shoulders and all down her back. She had pretty brown eyes and a cheery face, but she always thought her hair was the most pretty part about her. She loved how long it was and how elegant. It made her look more grown up even though she was actually shorter than all her friends. When she was all packed and brushed, she took her backpack with her and went downstairs. The suitcase was too heavy so her father would have to get it for her. "Hay!" Yelled her dad when she was downstairs. "Go put your stuff in the car and then come right back here." Daria went outside and it was cold. There was some snow on the ground, but not much. The clouds were gray and looked like they might snow again, but she didn't have time to think about that. She rushed out to the car sitting in the driveway and put her backpack in the back seat. Then she ran back inside. Her dad was waiting for her when she came in and immediately handed off the task of getting David fed. David was two years old and a few months. He could eat by himself sometimes but he took too long and often made a mess. So for the next half a hour, Daria had to feed her little brother. He did end up making a mess, which was annoying because she had to clean it up. She put him down on the floor in the play room and let him play with toys while she wiped up all the spilled food from the high chair. Then she changed his diaper since he wasn't potty trained yet. Even if they would have been trying to get him to use the potty that day, he would be put in a diaper for the long drive to Grammy and Papa's. (he couldn't hold it for long and her dad didn't like making a whole bunch of stops.) Daria complained about having to change David's diaper since he pooped in it and it was totally gross. Her dad, who had conveniently avoided needing to deal with it, thought it was good. "I wish you had taken him to the potty, but it's a good thing he pooped now." He said. "Better then him pooping in the car and we have to find a place to stop and change him." Daria hated it when she had to change her brother’s poopy diapers. He never seemed to mind, and always ended up sitting on it and squishing it into an even bigger mess. She figured maybe it was just because boys always like making messes and girls don’t. Boys were so gross. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to sit in a gross stinky diaper at all, not to mention for any length of time. But David would just keep playing after pooping sometimes for over an hour if no one happened to check him or smell him. Daria wished she had a sister because a little sister wouldn't do that. Daria had to sit and watch David for a little while while her dad packed and got ready. She played with a little barbie doll (not the one she packed). She liked to make believe about being grown up and having a job at an important business. David played with blocks and kept asking her questions. “What are you doing?” “Playing with my Barbie.” Daria answered. “My bobby?” “No, my Barbie.” Daria said the words slowly. “Why you play wiff dat?” “I like it.” “Why?” “Because.” “Why because?” “Because I don’t know. Stop asking me questions.” Daria tried to concentrate and remember the little story she was trying to play out with her doll. David was quiet for a minute, then “why?” “Arg!” Daria got annoyed, but it only made David giggle. For like the hundredth time that week Daria wished she had a little sister. She could play barbies with a little sister, but David was a boy so she could not. He just kept playing with blocks and toy trucks and picking his nose. It seemed to be taking forever for them to be ready. David was getting on her nerves and kept asking questions. She tried to keep him busy so he wouldn’t fuss, but that just meant she couldn’t play on her own. Her dad had said something about the oil in the car, and he kept coming in and out of the front door looking more and more angry. Finally after more than another hour which felt like an eternity, her father came in and said everything was ready. He had already packed his and David’s stuff in the car, and Daria had packed her own stuff, so they just needed to grab coats and hats and gloves before they could leave. Daria used the bathroom. Their dad gave David a quick diaper change and then they left the house.

Hey! Welcome to the Lovington Effect. I hope you stick around for awhile. While writing Without Merit, I thought of a prequel for my prequel even though there isn't a sequel, or an actual story for that matter. However, Lover Boy takes place in the 1980s, and it was supposed to be a one-shot, then the music took over. And entirely different story came out. A warning though. This story is rougher than Without Merit, and is a lot darker. It also contains frequent mentions of a sexual assault. If that is big concern to you, there are other great stories on this site. All characters are over eighteen. Thanks for reading. 1: Private Eyes 2: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun 3: Every Breath you Take... 4: ... I'll be Watching You 5: You Spin me Round (Like a Record) 6: The Voice Beyond the Mirror 7: Total Eclipse of the Heart 8: The New Forever 9: The Baby Shower ————————- Lover Boy 1988 Part 1: Private Eyes Every girl in Lovington knew about Beau Taylor. He was a walking, talking cautionary tale; all too similar to Icarus, fly too close to his hotness and your heart was sure to melt. Senior quarterback for the varsity football team, muscular build, tight denim jeans. Notorious bad boy with good hair. What was there not to like? He had bedded a good number of the girls in school, and a good number of girls outside of school as well. No one from the female persuasion was safe from the ‘Lover Boy’. The upperclassmen hung out on the lawn after the final bell, finding spots among the green grass, on the side of the concrete stairs, or beneath the shade of a half a dozen oak trees that lined the side of the school. The football players laid claim to a grassy knoll that overlooked the parking lot. From their high perch, they would catcall and wolf-whistle at all the girls. Appreciating the angry looks from mothers and fathers who happened to pick up their blushing virginal daughters from high school. Beau found his friends already there, laid about the ground, lounging and laughing. His best friend, Sherrod, sat taller between a pair of reclining oversized humans known as offensive linemen, Monster and Handley. Sherrod was an incredible athlete like Beau, they shared the backfield as quarterback and running back. They also shared the same outfit that day. Black shirt, blue jeans and denim jacket, down to the same bright red Converse shoes. Beau slapped the back of his black friend to grab his attention, catching Sherrod by surprise. Loudly announcing his presence with, “How are you three queers doing?” The three supposed ‘queers’ laughed as they exchanged special handshakes without leaving the ground. Monster looked up and asked, “What’s up, Beau?” “Nothing besides my dick.” The quarterback handled his crotch through his jeans. They all laughed again. “No, seriously man,” Beau continued, “my johnson is a little tired, it had quite the weekend.” “No shit?” Sherrod flashed a curious smile. “No shit, my man. You know how I score on and off the field. I’m talking about Vanessa, Christine, and Holly. I’m talking about how I get busy!” Next came something of a pelvic thrust to make sure his friends picked up his subtle connotation. Handley appeared surprised. “I didn’t think Holly was the type for that kind of thing.” “That’s where you’re mistaken, tubby.” Beau corrected him. “All of the ladies are the type for the ‘Lover Boy’.” Sherrod groaned. “Come on, you don’t have to show us your ass again.” But it was already too late, the jeans and the BVDs were already mid-buttock, revealing his heart tattoo with the words ‘Lover Boy’ on his upper right cheek. They didn’t want to look, but a heart-shaped tattoo on a pasty white ass has the innate capacity to grab attention. “You need to stop showing everyone your butt,” Sherrod warned him after catching an eyeful. “People are going to think that you’re homo or something.” “Well, I’m not the one who keeps staring at my buns of steel. What does that say about you guys?” Beau intermittently flexed his cheeks side to side like an experienced male stripper in a speedo. Which caught the attention of a trio of girls just beyond the football players. He made sure to give them a wink when he was done pulling up his pants. Monster gave the girls a wink, too. But they laughed incredulously and turned away from him. Maybe the big guy needed a tattoo on his butt. Handley asked, “Beau, why are you even here with us lowly, car-less peons — where’s the firebird?” Beau shrugged his backpack further over his shoulder and looked away. “You know, the old Bird is in the shop, getting its oil changed.” This was a lie. He had totaled his muscle car early Sunday morning. Right after showing Vanessa the ‘Lover Boy’ in the backseat and sending her limping back to her parents. Also, right after downing a six pack of beer. His parents were more than a little pissed at him about the wrecked car, especially his tough-love mom. She said that there would be a few changes coming his way. A dire warning that Beau didn’t care to heed. Speaking of his mom, he saw her station wagon turn the corner. Beau rushed towards the getaway vehicle, waving at the dudes, blowing kisses to the ladies. He didn’t want anyone to see him getting into the car with his mom. He had a reputation to uphold. “See ya, losers.” Beau called back. “Catch you at practice tomorrow, and I’ll see you girls after the game.” He jogged down the hill to where the wagon ran idle at the curb. Beau didn’t even notice Vanessa in the front seat until he was literally right on top of the car. The surprising sight caused him to trip as he rocketed down the hill, his hurried stumbling and fall braced by the impact of the long wood-paneled hood of the station wagon. How had he not spotted her there? The loud blonde hair, the blinding pink halter top, and dangling earrings should have been noticed from the top of the hill, from over a block away, or the next county over. Beau played it off as being silly, he was good looking enough to get away with being a klutz if it looked like he did it on purpose. He comically stretched out over the hood of the car like a bikini model. Moment saved. Vanessa rolled down the window with the hand crank. “Beau, what the hell are you doing on your mom’s car?” Mmm. There was that tasty condescension that he loved about his girlfriend. If you could call it ‘going steady’, he and Vanessa were the closest thing to going steady. Obviously, it didn’t mean they were completely true to one another. “I have a better question,” Beau said as he pulled himself upright and back onto his feet. “What are you doing inside my mom’s car?” Vanessa did what she did best, dealing with his childishness by running a hand through her hair. The fake blonde, over done, hair-sprayed fashion statement was partially to blame for the hole in the o-zone layer. All joking aside, it wasn’t all bad to be with a girl like Vanessa. She did have her perks; two of them in fact, and they sat on her chest in the most beautiful fashion, straining the thin fabric of the pink halter top. Ten years ago, it would have been empowering for her not to even wear a bra. Suddenly, Beau dreamed of driving a Delorean and meeting a crazy guy named Doc. She leaned out the window. “Quit being stupid, I’m trying to run some errands with your mom.” Beau hesitated outside of the car. “Errands? Where are you guys heading?” His mom turned from the driver seat, her thick glasses captured the light in a weird way. It made her eyes look all funny. “We need to pick up a few things from ‘Ma’ Webber’s for a baby shower.” Mrs. Taylor lit the cigarette between her lips. “Baby shower?” Beau grinned. “I hope I’m not going to be a daddy.” He winked at Vanessa who lightly tousled her hair again to dismiss his stupidity. Vanessa answered matter-of-factly, “You won’t be.” He was in the back of the station wagon without any fuss, leaning over the front seat without a seatbelt, and bothering Vanessa as much as he could with his mom present. That only lasted a few minutes, as Vanessa didn’t seem to care for Beau, or his presence, or his flirtatious sense of humor. Recognizing a lost cause, Beau finally gave up. The radio played a fuzzy tune, the tired speakers in doors kicked out the whinging guitars of Hall and Oates. The song was called 'Private Eyes'. Private Eyes they're watching you they see your every move Private Eyes they're watching you Private Eyes they're watching you watching you watching you watching you Beau drummed along with the beat with his fingers. The car strolled down main street, past the city park, slowing as it went by the old government lab just outside the center of town. You play with words you play with love you can twist it around baby that ain't enough cause I'm gonna know if you're letting me in or letting me go don't lie when you're hurting inside 'cause you can't escape my Private Eyes He settled on chilling against the vinyl seat, trying to put together why he even bothered with Vanessa in the first place. Then he reminded himself of exactly two reasons ‘why’. As he leaned back, he looked out the side window as the station wagon came to a stop in front of a house, not a baby store. Beau instantly recognized the house. It’s where he picked up Christine last Friday night; before he showed her the ‘Lover Boy’ in the back of the movie theatre. Oh boy, did Vanessa know about Christine? Because Christine knew about Vanessa, and she told Beau that she didn’t care if he already had a girlfriend. He watched in horror as Christine came out of the house and approached the passenger side with a brooding look, her jaw set and her eyes forward like living was an awful chore. She went by Christine, not ever Chrissy, you’d get popped in the mouth for calling her that. And she was the typical punk rock type, a metal head, a headbanger. Always wore black clothing, black jeans, ripped t-shirt, short cropped black hair. Even the leather fingerless gloves were black, and they looked great against her ivory skin. Multiple piercings in each ear, multiple studs in her leather jacket. She gave off a lot of that ‘look but don’t touch’ kind of vibe. But that didn’t keep away the ‘Lover Boy’. Beau could see past the rough exterior, which was easy to do since he’d more than once seen her naked. Her skinny pale figure had the slightest of curves at her breasts and hips, and was something to die for in the dark. Her bodacious body was worth all of the trouble that it came with, even if it drew the ire of the tempestuous blonde riding up front. Christine spoke to Vanessa. “You guys are running a little late, Vanessa. I just called Holly to tell her we were on our way.” Beau choked. “Holly, too?” Not her. Anyone but her. The girls turned his way and gave him a condescending glare to prove how much they were planning on ignoring him. Vanessa addressed Christine as coldly as a suspicious lover. “Thanks for coming with us, Christine. It wouldn’t happen any other way. She wanted us all to be there.” “Who? What?” Beau sounded the alarm. Vanessa interrupted him. “Beau, sweetie, us grown-ups are trying to talk.” Grown-ups? Sweetie? Her name calling had certainly been toned down this afternoon. Normally, Vanessa called him every four and five letter word that could make a sailor blush. “We got to motor if we want to make it on time,” Vanessa continued, undeterred. “Hop in the back with little Beau, and we can be on our way.” Christine was already pulling her seatbelt over her chest before they got moving again. She asked, “What took you guys so long?” “Beau was all about dry humping the hood like Tawny Kitaen,” explained Vanessa. “I wasn’t dry humping anything,” complained Beau. “Sure, you weren’t.” Christine tapped his cheek with a belittling soft touch. He slid to the bottom of his seat as Christine settled down next to him. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. It felt like calamity was knocking at the door, and all he could do was hide behind the curtains. Beau didn’t want to go to Holly’s house, see Holly’s face, or share the same planet as Holly. There were reasons why he wasn’t as proud of his conquest of Holly as he was Christine and Vanessa. It could be scratched up to miscommunication. He’d leave it at that. They had to check the addresses when they pulled up to Holly’s street, because all of the houses in the neighborhood looked the same. This one had a real quaint cottage appeal, a real copycat of the house next door and the one next door to that. Vanessa spotted little Holly on the porch-swing in front of her house, just rocking back and forth in a slow, melancholy way. She wasn’t taking this well, some girls don’t after getting the ‘Lover Boy’. Holly was demure, mousy little thing in round glasses. A naive brunette that always wore cheap dresses that looked ripped straight out of Little House on the Prairie. She liked puppies, kittens, rainbows and ponies, they were all over her Lisa Frank trapper keeper. She was so childish and innocent, and Beau — Beau gritted his teeth. He growled, “Why does she have to come with us?” Christine recoiled. “Whoa, Beau. What’s crawled up your butt?” “I just don’t fucking — I mean, I just don’t like her, she’s super weird, a real psycho like in that Carrie movie.” Mrs. Taylor waved a bony finger at her son. “Young man, you need to do a better job of watching your mouth, or I’ll pull this car over.” Beau slammed the front seat with an overhead swing from both of his hands. “We’re already pulled over, mom! Quit being such an idiot all the time.” Christine put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but he rebuffed her touch with an angry shrug. “Beau, you don’t have to spaz out on your mom like that.” It was just so strange. All of these women in the same place was doing things to his mind. Making him think about things, and Beau didn’t like to think about things. Reflection was only for mirrors, not for Beau Taylor. He wouldn’t reflect on what happened this weekend, he wouldn’t think about it at all. His knuckles were in his mouth, stifling a tiny internal scream. He was still deep in his non-reflection when the car door opened. Holly was there, but her usual braces-filled smile was noticeably missing, and something cold and callous filled its place. No, she wasn’t taking the ‘Lover Boy’ treatment very well at all. He still greeted her, pretending to be all friendly-like even if he knew they weren’t friends. “What’s happening, Holly?” Beau tried to mend the fence, but it looked beyond repair. “Oh, hi Beau,” Holly replied, nasally and snarky. “When did you start sucking your thumb like a baby?” He didn’t even realize his hand was already back in his mouth. Beau quickly yanked it away, pretending to scratch his chin, or anything besides sucking his thumb. His frazzled response very much the opposite of being the ‘Lover Boy’. “I’m not sucking my thumb, I was just —“ Holly interrupted, “Sucking your fingers?” Mrs. Taylor weighed in on the subject as she put the car into gear. “My baby Beau always had an oral fixation. When he wasn’t on a bottle, he was on a pacifier. Took a damn long while to kick that habit.” His mom frowned as she flicked the ash free from her cigarette out the rolled down window. Christine giggled, “Oh, really.” “That explains a lot actually,” Vanessa added. “His obsession with certain things, am I right Christine?” “You’re right, can’t keep his mouth off of them.” Vanessa scowled towards the backseat in the overhead rear view mirror. At both Beau and Christine. What were these girls doing? Talking about ‘Lover Boy’ things in front of his mom! You didn't do that to a guy. He wasn't one to be afraid of a little innuendo, but there was a time and place to be sexual, and this wasn't it. That kind of talk was best saved for the backseat of the Bird, or the row furthest from the screen where no one could see or hear. Or in a restroom at her parent's restaurant. No. Why couldn't he block that out? He couldn't push that out of his mind like he wanted. It stuck around like a bad smell, as soon as it left his mind, it found its way back like a boomerang. Beau searched about the car for someone to take his side, but no one came to his defense. He suddenly felt exposed, and he didn’t like it one bit. “You’re all just trying to be funny, like I’m sucking my thumb right before we go shopping for a baby shower. What are you going to do? Buy me a pacifier? Goo-goo, gaa-gaa.” He expected them to laugh, especially when he broke into the baby talk. They just stared at him, as empty of mirth as a funeral. “You’re starting to get the right idea,” Holly laughed. Then the whole car laughed. In unison. Things were getting sorta weird around here, and Beau had enough of being outnumbered by their little hen party. There was far too much estrogen in the air, he had to puff his hairy chest to counter all the womanly energy. Something to do with aligning of the moon and the coordination of their monthly cycles. Deep thinking stuff. “Who’s this baby shower for, anyways?” Beau shot back with some swagger. “I’d like to know which one of you got knocked up.” The car went silent again. He shrugged like the Fonz. “What? Was it something I said?” Vanessa sighed, “Quit being such a wastoid, Beau.” Holly asked, “Why do you need to know?” The mousy girl spoke in a distant way as her eyes traced the world outside the window. Beau tried to explain his logic to the helpless females. “If I’m being dragged along on some crazy shopping trip, I’d at least like to know a few simple things. Like, is it for a baby boy or a baby girl?” His mom cleared her throat. “It’s for a boy. A sweet little boy.” Beau pushed the smoke away as his mom exhaled. It stung his eyes. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?” Vanessa said. “Nope,” Beau coughed, he didn’t care if he was being belligerent. “Why are you guys all together, who do you all know?” Holly snapped, "We all know you." “What’s that supposed to mean?” Beau asked. Oh, man. This deep thinking stuff hurt his brain. Okay. Maybe Holly knew about Christine, because Christine knew about Vanessa, and he was pretty sure Vanessa now knew about Christine. However, no one knew about what happened between him and Holly. That was a secret. A mistake. The mousy girl should know when it was her turn to keep her mouth shut like he told her. Beau clenched his fists until his knuckles popped. “You’ll find out soon enough,” Holly answered when she finally turned his way. The wood paneled station wagon pulled into the large gravel and dirt parking lot. The large and lonely store had more of a warehouse look than a home to retail. It sat like an empty island in the middle of nowhere. It was just a short drive from Lovington, but felt like a more different domain, and had a different feel about the whole thing. A long faded tarp was stretched across the front windows. A mainsail that billowed in the mild breeze that also kicked up a bit of dust. On the tarp was a handwritten message in what he guessed was shoe polish: Welcome to Webber’s Open at our new location Now with more influence Now with more inspiration However, the baby store was far from a ghost town. Dozens of workers in white overalls shuffled boxes around like drones with orders specifically from the queen. There was sawdust all around the door, he could even see the tell-tale signs of new construction from far away. Beau looked around at the chaos. "Is this place even open yet?" "It is by appointment," Holly commented as she opened the car door. She quickly caught onto his reluctance. "What? Are you afraid of going into a baby store? I thought you were some kind of tough guy." Beau shook his head. Stay ahead of this, and don’t let her get to you. "I'm not scared, it's just weird. What kind of bogus baby store needs an appointment to go buy diapers? Don’t babies use them all the time?” “Always on about the diapers,” Christine commented. “As if babies didn’t do anything besides pee and poop. Men are so clueless sometimes, am I right?” “Back off Christine,” Beau cracked. “I’m just trying to make conversation.” Vanessa was already outside of the car. "No need to get all defensive, baby Beau." That was it. They had challenged his masculine superiority, and if they started into this baby nonsense, they would never stop. He had to get ahead of this. Yeah, he was notoriously childish. Yeah, he was outnumbered. Yeah, the girls were acting kind of weird. Yeah, he was running out of yeahs. He'd overpower them with his powerful personality, let the 'Lover Boy' show. Well, not that ‘Lover Boy’. He'd get arrested for showing that off in this — empty parking lot. They were the only car there. No other customers, judging by the size of the building, for a huge department store. There were big moving trucks in the front, but those belonged to the workers. The same could be said about a small row of vans and sedans parked along the backside of the store. How had he just now noticed the empty lot? There was a cloudy feeling in his head. He tried to shake it off. He'd felt this way before, it felt like a hangover, but he hadn’t had anything to drink since wrecking the firebird. No. It reminded him of getting his ‘bell rung’ while playing football. Which was ‘coach speak’ for taking a bad shot to the helmet, which was bad news because his head was in there. A hard tackle could send his brain ricocheting inside his skull, resulting in subtle, temporary brain damage. The world would ring for a few minutes, or longer; and you were supposed to shake it off, not let it bother you, and battle the headache that sometimes lasted for days. That’s what it felt like, confusing, foggy headed, and hard to focus. Beau pulled at the inside handle of the car door, hoping the fresh air would alleviate all of this cloudiness. He pulled at the handle, and the door didn't move. He wiggled his hand to re-grip, and then he tried again. No. He roughly grabbed it with both hands and started violently shaking it back and forth. "You coming or not, Beau?" Holly leaned into the doorway from her side of the car. "It's just this fuc-, I mean this stupid door." He tempered his language for his angry mother, who was already working on her next cigarette outside. That habit was going to be her death, and maybe not soon enough. "You can always come out my side," Holly offered. "NO! I'm going through this. banging. door!" Beau knew he was being irrational, it was all irrational. His head felt hot as he strained against the unrelenting station wagon. He needed to show off his strength and beat this unopenable door, pop it open like a pickle jar for these women. That would get them to leave him alone. Christine waited just outside the car, watching his pathetic attempts through the window before figuring out the hold up, and opening the door from the outside. "That's the problem,” Christine observed. “It looks like the child lock was accidentally engaged. No need to throw a hissy fit, Beau." “It wasn’t a hissy fit,” Beau argued as he stepped outside and flipped his jacket collar. “Throwing a temper tantrum like a toddler, maybe Beau needs a timeout.” Vanessa giggled at her own joke. “Or he could use a spanking,” Christine added. Roll with the punches, Beau. Let them have their laughs, they were laughing with him, and not at him, right? There really wasn’t a difference, it’s what the dweebs told themselves to make themselves feel better about being dweebs. He calmed himself as the group set off towards the store. It wasn’t worth making a scene, he already made a fool of himself with the stupid door, with the stupid child lock. How had that thing been engaged? There hadn’t been a baby in the backseat in almost two decades, and Beau was an only child with no little cousins in the family tree. "You're going to want to behave yourself here," Holly warned as they all made their way across the dirt parking lot. "I've heard some strange stories about Elizabeth Webber. Also known as 'Ma'." "Like what?" Beau hurried to walk even with the smaller girl. "The first being that she's really into old school discipline, one of those grannies that still believes that humiliation is the best teacher." Holly actually sounded close to admiring this woman, Beau made it a point to steer clear of someone like she was describing. Mrs. Taylor whispered, "Maybe she can be the one to fix Beau." "What was that, mom?" Beau turned on his mother. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?" She didn't have to answer. He didn’t want to be the one to admit that his mom was right. There was something wrong with him. A dark part of him that did something wrong, that couldn't handle how wrong he went, and Beau knew it. That mistake with that mousy girl. Forever wiping the smile off her face every time she saw him. Being the 'Lover Boy' had its drawbacks. He couldn't hide behind the ultra-confident persona when Holly was around. Why was she even here? Why was he even here? He could just walk away, but he found his feet leading him to the store instead of the fledgling sunset. “And the second?” Beau’s curiosity was getting the better of him. “About ‘Ma’ Webber?” Holly pretended to be surprised. “Well, let’s just say if you act like a child, she'll treat you like one. So try to act your age for once.” Vanessa giggled. “Lay off the threatening, Holly. He’ll find out soon enough.” Beau asked, “Find out what?” “About the true meaning of diaper discipline,” Christine finished the conversation. Then she glared at Beau. He stopped with his mouth open, the girls didn’t really mean what they were saying. This had to be a prank, a way to mess with his head. And it was working. The girls continued inside while Beau hung around in the parking lot, going over the building one last time before joining them. The workers that hustled around him didn’t talk as they removed products from the backs of a pair of large white trucks, sometimes one at a time, for bigger things they worked in twos. He had to move to the side as two of the gruff men in faded white overalls and white hats pulled a huge car seat from the store, heading past him towards the parking lot. Beau stopped to watch the men struggle with big plastic safety-chair. Then he finally realized what the workers reminded him of, Oompa-Loompas. These guys were like a cross-breed between a biker gang and Oompa-Loompas. Except the little orange fellas sang as they worked, these guys only wore a scowl for their minimum wage. Still, the size of that carseat was something he couldn't get over. It looked like it could sit an adult, the various straps and buckles seemed thicker as well. It reminded him of a strait jacket, and it gave him the Heebie-jeebies. "Dude, did you guys catch the size of that carseat?" No one heard him. The girls were already inside, meeting Miss Elizabeth ‘Ma’ Webber, collecting a shopping list, and deciding how to best split the load. They had to get ready for a baby shower tonight.