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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Juvenile’. That’d been the word she’d used when we broke up. There’d been other words, too, of course–she was nothing if not a wordsmith, and she found many other creative nouns, verbs, and adjectives to describe what she thought of me. ‘Leering’, ‘Immature’, ‘Inattentive’, ‘Psychologically and pathologically unfaithful’. I probably should have seen the red flags a lot sooner. A coffee meetup with my sister had turned into an argument with her, because she’d mistaken it for cheating. A compliment directed towards a cashier had led to the silent treatment for most of a day. But, for all the jealousy and insecurity I’d put up with, she dumped me, and she called me juvenile. That’s the bit I couldn’t get out of my head–the sheer lack of self awareness. I couldn’t so much as breathe around another woman without getting into trouble. And sure–I was known to occasionally admire female beauty, I wouldn’t deny that, but I’d done nothing to deserve what she did to me. Because out of all that, the biggest red flag was that she claimed she knew how to curse people. I’d brushed off the comment, at the time–I’d known some witchy girls in college, it was just a turn of the phrase, right? Like ‘manifesting’ as another word for having a positive outlook. I didn’t expect–let me just tell you what happened. So we’d broken up. She’d dumped me, to be precise, in public, with lots of yelling. I’d been pretty upset about it, so I moped around at my apartment for a couple days. Nothing too strange so far. But then, when I finally dragged myself out of my apartment, planning on maybe getting some groceries, just getting some air–it happened. I was in line at the register. The cashier girl asked me how my day was, I told her it was getting better, and then–I swear to god, this has never happened to me since I was like a little kid, but I felt something hot rushing down my pants. I looked down, and then she snorted with laughter, and by the time I realized I was pissing myself I’d already started making a puddle. I want to be clear–I hadn’t felt any need to go before this point. None at all. It’d come completely out of the blue. One moment, I was talking to a pretty cashier, the next, puddle pants. So I did the reasonable thing–excused myself, carried my grocery bags in front of my waist on the walk home, wrote it off as a fluke. A fluke, right? No chance of that repeating. So the next day. I’m riding the bus to work, I notice this girl’s reading a book I’ve read before–a book I love, really. So I step forward, and I’m about to say hi, and then–wham. I feel it again. Now this time, I’m on a bus. I can’t just get off, I’m stuck there. And to make matters worse, I still need to get to work on time, so it’s not like I can just bail and go home. I got off a stop early, enormous wet stain down my pants, and had to run into a corner gas station and try to clean myself up in the bathroom. It half worked, but no amount of paper towels got things totally dry, and the lingering pee smell didn’t go away all day. I don’t know if anyone in the office noticed that morning; they certainly didn’t say anything, but I don’t know how you wouldn’t notice. But they definitely noticed at lunch. I was chatting up Sheila, the receptionist, and… Well, come on. You’ve figured out the pattern by now, haven’t you? Like five words in, my pants are soaked, everyone in the break room could absolutely see. I thought I was going to die. It’s one thing when it’s a bunch of strangers, but I’d just let loose in front of coworkers, people I’d known for years, and there’d been zero warning. Nada. Not a hint. And then I remembered my ex, warning me about her little ‘curse’. No other possibilities came to mind. I hadn’t accidentally swallowed a handful of diuretics or hit my head really hard or anything. It had to be whatever she’d done. So, while I was hiding in the work bathroom trying to figure out what to do, I texted her. No response. Of course. Nothing when I called, either. She’d blocked me on everything. I had no way to reach her. I took the rest of the day as a personal day, said I was making an appointment with my doctor. What was I supposed to do? Explain how I’d been cursed by a jealous ex? I tried getting in touch with some of her friends, the ‘spookier’ ones who’d seemed to know what she was talking about when she mentioned magic, but that didn’t get me anywhere. I tried Google, but that was a complete dead end. There really was no solution, but to deal with it, and that’s how I ended up at the pharmacy. Magic or no, I wasn’t stupid. I made sure to pee as soon as I arrived, so my bladder was totally empty. There wouldn’t be any embarrassing accidents at the diaper store, while I was actually buying the damned things. I circled the incontinence aisle twice, trying to be discreet, hoping nobody would see me. I had to spend a couple minutes looking over different packaging to figure out the sizing and which brand would work best for my…problem. Another consultation on the internet made it clear that most of the lighter options wouldn’t help, because they couldn’t handle a sudden flood of pee. While I wasn’t happy about having to pick one of the thickest options on sale, I felt glad that I hadn’t learned about the leakage problem through personal experience. Feeling a bolt of anxiety in the checkout line, I played a little deception to cover my tracks. Taking out my phone, I pretended to receive a phonecall, nodding along. “Hello, hi grandpa, yes I’m picking up your diapers now–I’ll bring them over in a minute!” There, that’d do it. Now everyone would know that these weren’t for me, I didn’t need diapers, and nobody around me would think I did. The cashier smirked as she got to my package, though she hid the expression quickly. She was cute–a couple years younger than me, and I could definitely see me and her together. I said hi, started to ask a question, and, well… It turned out, the curse didn’t care how recently I’d used the bathroom. My bladder spilled out into my pants anyways, a torrential flood that came from nowhere. What could I do? I turned pink, but I was actively in the middle of buying diapers–diapers that I’d just pretended weren’t for me. I paid, sheepishly apologized, and hurried to the single stall bathroom to try and clean myself up for the millionth time. After washing my jeans in the sink and drying them as best I could with paper towels, I turned my attention to the diapers. Clearly there was no putting this off. Sooner or later, I’d need to put them on. Ripping open the container, I turned one of the diapers over in my hands, examining it. I paused to peer at the instructions on the plastic package, then followed them as best I could while leaning against the wall. The diaper rustled poofily between my legs. I had to adjust the velcro-ish tapes a few times to get it where it felt snug without restricting motion, but that was barely a concern next to the bulk pressing my thighs apart. My jeans only sort-of fit over them. The wet denim stretched, but the bulge around the crotch was pronounced and plainly visible. Crud. I’d need to buy new clothes, too. It was a solution. Not a great one, but a solution. I dealt with the problem. New, looser jeans. I started bringing a backpack with me, so I could carry diaper changes. And pretty much every time I talked to a pretty girl, I’d flood my diaper and need to excuse myself to a bathroom. In the meantime, my quest for someone who could undo the curse continued, but to no avail. Nothing worked. I tried getting incense and some fancy candles, I tried ‘manifesting’ a reality where I wasn’t cursed, it all failed. Nobody I talked to could help. One, who seemed to know what was going on, simply refused. I hated it, but there wasn’t much I could do to solve the issue. I got used to it. Diaper changes were a part of my routine, something I just learned to handle. Occasionally, when I had to go and a bathroom would be inconvenient, I just used the diaper on purpose. A couple months passed. I’d learned to keep things discreet, and staying cooped up didn’t work for me–I needed socialization. My favorite club, a few blocks down from my apartment, felt like a comfortable place to go. I hadn’t been since the breakup, but my return had me hailed by friends who I knew from there. It was a good time. I had a couple drinks. I even started chatting up this girl, Ally, who I’d met a few years back. And sure, I soaked my diaper about as soon as the conversation started, but who cared? She didn’t notice. I was used to it. We got to talking. We’d made out a bunch a few months ago, back before the curse, and she still seemed interested–heck, I got the sense that she might be interested in more than just making out this time. I sent a complement her way. She replied in kind, suggesting she thought I looked good, and– And I learned that the curse was much, much worse than I thought. My body betrayed me. The slightly splorchy frrrr– that escaped me wasn’t too loud, but my expression couldn’t have been more of a betrayal. I mean, fuck me. I was paralyzed–what could I do? There I was, sitting at the bar, loading up my diaper like a dump truck. It swelled so much it made my pants sag, my face was so red it could have directed traffic, and though the diaper contained all the mush, it did ass all to hold in the smell. I stammered. I found a reason to excuse myself, and just ran out of the bar, waddling and squelching the whole way. Staying put and explaining myself wasn’t an option. The waddle home was humiliating. I was sure every stranger I passed could smell me, could see my pants sag from the overfull diaper I’d trapped myself in. And then my phone rang. It was her. I answered. “Why?” I demanded, stepping to the side of the sidewalk to speak to her. “I just know,” she explained. “Do you want it to end?” I nodded. Then I realized she couldn’t see me, and started to respond. But apparently she could see me, because she replied before I could say anything. “How many?” I knew the answer she wanted. I knew the consequences if I lied. “Three,” I conceded. Defeated. I’d lost. “Three times. Different girls.” “Three it is,” she said. “Once the time is up, you’ll get your control back.” “Just three days?” I asked, hope rising. No response. My stomach sank. “Weeks?” Nothing. “Years?” “Try not to forget your potty training,” she said. And then she hung up. ... 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Brian sighed as he swiped through paperwork, marking a BJ on the bottom of each line. No, not–his initials, Brian Jeremy. Get your mind out of the gutter. He’d received the email on a Saturday morning, which was already obnoxious. Work communication should stay between nine to five unless it’s an emergency, but apparently ‘Corporate mandated sensitivity training’ was required on weekends, and damn the work schedule. Good news was, it didn’t require him to leave his office. The TotalVerse headset he’d been supplied by corporate was good for all sorts of meetings, and far more convenient than driving in to meet in person. He had logged in, opened his work email from ‘HRCorporate at Gmail.com’, and tabbed into the meeting room. It looked like a generic school classroom–it even had him seated at a personal desk, though nobody else had come in yet. And then came the paperwork. The ungodly boring paperwork. A whole stack of releases. He’d read the first two pages, but they were stock pablum that almost seemed AI generated. Why corporate required this was beyond him, but Brian continued initialing and tabbing through consent forms. Finally done, he waited, assuming someone else would show up, that maybe he’d spawn into a populated room now that he’d finished the writing. Nobody else in attendance did show up, but after a moment, a woman in a black dress did walk in through the door. “Hello there–you’re here for the training, yes?” she asked. “I do, though I really don’t see the point of this,” Brian said. “Did something happen at the office?” “New policy,” she said, navigating around his question deftly without giving any helpful information. “Have you done direct neural training before?” “No, I heard that wasn’t out of beta yet,” Brian said. “It seems cool–just run the program, and then ‘I know kung fu’, but aren’t there still some testing issues that need worked out?” She raised an eyebrow, smirking at him. “You didn’t read the consent forms?” He blinked. “No, but–” “Program, activate,” she said. A wave of neural force struck Brian, and he slumped back in his chair. His whole body took on a pins-and-needles feeling, and his thoughts grew weak and faint as new information flowed into his brain. He was vaguely aware of the woman crossing to him, cradling his head against her chest so that he wouldn’t thrash, and then his vision blurred too much to see. It might have been a minute, or five, before he felt his faculties return. “Jesus christ–” he started. “Warning? Please? You couldn’t have given me a-auh…uh…” Groaning, he shifted in his chair, alarmed to suddenly feel intense arousal beneath his virtual jeans. Just shifting, the intensity was enough to make him suddenly, helplessly spurt into his boxers. The woman stood over him and laughed. “I didn’t introduce myself before,” she said, reaching down and cupping his chin with her hand. Turning him to look at her as he finished dribbling into his underwear, she said, “My name is Daemon, and you’re mine now.” “What the hell?” he yelped, pulling away, stumbling out of his desk, scrambling to his feet. There was a visible wet spot on his jeans, and he could feel his cock brush against slick wet fabric, already growing hard again. “I’m calling HR–” “I’m not with the company, silly,” Daemon said, grinning at him. He saw her canines extend to fangs, and little horns protrude from her hair as VR body mods became visible on her. “You’re just too gullible to tell phishing emails from real–don’t they teach security awareness at your office?” Oh no, Brian realized. “What–what was in those consent forms?” “You waived the safety features and let me run some mental reprogramming,” Daemon told him. “And, fun fact–the effects persist outside of VR. You can take off your headset, you’ll still be programmed just as I made you.” He swallowed. “What did you do?” “Nothing I can’t undo,” she said. “You’ve heard of ransomware? Consider this the ultimate virus–I hit you with a nasty little combination, but I can take it back for the right price.” Throat dry, hands shaking, Brian Jeremy tried to think what to do. “Just tell me what you did.” She laughed. “This is sensitivity training, after all–so I increased your sensitivity. Good luck trying to navigate your job with cummy pants all the time, you’re going to dribble so much you just won’t be able to make it without protection.” Daemon stepped around the student’s desk, leering at him. “Which is what’s so nasty about it.” Brian didn’t understand what she meant, but he followed the logic chain. If he wanted to contain his… eh, his accidents, he’d need something like a diaper… A thick, crinkly diaper, wrapped around his waist, just waiting for him to crouch down and push– “Uh-uh–” he started, groaning as the mere thought caused him to twitch and spurt beneath his pants. “That’s right,” Daemon giggled, circling around him. “The medicine’s also the poison. I implanted a dirty little fetish that practically overwrites your sex drive–you’re just going to love humiliating yourself. I’ll be surprised if you can help the need to fill up your diapers the instant you get some, and the moment you do, well–” She looked down, where the cummy wet stain spread on the front of his pants. “We’ve already seen how you react to just thinking about it.” He shook his head. The image she’d suggested–even having just spurted, he found his sex drive rallying yet again, ready for another round at the thought. “How much?” he asked. “How much to put it back?” “Ten thousand dollars,” Daemon replied. “And that’s a bargain in exchange for your dignity–but, to make sure you don’t try and fix this any other way, I’ve done one last thing.” Terrified of what it might be, Brian shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.” “Obedience,” she said, simply. “Call it a compulsion to obey. So when I say I want you to get on your knees and imagine yourself in a diaper, you’re going to do it.” Brian dropped to his knees. His thoughts filled with humiliating, degrading, utterly hot concepts–wrapping himself up in a diaper, grinding in it, feeling it grow heavy and wet as he used it–he didn’t know how many of his fantasies were even physically possible, he’d have to test, to experiment– Reaching out, he called up his VR menu, rapidly scrolling through menus. He worried Daemon would stop him, but she only laughed when she saw what he was doing, going through clothing options and purchasing a disposable diaper to add to his Totalverse inventory. Using the menu to apply it to himself, swapping out his jeans in exchange for the new diaper, he moaned loudly, kneeling in front of Daemon as he came again, this time soaking into the front of his new diaper. Panting for breath, he tried to collect his thoughts, but the universe of horny energy that floated around his quivering cock took all his attention. He couldn’t think, he just wanted to start rutting again. “I–” he started. “Why not just demand I send you the money?” he asked, looking up at Daemon. “Because,” she replied. “This is so much more fun. I’m not in it for the money, I’m in it to watch, to see which reality you prefer–the one where you’re ten thousand dollars poorer, or the one where your only satisfaction comes from sticky, smelly diapers.” Just those final words sent him into another round of spurting spasms. He wondered how much one diaper would take, how long the padding would last before he needed to change his diaper… “Just turn the sensitivity down,” he pleaded. Daemon hesitated, looming over him. “What was that?” “I’ll stay like this,” he said. “It’s–I can stay like this, I just need the sensitivity lower, low enough that I can function.” She tilted her head, surprised at the result. “Why should I do that, though?” Biting his lip, John got to his feet. “You wanted to watch, so–fuck–” he took a breath, trying to keep his focus long enough to finish the sentence, but the burning arousal he felt almost took his attention away. “I–I don’t have the money.” “I’ll tell you what,” she said, circling around him, reaching down to squeeze the back of the diaper that’d replaced his cummy jeans. “First, fill this.” He couldn’t disobey, even if he’d wanted to. Knees bending, Brian Jeremy did what would have been unthinkable thirty minutes ago, drooling with pleasure as he pushed a solid mass into his diaper. Even in the VR setting, it felt utterly real, mush swelling his diaper’s seat, and as soon as his nose caught the faintest whiff, he stumbled forward, catching himself on the nearest desk as another orgasm rocked him. Daemon snickered. “Alright. Here.” Waving her hand, she conjured a menu display in front of him. Tabbing through a few options, she said, “Brace yourself.” The rush of mental reprogramming ran over him, and he shuddered as his thoughts fuzzed. It didn’t seem to last as long this time, and when his senses returned, he was panting against the desk. “What did you do?” he asked. “I removed the cap,” she said. “You’re just as sensitive as you were before, but you’ve got room to retrain yourself now. Enough practice, and you should be desensitized enough to waddle around in your diapers without spurting every twenty seconds.” He panted for breath. It was too much. Even now, just bent over in a full, cum-soggy diaper, he just wanted to start humping the desk in front of him for another round. “How much practice?” She tapped her chin with a finger. “I’d take a few days off work. You’ve got training to do.” He nodded. “Thank–no, wait. Fuck you. I don’t–” His emotions were roiled up, and he couldn’t decide what the appropriate response was here, to such a supreme violation of his autonomy. “Say what you really think,” Daemon demanded. Brian couldn’t disobey. He nodded. “Thank you, Daemon.” She laughed. “You’re welcome. Enjoy, and remember–you can always fix things. Just reply to my email.” And with that, Daemon vanished from the room. Brian slumped into the desk in front of him, moaning as he felt his diaper squelch beneath him. He disagreed with the last thing she’d said. She could put him back the way he’d been, but he didn’t think it would qualify as being ‘fixed’. ... Just a horny little concept I felt like exploring - I hope you enjoyed! 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Hey there!! Guess who's back with more Academy Works! (It's me. Mia.) I've actually written four other stories in this universe and they are as follows: Academy I (Part 1), Academy B (Part 2), Academy T (Part 3), and Academy K (Part 4). For the first time, I'm going to strongly recommend you read the other parts first! You don't have to; Aya's story is really great even without context. But I do think this story would benefit from knowing more about the series overall. (Also this one kicks into gear a little faster than A:K ) Same as before, you can support me at this Patreon link. Thanks for reading and commenting and liking! It really does help my motivation. ~Mia~ --------------------------------- Academy A By Mia Moore "Under the weight of a cosmic promise, fate is invincible. It hides like stars in daylight. But if one could see through the veil, they could find the star they were looking for. They could follow it blindly over a thousand horizons, and pray in earnest that it followed them blindly in turn. For stars are very powerful things, and fate often has ideas of its own." -The Preamble Chapter One Ayoka Kanoska fumbled with her hair ribbon, pulling her dark brown hair back in a ponytail as she ran down the hall. She knew she wasn't allowed to run, but the fear of arriving late to class was so much worse. Already, the halls were nearly empty, and other stragglers like her were ducking into classrooms as quickly as they could. But just as Ayoka got to her room, a chime sounded - a single note echoing through the halls - and her hand froze on the doorknob. Only a second late... but she was late nonetheless. Another second passed. Two seconds late. And then a third. Three. Ayoka took a deep breath and pushed through her anxiety, clicking open the doorknob and stepping into the classroom. The door was at the front of the room, and a dozen eyes all turned to face her as she entered. "Nice of you to join us, Aya," Mr. Margo said from behind his desk. "And untidily dressed, to boot." "I, um..." Aya quickly started to tuck her shirt into her skirt with shaky fingers. "I overslept..." "I'm disappointed," Mr. Margo said plainly, then nodded toward Aya's desk. "Take your seat." "Yes sir," Aya muttered, tears filling her eyes. She walked around the small row of desks until she got to hers. There were only five other students in the class, all of whom would sometimes flicker their gaze in her direction. Aya took her seat and felt sickness filling up her stomach, like a hurricane of self-loathing and bile. Disappointed... Aya was quiet for most of the class. It was math. She was good at math, though nothing at the Academy was particularly challenging. It felt like middle school courses, at best. Maybe even elementary, which certainly matched their uniforms. At the end of the hour, another chime rang and her classmates all got up from their chairs. On their way to the door, they stopped by Mr. Margo's desk to pick up a set of stickers. But when Aya approached, he didn't hand her anything at all. "No stickers today," he said calmly. "None?" Aya felt her heart sink. That was unacceptable. The hurricane in her stomach churned violently. "You were late. You were underdressed. And you didn't participate in class. What would I reward you for?" "But I set my alarm, I swear..." Aya felt tears in her eyes again. The little bell clock on every student’s nightstand had a switch on the back to turn the alarm on and off. Aya checked hers every night before bed, but this morning it was turned off. "Maybe it was a prank, maybe someone’s going around—" "Everyone else was here on time," Mr. Margo said, a touch of irritation in his voice. The tone felt like sandpaper against Aya's cheek, like she'd been slapped. She blinked hard and tears slid down to her chin. "Please, I... I can't..." With a sigh, Mr. Margo leaned forward in his chair and looked at his student. His face was full of quiet contemplation. "Do you need to take a hall pass?" he asked. "N-no. I'm fine, I'm fine..." Aya wiped the tears from her eyes. If she took a hall pass, she wouldn't get any stickers for the whole day! That was too costly. "Well, I'll write you one anyway. You can use it as you please." Mr. Margo took a pad out of his desk drawer and wrote out a little note before giving it to Aya. She looked down at it with defeat and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. "Thank you, Mr. Margo," Aya muttered, stepping out of the classroom and into the busy hallway. She walked automatically to her next class; it had become so routine. But all the while, she couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. "Aya," Ms. Martens said sternly. Second hour had only just begun and already Aya was struggling to pay attention. "We’re studying planets, but that doesn’t mean you have an excuse to be a little space cadet. Try to focus." Compared to Mr. Margo, Ms. Martens was a nightmare. She was a very stern teacher and she certainly looked the part, dressed in pointed shoes, a tight bun of brown hair, and horn-rimmed glasses. "I’m…I’m s-sorry, Ms. Martens," Aya stammered, holding back tears. She could feel them in the corners of her eyes like red hot pokers. "Please get in pairs and work on your planet worksheet," Ms. Martens said, handing out three pieces of paper, each with a diagram of the solar system. The class split into the same three pairs they always did, which put Aya with Summer. "I can't believe you were late," Summer whispered, filling in Mars with red crayon. "Me neither," Aya muttered, picking out a yellow crayon to color in Venus. "Do you know how many stickers Emily got in math?" "Three, I think," Summer said cautiously. "But you really shouldn't worry about her." Of course Aya worried about her. Emily was just a few stickers behind Aya ever since the start of the term. Aya had worked so hard not to slip up and let her get ahead, and now this... "Wait, is Pluto still a planet?" Aya asked, trying to think about anything but math class. "There are definitely nine on this sheet." "Maybe they changed it again since we were abducted?" Summer suggested, about as delicately as a stone through a car window. "It's been a year..." A school year, Aya mentally amended. When she arrived, it was hot and sticky. The leaves changed colors. Snow settled for a while. Then there were flowers and birds and lots of rain. The nostalgia of summer was palpable, like she could feel the end of spring. The end of the Academy, maybe? How long until they were allowed to go home? "Aya," Ms. Martens called from the front of the room. "Come here, please." "Yes, ma'am." Aya got up without a thought and hurried to the front of the room. What was this about? "Hands on the desk," Ms. Martens instructed. Aya did just that. She knew what was happening even before Ms. Martens lifted the seat of her skirt, flashing the seat of her diaper to the entire room. A blush filled Aya's cheeks. Though it had become so routine, she still felt a deep embarrassment when her classmates - or anyone - would see her diapers. "Wet your diaper," Ms. Martens instructed. Aya did just that, or at least she tried to. When she first got to the Academy, she would never have done it. Then, after she got over herself, she couldn't do it for a long while. But after so many months, wetting herself on command was second nature. It was as automatic as walking from one classroom to the next. But what little bit she managed to dribble out between her legs didn't even change the tint of the white plastic. Aya had woken up so late that she didn’t have time to get breakfast before class, and that meant she didn’t have her usual glass of morning juice. She also forgot to go to the drinking fountain between classes, lost in her thoughts about Emily and her stickers. And Aya - like every student at the Academy - was a bedwetter, and never had to go in the mornings anymore. Plus, the teachers didn’t usually make her do this until third period, or even after lunch! "Go on," Ms. Martens urged, a deep annoyance in her voice that made Aya sick with anxiety. Aya tried to force herself, to push and strain, but that only made it harder. Panic rose in her chest and she balled her hands on the edge of the desk. The hurricane in her stomach churned and, before Aya knew what was happening, a loud fart heralded the filling of her diaper. Her knees quivered and Aya held onto the desk for support as she pushed more and more of her mess into the seat of her crinkly underwear, until it sagged down between her thighs. When it was over, when she could focus on something other than the sensation of mushing her diaper for the hundredth time, she heard the snickering of her classmates and the disapproving tsk of Ms. Martens's tongue. Tears filled Aya's eyes, torn apart by the humiliation and the disappointment. "Oh my moon and stars," Ms. Martens gasped, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I’m certain I asked for you to wet your diaper, not make a big stinky mess of it." The admonishment was hard to hear, and the giggling of her classmates made it even worse. But when Ms. Martens reached under the crest of Aya’s diaper and smushed her mess against her butt, it pushed Aya over the edge. Water broke free from her tear ducts and spilled down her cheeks. Everything was going wrong, and before Aya could stop herself she started to defend herself to her teacher. "I’m so so so sorry, Ms. Martens, I’m sorry! I did wet, I did. It wasn’t just that very much, I swear! Please, pretty please I’m sorry, I’m a good girl!" The class fell quiet, and all eyes fell on the teacher. There was nothing so blasphemous as declaring oneself to be good. "You're good?" Ms. Martens asked sharply. It felt like knives on Aya's skin, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She could hardly breathe. "You don't make that judgement, Ayoka. I do. And this was absolutely not 'good girl' behavior." "I'm sorry, I..." "Silence," Ms. Martens said, louder than Aya had ever spoken in her life. Like a spell, Aya reached her shaking hand into her skirt pocket, reaching past the hall pass, and pulling out her pacifier. It was bigger than anything meant for a baby, with a pink guard, and the words "Mute Button" printed on the button. She put it into her mouth without protest, effectively silencing her cries. Tears continued down her cheeks in torrents, but none of the whimpering was audible. Aya heard footsteps as Ms. Martens walked around. She heard a few clicks. Muttering from her classmates. More footsteps. Then the next thing she heard was a loud crack as a long ruler came down sharply on the backs of her upper thighs. There was a special kind of squealing that was really only possible when an oversized pacifier was in the mouth of an adult; a muffled, broken sound, kind of like a yelp or a squeak, interrupted halfway through the high note. That was what Aya sounded like as the ruler hit the back of her thighs. She squealed, whimpered, and blubbered, but the pacifier made it all sound so muffled and muted - not like the crystal clear cracks of the ruler against her skin. "I’ve never been so disappointed, Ayoka, never in all my years." Those words hurt so much more than the ruler did, and Aya would have begged for a thousand more strikes against her skin to have them undone, to have that poisonous toxic taste in her mouth washed away. It was only after a few swats with the ruler when Ms. Martens asked: "Have you been punished enough, Ayoka?" Aya shook her head desperately. She wanted more. She wanted more hits on her thigh; she wanted everyone to see how full her diaper was. She wanted to cry and sob and sulk and beg. She wanted to be a good girl. She needed to be a good girl. Ms. Martens needed to praise her. And Aya would do anything to get it. Ms. Martens was done after twenty smacks with the ruler, though Aya had lost count around six or seven. She was blubbering on the desk, soaking the polished wood with her tears, as her knees shook. Her burning red thighs and the full seat of her diaper were both on display for the class, but no one was laughing anymore. Everything was silent. "Go sit down," Ms. Martens commanded. Without an ounce of hesitation, Aya went back to her seat. She sat down in her mess, squishing against her butt and filling the area with a familiar smell of dirty diaper. Her thighs stung against the plastic chair, but she didn't yelp. She sucked noiselessly on her pacifier and continued to cry. Everyone went back to work. One other person - Alex - was called to the front of the room. His shorts were tugged to his ankles and he was instructed to wet his diaper. He did, soaking through the padding until the seat of his crinkly behind was discolored halfway up his butt. With a 'good boy' and a diaper pat, he pulled up his shorts and was sent back to his seat. Aya watched with burning envy and the sickness inside her grew worse. The voice in her head was back, telling her how incompetent she was. Pathetic. Useless. She couldn't even follow a basic instruction. When class ended, Alex got three stickers. Emily got two. And once again, Aya got none. She stood in front of Ms. Martens's desk with a blank stare, unable to meet her gaze. "Get cleaned up," Ms. Martens said. "I'll send word to your next class that you'll be late." Aya knew she wouldn't get in trouble this time, not with a teacher's word on her side, but it still felt like a failure. Another tardy class. Aya walked absently down the hall, toward the changing rooms. The full diaper between her thighs forced her to waddle. She wasn't crying, but drying tears still stuck to her cheeks. Her pacifier was still placed firmly between her lips, and she knew she wasn't allowed to remove it until one of the staff pulled it out. Maybe the nurse would be so kind.

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

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 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.

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?