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  1. Description An introverted volcanologist, Olivia, stumbles across a demon during a hike up a volcano. The demon of humiliation follows her and makes her do embarrassing things such as wetting herself and messing herself. Chapter 1: Olivia’s Volcano Trek in Montserrat The heat was stifling, even through the thick protective suit Olivia wore. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead, stinging her eyes as she ascended the jagged slopes of the Soufrière Hills volcano. The air was thick with the acrid smell of sulfur, a constant reminder of the volatile power slumbering beneath her feet. Yet, the danger was intoxicating. Olivia thrived on the adrenaline, the thrill of exploring the raw, untamed heart of the earth. Montserrat’s landscape was a testament to the volcano’s might. Lush rainforest abruptly gave way to barren ash fields, scarred by the fury of past eruptions. Olivia’s boots crunched on the brittle ground as she navigated the desolate terrain, her eyes scanning the landscape for signs of activity. Her instruments beeped and whirred, recording every subtle tremor, every shift in temperature, every whisper of the volcano’s breath. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ash fields, Olivia decided to make camp for the night. She settled down in a small depression, shielded from the wind by a jagged outcrop of rock. As darkness fell, she huddled closer to the fire, the flickering flames providing a small haven of warmth in the chilling night air. Suddenly, a bone-chilling cold enveloped her. The fire sputtered and died, plunging her into darkness. A sinister presence seemed to fill the air, a silent menace that prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Then, she saw it. A figure emerged from the shadows, its form shimmering and shifting like the flames of a dying fire. It was short and gaunt, with eyes that burned like embers. Olivia gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. The figure moved closer, its eyes fixed on her with a malevolent intensity. Olivia tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. She was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or even breathe. The figure reached out, its hand glowing with an eerie light. It touched her forehead, and a wave of icy cold washed over her. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure vanished, leaving Olivia trembling and alone in the darkness. The rest of the night was a blur. Olivia stumbled back to base camp at first light, her mind reeling with the terrifying encounter. She boarded the plane home in a daze, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of fear. But the horror wasn’t over. As the plane soared through the clouds, Olivia felt a cold sensation creeping up her legs. She tried to ignore it, but it grew stronger, more insistent. Finally, in a moment of mortifying humiliation, she realised she had wet herself. She rushed to the nearest bathroom with her bag, luckily she carried a extra set of clothes for if she spilt something on herself. She quickly got unclothed, cleaned herself and put on the fresh pair of clothes before quickly stuffing her bag with the soiled pants and panties along with her other clothes. As Olivia stepped off the plane onto British soil, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still being watched. The unseen presence that had tormented her on the volcano seemed to have followed her home. She knew, with a bone-chilling certainty, that her ordeal was far from over. Chapter 2: Arriving Home The taxi pulled up to the curb, its engine sputtering into silence. Olivia stepped out onto the familiar pavement, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the volcanic heat she had recently escaped. She lugged her heavy suitcase up the path, her keys jingling in her trembling hand. With a sigh of relief, she unlocked the door and stepped into the comforting darkness of her home. The house was silent, save for the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Olivia flicked on the light switch, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. She dragged her suitcase into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa, exhaustion washing over her. But the unease that had settled in her gut on the plane refused to dissipate. A cold dread clung to her like a second skin, a constant reminder of the unseen presence that haunted her. With a sigh, Olivia pushed herself off the sofa and headed towards the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea would soothe her frayed nerves. As she entered the brightly lit room, her heart lurched. There, perched casually on the kitchen counter, was the demon. It hadn’t changed. It was still the same gaunt figure, with eyes that burned like coals. It watched her with a chilling intensity, a smirk playing on its lips. Olivia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. “Surprised to see me?” the demon purred, her voice like the rasp of dry leaves. Chapter 3: Olivia’s Not So Welcoming Guest “Aw, did I scare you wittle Olivia? Make you wet your panties like a baby on the plane?” the demon sneered, its voice dripping with malice. “Don’t worry, it’s only going to get worse. Maybe you’ll need these to keep you dry.” It held up an adult diaper, its own grotesque face leering from the front, surrounded by erupting volcanoes. Olivia’s voice cracked as she spoke, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and fury. “Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to you?” She clenched her fists, her eyes flashing with defiance. “This is wrong. You can’t just invade my life and humiliate me. I won’t let you!” “Such anger,” the demon murmured, feigning concern. “Is it because you can’t control your bladder, or is there something else troubling you, dear? Perhaps I can help alleviate your distress… if you’re willing to cooperate.” Olivia gasped, her legs trembling as she realized she was wetting herself again. “Please,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper. “What do you want from me? Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, just please stop this!” A dark shadow fell over the demon’s face as it spoke. “You will obey me, Olivia. You will wear the diapers, and you will do so without complaint. Failure to comply will result in… consequences.” Its voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air. Olivia’s voice trembled despite her defiant words. “No, no, no!” she cried, backing away from the demon. “I won’t do it! I refuse! You can’t make me wear those… those things. I’m not a baby anymore!” “Well, well, well,” the demon drawled, its voice thick with sarcasm. “Looks like someone needs a little assistance with their wardrobe.” It snapped its fingers, and Olivia found herself clad in the demon’s personalized diaper. “Voila! A fashion statement fit for a queen… or should I say, a baby?” The demon chortled, revelling in Olivia’s mortification. Olivia’s body shook with rage and humiliation as she futilely tugged at the diaper. “This is wrong!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the house. “You can’t do this to me! I’m not your plaything! You have no right!” The diaper was not coming off of her. “This is just the beginning, Olivia,” the demon cackled, its voice filled with glee. “You will wear this diaper as a constant reminder of your helplessness. And when you’ve had enough, when you’re broken and begging for release, then you may grovel at my feet for a changing.” With a final, mocking bow, the demon vanished, leaving Olivia trapped in her degrading predicament wearing just a diaper and t-shirt. Chapter 4: On Purpose The moment the demon vanished, a burning thirst overtook Olivia. Her throat felt like parchment, her mouth a desert. She stumbled to the kitchen, diaper crinkling, her hands shaking as she filled glass after glass with water, gulping it down desperately. A wave of nausea followed, a sickening realization dawning upon her. This was the demon’s game. The thirst, the diaper – it was all a cruel ploy to break her. And with the amount of water she’d consumed, she knew she’d soon be wetting her diaper. Olivia’s stomach churned as the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Damn it, she thought, her voice catching in her throat. She had to find a way to avoid soiling this diaper. A walk, maybe? Fresh air might clear her head. She waddled into the living room, the diaper’s plastic crinkling with each awkward step. Reaching the stairs, she gripped the banister, hauling herself up one agonizing step at a time. In her bedroom, she grabbed a pair of jeans, relief flooding her as she managed to pull them up over the bulky diaper. But as soon as the zipper closed, the denim vanished, leaving her exposed once more. “No!” she cried, a sob escaping her lips. They were her favorite jeans, a soft, worn reminder of simpler times. Now, she was trapped in this infernal diaper, a prisoner in her own home. The thought of venturing outside, of facing the world’s judgment with a demon’s face plastered across her backside, on a diaper of all things, was unbearable. Despair washed over her, threatening to drown her in its icy depths. She needed a distraction, something to anchor her to reality. Spotting her old colouring book on the shelf, she snatched it up. Flipping through the pages, her eyes landed on a familiar image: a volcano, its slopes bathed in fiery reds and oranges. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Volcanoes used to be her passion, her refuge. Now, they were a symbol of her torment. The volcano on the coloring page stared back at Olivia, a mocking reminder of her predicament. Crayons in hand, she tried to focus, but her thoughts kept returning to the demon’s taunting words and the humiliating diaper encasing her. Each rustle of the plastic felt like a brand, a constant reminder of her helplessness. Desperate for a distraction, she dumped out a jigsaw puzzle, hoping the intricate pieces would occupy her mind. For a while, it worked. But as the image of a tranquil meadow began to take shape, a familiar pressure built in her bladder. Olivia squirmed, squeezing her thighs together, her focus shattering. The potty dance she’d outgrown decades ago made a reappearance, a desperate attempt to hold back the inevitable. But the urge became unbearable, a searing pain radiating through her lower abdomen. With a defeated sigh, Olivia released a tiny trickle, hoping to relieve the pressure and stop after. But the floodgates opened, and a warm steady stream poured into the diaper, she was soaking the absorbent padding on purpose. The heat spread through her groin and to her bum, a mix of shame and a strange, forbidden thrill. It was a surrender, a perverse fulfilment of the demon’s twisted desire. Olivia stood over the jigsaw puzzle, the sodden diaper clinging to her skin, a warm, but cold reminder of her degradation. The stench of urine filled her nostrils, a wave of shame washing over her. She couldn’t stay like this, wallowing in her own filth. With renewed determination, she tugged at the diaper’s fastenings, her nails digging into the unyielding plastic. A desperate trip to the kitchen yielded a pair of scissors, but even those proved useless against the demon’s magic. Trapped, defeated, she sank to the floor, the wet diaper chilling her princess parts. Never in her life had she felt so violated, so utterly helpless. Yet, a flicker of defiance remained. She wouldn’t let this demon break her. Returning to the puzzle, she forced her mind to focus on the remaining pieces. As the final piece clicked into place, a triumphant smile briefly touched her lips, quickly replaced by a gnawing hunger. Her stomach rumbled, demanding attention. The diaper squished and crinkled unpleasantly with each step as she made her way back to the kitchen. Wrenching open the fridge, she grabbed the container of prune stew she’d prepared before her trip. She devoured it greedily, the sweetness a temporary comfort. Avocado toast followed, the familiar routine offering a semblance of normalcy in this bizarre, degrading situation. Chapter 5: Uh oh… Olivia pushed away her empty plate, a wave of nausea replacing her hunger. As if summoned by her discomfort, the demon reappeared, a fresh diaper dangling from its bony fingers. “Ready to admit defeat, little one?” its voice oozed with smug satisfaction. “All it takes is a simple plea. Just ask nicely, and I’ll grant you the sweet relief of a clean diaper.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, but defiance hardened her voice. “I’ll never beg you for anything,” she retorted. “Get me out of this diaper, now!” The demon’s smile widened, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. “Oh, but you belong in it, don’t you, Olivia?” It gestured towards the dampness spreading across her thighs. “You’ve already proven that.” Olivia’s gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet the demon’s taunting eyes. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her. “And here’s a little secret,” the demon continued, its voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That prune stew you just devoured? It’s going to make you… well, let’s just say you’ll be needing a change sooner rather than later. See you bright and early tomorrow, Olivia.” With a final, mocking chuckle, the demon vanished, leaving Olivia frozen in horror. The implications of its words hit her like a thunderbolt. She’d wet the diaper, and now… now she was going to soil it. The thought was unbearable, a new level of degradation she hadn’t anticipated. “No,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible. But it was too late. The demon was gone, and Olivia was left alone to face the consequences of her actions, her stomach churning with dread, shame and stew. Panic rising in her throat, Olivia bolted from the kitchen, her sodden diaper slapping against her thighs. She needed a plan, a way to escape this humiliating fate. But the demon’s words echoed in her ears, a cruel reminder of her powerlessness. “You’ll be needing a change sooner rather than later.” Her frantic search for a solution led her to the bathroom, where she frantically rummaged through drawers and cabinets. Toilet paper, sanitary pads, even a plunger—nothing seemed capable of staving off the inevitable. A wave of nausea swept over her, a visceral reaction to the thought of soiling herself in front of the demon. She collapsed onto the cold tile floor, tears welling in her eyes. Was this really happening? Was this her life now, at the mercy of a sadistic demon and a humiliating diaper? Time seemed to warp and stretch as Olivia sat huddled on the bathroom floor, her mind a whirlwind of panic and humiliation. The initial wave of nausea subsided, replaced by a dull ache in her lower abdomen. She knew what was coming, but the thought of succumbing to the demon’s twisted game filled her with a visceral revulsion. Minutes turned into an agonizing eternity. The pressure in her bowels intensified, each gurgle a symphony of impending doom. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and her legs trembled with the effort of holding back. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into her thighs, a desperate attempt to maintain control. But it was a losing battle. With a defeated groan, Olivia finally relented, her body betraying her resolve. A warm, viscous substance oozed into the diaper, a sickening contrast to the chill of her fear-soaked skin. The stench filled the small bathroom, a pungent reminder of what she just did in her diaper. She buried her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body. The demon had won, for now. But deep within her, a spark of defiance remained, a tiny ember refusing to be extinguished. Exhaustion finally claimed Olivia, her body collapsing onto the bed, the soiled diaper a heavy, shameful weight against her skin. Sleep came fitfully, plagued by nightmares of the demon’s leering face and the suffocating stench of her own waste. Each toss and turn was a reminder of her predicament, the diaper chafing against her raw skin, a constant source of discomfort and humiliation. She had succumbed to the demon’s twisted game, her own actions fuelling its cruel amusement. The weight of her shame was crushing, a dark cloud suffocating her spirit. Yet, even in the depths of her despair, a flicker of defiance refused to die. This was not the end, she vowed silently. She would find a way to break free, to reclaim her dignity and her life. Chapter 6: You got me begging… Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom. Olivia stirred, a groan escaping her lips as she tried to stretch her cramped limbs. But something was amiss, a sticky warmth clinging to her skin, a foul odor invading her nostrils. Memories of the previous night flooded back, and a wave of nausea washed over her. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” a voice purred, its honeyed sweetness a jarring contrast to the demon’s grotesque form. Olivia jumped as her eyes snapped open, her gaze colliding with the demon perched on the edge of her bed. It wore a sickeningly cheerful grin, its eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. “How was your night? Did you sleep well?” Olivia recoiled, pulling the soiled diaper closer to her body, a futile attempt to shield herself from the demon’s scrutiny. “Go away,” she croaked, her voice raspy from sleep and shame. “Oh, come on now, don’t be like that,” the demon chided, its voice dripping with mock concern. “We have so much to discuss. After all, it’s a big day for you, isn’t it? Your first full day in diapers.” Olivia’s cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. “Leave me alone,” she hissed, her voice barely a whisper. She tried to sit up, but the diaper’s weight and the lingering nausea held her back. “Oh, come on, Olivia,” the demon coaxed, its voice dripping with false sympathy. “You can’t stay in that dirty diaper all day. It’s uncomfortable, unsanitary, and… well, frankly, it smells awful.” Olivia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The demon was right, of course. She desperately needed a change, but the thought of begging for it, of submitting to its twisted game, made her stomach churn. The demon leaned closer, its breath hot against Olivia’s skin. “Just ask me nicely, Olivia. Say the words, and I’ll grant you relief.” A war raged within Olivia. Pride and defiance battled against the overwhelming urge for cleanliness and comfort. Finally, her resolve crumbled. “Please,” she choked out, the word tasting like poison on her tongue. “Please change me.” The demon recoiled, its grin twisting into a sneer. “That’s not how you ask for a favor, Olivia,” it chided, its voice sharp as a whip. “Where’s the gratitude? The humility? The desperate plea for my mercy?” Olivia’s cheeks burned with renewed shame. She swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat like jagged shards of glass. “Please,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, master, would you be so kind as to change my diaper?” The demon cocked its head, studying her with a critical eye. “Better,” it conceded, “but not quite there yet. You need to sound more… pathetic. More desperate. More like the helpless creature you’ve become.” Tears welled up in Olivia’s eyes, her voice thick with emotion as she spoke. “Master, I am nothing without you,” she choked out. “I beg of you, please grant me this small mercy. I am filthy and unworthy, but I plead for your kindness. Please change my diaper.” The demon’s smile returned, a predatory glint in its eyes. “That’s more like it,” it purred, snapping its fingers. A fresh diaper materialized in its hand, its design identical to the soiled one. “I like it when the new ones beg for diapers. Now, be a good girl and lie still.” Olivia obeyed, her body trembling as the demon slowly and deliberately changed her diaper, its touch lingeringly cold and impersonal. “Could have just clicked my fingers,” it purred, its voice dripping with sadistic amusement. “But where’s the fun in that? A snap of my fingers, and poof! No mess, no fuss. But where’s the entertainment in that? Seeing you squirm, begging for my help… now that’s truly delightful.” The demon chuckled, a sound like nails scraping down a chalkboard, and held the soiled diaper up, the stench assaulting Olivia’s nose with renewed intensity. A cruel grin spread across the demon’s face. “Well, well, well, look at the state of you. Seems like you made quite a mess last night, didn’t you, little one? Perhaps you underestimated your ability to hold it. Or maybe you reveled in the mess a little too much, making a game of it all. You naughty little girl.” Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, tears threatening to spill over. The demon’s words were like acid, burning away her last shreds of dignity. The demon cackled, a sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. With practiced ease, it used a wet wipe to clean her princess parts and her bum, its touch rough and impersonal. “Hold still,” it commanded, its voice devoid of any warmth. Once Olivia was clean, the demon barked, “Legs up!” and waited impatiently for her to comply. With trembling hands, Olivia lifted her legs, offering a brief glimpse of her exposed bum. The demon wasted no time, swiftly sliding the fresh diaper underneath her. It then sprinkled a layer of baby powder over her princess parts and bum, the cool powder a stark contrast to the burning shame radiating from her core. Finally, with a flourish, the demon lifted the front over crotch and snapped the diaper tapes into place, securing it snugly around her waist. “There you go, all clean and… well, relatively fresh,” it sneered, sniffing the old soiled diaper in the air with exaggerated disgust. “But remember, Olivia,” it added, its voice dripping with false sympathy, “accidents happen to the best of us, especially when they’re wearing diapers like a little baby. And when those accidents happen, you’ll know exactly how to beg for my… assistance.” The demon’s grin widened, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. As it leaned in close, its breath reeking of sulfur, it whispered, “And make sure you beg well, because the consequences for disobedience are… unpleasant, to say the least.” With a final, lingering stroke of her cheek, the demon vanished, leaving Olivia alone with the lingering stench of shame from her soiled diaper next to her and the chilling realization that this was only the beginning of her torment. Chapter 7: The Demon’s Assistant Despite the lingering trauma of the demon’s touch, Olivia found herself oddly relieved to be in a fresh diaper. The clean, dry sensation against her skin was a stark contrast to the soiled diaper that now lay discarded on the floor, a tangible reminder of her humiliation. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, the emotional turmoil of the past hours taking its toll. She crawled back under her covers, the fresh diaper a small comfort amidst the chaos. Sleep came easier this time, her dreams less haunted by the demon’s menacing presence. As the morning sun streamed through her window, Olivia woke with a renewed sense of determination. She wouldn’t let the demon control her life. She would find a way to break free from this twisted game, to reclaim her dignity and independence. A loud knocking at the door startled her, interrupting her thoughts. Could it be the demon again, so soon? She cautiously approached the door, her heart pounding in her chest. Olivia cautiously cracked open the front door, shielding her diaper-clad body from view. “Package for Olivia Parker?” a cheerful voice chirped. “Yes, thank you,” Olivia mumbled, snatching the box and swiftly closing the door. A wave of relief washed over her. Just some LED lights she’d ordered before her disastrous trip. A perfect distraction from her current predicament. Parcel tucked under her arm, she turned towards the stairs, only to be halted by another insistent knock. With a frustrated sigh, she set the box down and yanked open the door. “Lucille,” a woman declared, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness, “the Demon’s assistant. I’ll be coming in now.” Before Olivia could protest, the woman swept past her, her movements a whirlwind of chiffon and perfume. “Excuse me!” Olivia sputtered, indignation rising in her throat. But her protest was cut short as the woman—Lucille—snapped her fingers. In a flash, a bright pink pacifier appeared in Olivia’s mouth, silencing her. She gagged, her fingers clawing at the plastic, but to no avail. The more she struggled, the tighter her mouth clamped around the pacifier, her own body betraying her. Humiliation flooded her as she realized she was now not only trapped in a diaper but also reduced to an infantile state with the pacifier. Lucille surveyed Olivia with a critical eye, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Well, well, well,” she drawled, circling her like a predator sizing up its prey. “Looks like someone’s been a naughty girl. Didn’t your master teach you any manners?” Olivia glared at her through the pacifier, a silent fury burning in her eyes. She tried to speak, but the pacifier rendered her words into muffled, infantile gurgles. Lucille chuckled, a sound like wind chimes laced with venom. “Don’t worry, darling,” she cooed, patting Olivia’s head with a manicured hand. “I’m here to help you adjust to your new… lifestyle. The Demon has big plans for you, and I’m here to ensure you’re properly prepared.” She snapped her fingers again, and a mountain of baby supplies materialized in the middle of the living room: stacks of diapers, bottles filled with a milky liquid, jars of pureed food, and an assortment of pastel-colored toys. Olivia’s eyes widened in horror as Lucille began unpacking the items, her movements efficient and practiced. “Now, now, don’t look so glum,” Lucille chirped, her voice gratingly cheerful. “This is just the beginning. You’re going to have so much fun with all these new toys, aren’t you, sweetie?” She picked up a rattle shaped like a volcano, shaking it enticingly in front of Olivia’s face. Olivia recoiled, her disgust evident even through the pacifier. This was a nightmare, a grotesque mockery of her life. But as Lucille continued to unpack the supplies, a chilling realization dawned on her. This wasn’t a temporary punishment; this was the demon’s vision for her future. A future filled with diapers, baby formula, baby food, and the constant presence of Lucille. Lucille perched herself on the arm of the sofa, her gaze fixed on Olivia like a scientist observing a lab specimen. “Now, Olivia, darling,” she began, her voice a sickeningly sweet melody, “let’s talk about our new arrangement.” Olivia, still struggling fruitlessly against the pacifier, let out a muffled growl of frustration. “Oh, hush now, there’s no need for that,” Lucille chided, her tone saccharine but her eyes cold. “I’m here to help you, after all.” She leaned forward, her words dripping with condescension. “From now on, I’ll be your… caregiver, shall we say? I’ll be in charge of all your needs – feeding, changing, playtime, even bath time.” A sly smile curled on her lips. “And of course, discipline when necessary. Maybe even rewards! However, the Demon expects complete obedience, you understand?” Olivia’s eyes widened in horror. This was worse than she could have imagined. Lucille, with her patronizing tone and condescending touch, was to be her constant companion, her jailer in this infantile prison. “Don’t worry, darling,” Lucille cooed, misinterpreting Olivia’s silence. “You’ll get used to it. You’ll learn to love your new life, with all its simple pleasures and childish delights.” She picked up a teddy bear from the pile of baby supplies, its beady eyes seeming to mock Olivia’s despair. Olivia shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. This was not her life, not who she was. She was a scientist, a volcanologist, a woman with a career and a future. But the pacifier in her mouth prevented any protest, any plea for reason. All she could do was watch helplessly as Lucille laid out the grim reality of her new, demeaning existence. Lucille reached out a manicured hand, her fingers pinching the pacifier between Olivia’s lips. With a swift tug, she removed it, a triumphant smirk on her face. “There now,” she purred. “Don’t you feel better already?” Olivia gasped, her lungs filling with air from her mouth for the first time in what felt like hours. “You can’t do this!” she cried, her voice hoarse with emotion. “This is wrong! It’s insane!” Lucille raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Insane? Perhaps. But it’s also the Demon’s will, and as his humble servant, I’m merely following orders. Besides,” she added, her voice dripping with condescension, “you seem to be adjusting quite well already. Look at you, in your pretty little diaper, sucking on your pacifier like a good girl.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, but anger fuelled her defiance. “I’m not a baby! I’m a grown woman, a scientist! This is degrading and humiliating!” Lucille shrugged, her expression nonchalant. “Oh, darling, we all have our roles to play in this grand cosmic drama. Yours just happens to be a bit more… infantile. But don’t worry, you’ll soon learn to embrace your new identity. And who knows,” she added with a wink, “you might even find that you enjoy it.” Olivia’s stomach churned with disgust. The thought of finding any pleasure in this twisted situation was abhorrent. But as she met Lucille’s gaze, a cold fear settled in her heart. She knew, with a bone-chilling certainty, that this was just the beginning of her ordeal. The demon and its assistant had a plan for her, and she knew now that she was powerless to stop them. A sudden warmth spread through Olivia’s diaper, the familiar sensation of wetness bringing a fresh wave of humiliation. She looked up at Lucille, who wore a triumphant smirk, confirming Olivia’s worst fears. “See?” Lucille purred, her voice a chilling melody. “You can’t control it anymore, darling. One minute you’ll be playing with your toys, the next… whoops! A little accident. Such a shame for a grown woman, wouldn’t you agree?” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over Olivia’s ear. “But don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll get used to the constant wetness, the never-ending cycle of shame and dependency. Welcome to your new life, Olivia. It’s going to be a messy one, now that’s for sure.” The demon chuckles at her humiliation. Chapter 8: Who’s Humiliation? Yourmiliation. Olivia’s cheeks burned as the warmth spread through her diaper, a mixture of shame and anger coursing through her veins. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the pacifier quickly appeared in her mouth stifling any protest. Her eyes, filled with a mix of defiance and despair, locked onto Lucille’s mocking gaze. Lucille, sensing Olivia’s inner turmoil, continued her cruel taunts. “Oh, don’t be so glum, darling,” she cooed, patting Olivia’s head condescendingly. “It’s only pee, after all. It’s a natural bodily function, even for big girls like you. But now, you’ll have to rely on me, your ever-so-capable assistant, to clean up your little messes. How thrilling!” A wicked gleam entered Lucille’s eyes as she reached for a diaper bag overflowing with supplies. “Don’t worry, though,” she chirped, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “I’ve brought everything we need to keep you nice and dry. After all, we wouldn’t want your pretty little bottom getting sore, would we?” She paused, a sly smile spreading across her face. “But first, let’s see how well you can crawl. Maybe a little spanking will motivate you? A nice, firm reminder of the consequences for disobeying your new caretaker.” She tauntingly said as a menacing paddle appeared in her hand. The thought of being spanked like a child sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. She had always been fiercely independent, a woman who commanded respect in her field. Now, reduced to a crawling infant, she was at the mercy of this sadistic caretaker. With a heavy heart, she obeyed, lowering herself onto her hands and knees. The crinkling of the wet diaper against her skin was a constant reminder of her humiliation. “That’s a good girl,” Lucille praised, her voice laced with a sickeningly sweet tone. “Now crawl, Olivia. Show me how eager you are to please.” The assistant pointed towards a pile of diapers at the other end of the room, a wicked glint in her eye. Olivia, fuelled by a mix of shame and defiance, began to crawl, pacifier in mouth. Each movement rocked her wet diaper back and fourth against her princess parts, she felt herself getting hot and bothered. She wanted to reach inside of her diaper and touch herself, but she shook her head and gritted her teeth, focusing on the pile of diapers, a beacon of hope in this degrading ordeal. With each agonizing inch, she prayed for the strength to endure this humiliation, clinging to the belief that she would find a way to break free from this twisted game before she actually started to enjoy it. Lucille watched Olivia’s progress with a predatory grin. “Not bad, darling,” she purred. “But you could be faster. Remember, the quicker you get there, the quicker you’ll be out of that soggy mess.” Olivia’s muscles burned with exertion, but she pushed herself onward. The diaper, heavy with urine, rubbed against her sensitive skin, a constant reminder of her helplessness. She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the edge of a diaper package, a spark of hope igniting within her. But just as she was about to grasp it, Lucille’s foot came down on top of the package, pinning it to the floor. Olivia looked up, her eyes pleading for mercy, but Lucille only laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the room. “Not so fast, little one,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. “You haven’t earned your reward yet. A few more laps should do the trick.” She felt her heart flutter as well as her princess parts as she turned around. Olivia whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes. She was exhausted, humiliated, and desperate for relief from the sodden diaper clinging to her skin. The smell of urine was overwhelming, filling her nostrils with each ragged breath. Lucille, however, seemed to revel in Olivia’s discomfort. “Aww, is the little baby feeling icky?” she cooed, her voice a sickening blend of mockery and amusement. “Did the naughty girl have an accident? Don’t worry, darling, a few more laps and you’ll be rewarded with a nice, fresh diaper. Or maybe you enjoy the feeling of that warm wetness against your skin?” Olivia’s face burned with shame and curiosity. Did Lucille know she was getting turned on? But she refused to give Lucille the satisfaction of seeing her cry. With a defiant snarl, she resumed her crawl, the soggy diaper squishing and rubbing against her parts more and more with every movement. Olivia let out a little moan as she crawled. As Olivia continued her humiliating crawl, a strange sensation began to emerge from the discomfort. The constant friction of the diaper against her sensitive skin, initially a source of irritation, was now sparking a warmth that spread through her lower body. Each movement, each shift of her hips, ignited a flicker of pleasure she hadn’t anticipated. A wave of confusion washed over her. She was disgusted by the situation, mortified by her own incontinence, yet her body was betraying her, responding to the forbidden stimulation with a growing warmth. She tried to suppress the feeling, to focus on the anger and humiliation, but the pleasure was insistent, a siren song luring her towards a dangerous precipice. Lucille, ever observant, noticed the subtle change in Olivia’s demeanor. A knowing smirk spread across her face. “Oh, I see,” she purred, her voice laced with amusement. “Looks like someone’s starting to enjoy herself. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, little one.” She leaned closer, her breath hot against Olivia’s ear. “Embrace the sensation, darling. It’s only going to get better from here. Crawl faster!” The demon’s assistant clapped her hands together, the sound echoing through the silent house. “Well, well, well,” she chirped, her voice dripping with feigned delight. “Looks like someone’s finally getting the hang of this. But we can’t have you dilly-dallying now, can we, darling? Pick up the pace! Your reward awaits, but only for those who earn it.” Olivia, caught between mortification and a growing sense of arousal, obeyed. She quickened her pace, her hands and knees hitting the floor with rhythmic thuds. The diaper, now saturated, clung to her like a second skin, the friction against her most intimate areas intensifying with each movement. She gritted her teeth, a low moan escaping her lips as the pleasure became almost unbearable. Lucille’s laughter filled the room, a cruel melody that fueled Olivia’s growing shame. “That’s it, darling,” she encouraged, her voice laced with a sadistic glee. “Crawl for me. Crawl like the good little baby you are. The faster you go, the sooner you’ll be rewarded. But remember,” she added with a menacing edge, “if you stop, the punishment will be severe.” Driven by a potent cocktail of humiliation, desperation, and a dark, forbidden pleasure, Olivia surged forward, her limbs moving faster than she thought possible. The room blurred around her, the only focus the pile of diapers looming closer with each frantic crawl. A tingling sensation built within her, a familiar pressure that she knew she couldn’t hold back any longer. With a gasp, she reached the pile, collapsing onto the soft, absorbent mound. The dam finally broke, and a torrent of warm liquid flooded her diaper, she sucked on her pacifier harder as she squirted into the pee-soaked diaper closing her eyes with pleasure. A shudder wracked her body, a mix of shame and undeniable relief. She had lost control, given in to the demon’s twisted game, yet a part of her revelled in the orgasm she just had in her pissy diaper. Lucille clapped her hands, her laughter echoing through the room. “Bravo, Olivia!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Such a good girl. Now, wasn’t that so much better than holding it in?” She leaned down, her face inches from Olivia’s, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “But remember, darling, this is just the beginning. There are so many more ways for you to please me. So many more messes for you to make.” Lucille pressed her hand against Olivia’s diaper, rubbing it firmly through the wet fabric. “And we’ll have a lot of fun cleaning them up together. Won’t we, little one?” Lucille, sensing Olivia’s heightened vulnerability, plucked the pacifier from her mouth with a triumphant flourish. “Well, well, well,” she cooed, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Someone seems to be enjoying her new reality. Tell me, Olivia, are you ready to be a good little girl and obey my every command?” Olivia, still flushed with pleasure and shame, nodded eagerly, her voice a high-pitched squeak. “Yes, yes!” she chirped, her words barely coherent. “I’ll be good, I promise!” Lucille chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. “I’m sure you will, darling,” she purred. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” With practiced efficiency, Lucille peeled away the soiled diaper, a wave of embarrassment washing over Olivia as the stench filled the air. The demon’s assistant tutted disapprovingly, her eyes narrowing in disgust. “Someone’s been a messy little girl,” she scolded, her voice laced with sarcasm. Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame. The brief moment of pleasure had evaporated, replaced by a deep sense of humiliation and self-loathing. Disgusting. How could she have let herself get to that point? The smell of her own waste filled her nostrils, a constant reminder of her degradation. She squeezed her eyes shut, the image of the overflowing diaper a horrifying tableau burned into her mind. Had she really just gotten off on crawling around like a baby, whimpering for a diaper change? Shame radiated from her core, a sickening heat that threatened to consume her whole. But beneath the shame, a flicker of something else remained – a morbid curiosity, a twisted echo of the pleasure she had experienced. It was a terrifying realization, a seed of darkness planted in her mind by Lucille’s cruel game. The touch of the wet wipes against her skin snapped Olivia out of her momentary haze. Reality crashed back in, a harsh wave of disgust and despair. She gritted her teeth, tears welling in her eyes. This wasn’t her, this wasn’t who she was. But as Lucille fastened a fresh diaper around her waist, the crinkling of the plastic a stark reminder of her new reality, Olivia knew she was trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight. Chapter 9: Playing With Teddy The clean diaper did nothing to alleviate Olivia’s despair. The crinkling plastic only amplified her humiliation, a constant reminder of her infantilized state. As Lucille stepped back to admire her handiwork, Olivia’s mind raced, searching for a way out of this twisted game. “There,” Lucille chirped, her voice gratingly cheerful. “All clean and dry, just like a little baby.” She paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied Olivia’s face. “But you don’t seem very happy about it, darling. Is something wrong?” Olivia glared at her, a silent fury burning in her eyes. She wanted to scream, to curse, to lash out, but the pacifier in her mouth stifled any sound. Her only response was a defiant shake of her head, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Lucille’s smile faltered, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. “Oh, come now, Olivia,” she chided, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Don’t be difficult. We have so much fun planned for you today.” She gestured towards a pile of colorful clothes on the bed, a collection of frilly dresses and oversized t-shirts adorned with cartoon characters. Olivia’s eyes widened in horror as she recognized the outfits. They were the epitome of childishness, the kind of clothes she hadn’t worn since she was a toddler. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her as she realized what Lucille had in store. “Now, darling,” Lucille purred, picking up a particularly garish pink dress with a matching bonnet. “Let’s get you dressed for the day. It’s time for you to embrace your new role, Olivia. The role of a sweet, innocent little girl.” Olivia shook her head violently, the pacifier bobbing against her lips as she let out a muffled protest. She would not wear those ridiculous clothes. She would not be reduced to a caricature of childhood innocence. Lucille’s patience was wearing thin. “Olivia,” she warned, her voice laced with steel. “Don’t make this difficult. Put on the dress, or I’ll have to find other ways to persuade you.” Olivia’s defiance wavered. She knew Lucille was capable of cruelty, of finding new and inventive ways to humiliate her. But the thought of parading around in those childish clothes was almost too much to bear. “Fine,” she mumbled through the pacifier, her voice barely audible. “I’ll wear the dress.” A triumphant smile spread across Lucille’s face. “That’s a good girl,” she cooed, her voice dripping with condescension. “Now, let’s get you dressed and ready for playtime.” Olivia stood there, her head bowed in shame as Lucille helped her into the frilly pink dress. The fabric felt cheap and scratchy against her skin, a stark contrast to the comfortable clothes she was used to wearing. The bonnet, with its ridiculous oversized bow, was the final indignity. She felt like a clown, a mockery of her former self. As Lucille led Olivia towards the playpen, the plastic structure loomed before her like a miniature prison. The brightly colored bars mocked her with their childish cheerfulness, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile feeling that emanated from the interior. Inside, a collection of baby toys lay scattered on the floor, their plastic forms gleaming in the harsh light. Olivia knew what awaited her: forced playtime, infantile games designed to further humiliate her and chip away at her remaining sense of self. The playpen wasn’t just a confinement; it was a symbol of her new reality, a place where her mind and body would be moulded into something unrecognizable. Before leaving Olivia to her fate, Lucille produced a baby bottle filled with a milky white liquid. “Here you go, darling,” she chirped, thrusting the bottle into Olivia’s hands. “A little snack to keep you fueled during playtime. Make sure you finish it before I get back, or there will be consequences.” Olivia eyed the bottle with disgust. The thought of drinking baby formula, of being treated like an infant, made her stomach churn. But the memory of Lucille’s earlier threats was still fresh in her mind. She knew better than to disobey. “And remember,” Lucille added with a sly smile, “milk always makes babies need a diaper change. So don’t be surprised if you find yourself feeling a little… wet… soon. It’s all part of the fun, isn’t it?” She winked, a gesture that sent a chill down Olivia’s spine. With a final, mocking pat on the head, Lucille left Olivia alone in the playpen, the bottle of formula a heavy weight in her trembling hand. Olivia stared at the milky liquid, her mind racing. She had to find a way out of this, a way to escape the demon’s clutches and reclaim her life. But for now, she had to play along, to survive this twisted game until she could find a way to fight back. With a deep breath, she raised the bottle to her lips, the taste of the formula a bitter reminder of her powerlessness. The formula, surprisingly, wasn’t as repulsive as Olivia had anticipated. It was sweet, cloying, and left a sticky residue on her lips. As she drained the last few drops, a warmth spread through her lower abdomen. It was the familiar, dreaded feeling, the precursor to another humiliating episode of incontinence. She tried to hold it back, to clench her muscles and resist the urge, but it was futile. A warm trickle escaped, followed by a steady stream. The diaper quickly became saturated, the heavy, wet sensation a stark reminder of her helplessness. Just as Olivia was sinking into despair, the door creaked open. Lucille swept into the room, her eyes scanning Olivia with predatory interest. “Well, well, well,” she purred, her voice laced with amusement. “Looks like someone couldn’t hold her tinkles. Did the yummy milk make the baby girl tinkle in her diaper? Tell me what you’ve done little girl.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, a tear tracing a hot path down her cheek. Her voice trembled as she spoke, barely audible over the crinkling of the soaked diaper against her skin. “Y-yes,” she stammered her helplessness a bitter pill to swallow. “I wet myself. Please, I need a change.” Lucille’s lips curled into a sly smirk. “Oh, sweetie,” she crooned, her voice dripping with false sympathy, “did you forget already? It’s playtime now. Big girls need to learn patience, you know?” She gestured towards the scattered toys in the playpen, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Now, be a good girl and play with your toys. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll consider changing you after.” Lucille collected her things from the room and went away again. Olivia’s heart sank. She knew there was no point in arguing. The discomfort of the wet diaper was unbearable, but the fear of further humiliation was even worse. With a defeated sigh, she reached for a brightly colored rattle, her mind racing as she tried to devise a plan. She couldn’t stay like this, trapped in this infantile nightmare. There had to be a way out. Olivia halfheartedly shook the rattle, the hollow sound a mocking echo of her own emptiness. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – anger, humiliation, and a deep-seated fear that this was her new reality. But beneath those emotions, a spark of defiance remained, a refusal to completely surrender to the demon’s twisted game. As she played, her eyes darted around the room, searching for any potential escape route. The windows were too high, the door locked from the outside. Her gaze fell upon the diaper bag Lucille had brought in earlier. Perhaps there was something in there, a tool, a weapon, anything that could help her break free. Mustering all her courage, Olivia crawled towards the bag, her movements cautious and deliberate. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric. A surge of hope coursed through her veins. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she could escape this nightmare. With trembling fingers, Olivia unzipped the diaper bag, her heart pounding in her chest. The contents were a grotesque parody of a baby’s essentials: talcum powder, a tube of diaper rash cream, a handful of pacifiers, and a stack of brightly colored diapers. Olivia’s stomach churned as she realized there was nothing useful in the bag, nothing that could aid her escape. A sob escaped her lips as she slumped back against the playpen wall, a wave of despair washing over her. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own home, reduced to a helpless infant. The demon had won, and her life as she knew it was over. As if sensing her defeat, Lucille’s voice echoed through the room, a chilling reminder of her presence. “Having fun, Olivia?” she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement. “Don’t worry, darling. The beginning is starting now. You’ll soon learn to love your new life, with all its messy little pleasures.” Olivia’s body tensed, her stomach clenching in response to Lucille’s taunting words. The formula, now churning in her belly, triggered a familiar urge, a pressure building within her. She tried to fight it, to hold back, but the demon’s influence was too strong. A solid mass of warmth flooded her diaper, the sensation a mix of relief and utter shame. She had lost control again, her body betraying her in the most humiliating way possible. The smell of her poop filled the playpen, a pungent reminder of her degradation. Tears welled up in Olivia’s eyes as she whimpered softly. She was no longer just wet; she was filthy, a helpless infant adult wallowing in her own excrement. This was the lowest point of her life, a nadir of shame and despair. She had become the very thing the demon wanted her to be: a helpless, infantile creature, utterly dependent on its cruel whims. Lucille’s laughter echoed through the room, a cruel melody that twisted Olivia’s insides. “Oh, Olivia,” she cooed, her voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet tone, “what a mess you’ve made. But don’t worry, darling. We’ll take care of it.” With a snap of her fingers, Lucille conjured a new toy, a large, plush teddy bear with soft brown fur and innocent button eyes. The bear was oddly oversized for the playpen, its limbs sprawling across the limited space. “Look, Olivia,” Lucille purred, “a new friend to keep you company. I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun together.” Lucille says as she snaps her fingers again, this time filling Olivia up with libido. As she spoke, an unsettling warmth began to spread through Olivia’s body. The sensation was different from the shame and disgust she had felt earlier. It was a warmth that tingled and pulsed, a growing heat that seemed to originate from her princess parts. Her eyes darted to the teddy bear, a new and unfamiliar desire taking root in her mind. Lucille, sensing the shift in Olivia’s demeanor, let out a low chuckle. “Yes, darling,” she whispered, her voice a seductive caress. “Let your imagination run wild. Play with your new friend, and don’t be afraid to explore your desires. After all, a little mess is nothing to be ashamed of, is it?” Lucille bumps up Olivia’s libido with a click of her fingers. The shame that had consumed Olivia moments before began to morph into something else, a tingling curiosity that pulsed through her princess parts and body. Her eyes remained locked on the teddy bear, its soft fur and inviting curves a stark contrast to the cold, sterile plastic of the playpen. Lucille’s words echoed in her mind, a tempting invitation to explore a forbidden realm. “Don’t be afraid to explore your desires,” she had said. And in that moment, a wave of rebellion surged through Olivia. If this was the life she was forced to live, she would find a way to make it her own, to carve out a sliver of pleasure from the humiliation. With a newfound determination, Olivia crawled towards the teddy bear, her eyes never leaving its plush form. She reached out, her fingers sinking into the soft fur, a shiver running down her spine. The sensation was oddly comforting, a stark contrast to the cold, clinical touch of Lucille’s hands. Emboldened by the rising warmth within her, Olivia pulled herself onto the teddy bear, straddling its plush body. The diaper, already heavy with her excrement, shifted against her sensitive parts, the friction igniting a spark of pleasure that sent a jolt through her body. She gasped, her fingers tightening in the bear’s fur as she rocked against it, the forbidden sensation growing with each movement. Olivia’s body writhed in pleasure as she grinded against the giant teddy bear, the contents of her messy diaper rubbing against her pussy with each movement. The wetness and warmth of the padding only heightened her arousal, her clit throbbing with need. Lucille watched with a smirk on her face, enjoying the humiliation of the adult woman humping a stuffed animal in a wet and messy diaper and recorded her. “Well, well, well,” she taunted, “looks like someone’s enjoying their messy diaper a little too much.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t deny the pleasure coursing through her body. She pushed harder against the teddy, her orgasm building with each rub of the poopy wet diaper against her princess parts. Lucille leaned in, a playful smirk twisting her lips, “Someone’s already making quite the mess, aren’t they? And it’s about to get a different type of messy, isn’t it, wittle Olivia?” Her eyes sparkled with malicious delight, a hint of purring entering her tone. Olivia couldn’t hold back any longer, her climax hitting her like a wave. She cried out, her pussy pulsing with pleasure as she came into the wet and messy diaper. She continued grinding and grinding, its foul contents spreading further, while she had orgasm after orgasm until she lay against the teddy bear exhausted, but in ecstasy with a very messy diapered bottom. Lucille’s voicedripped with saccharine sweetness, a stark contrast to the cruel glint in her eyes. “Oh, Olivia, what a good girl you are!” she cooed, clapping her hands together in mock delight. “Look at the lovely present you left in your diaper. Such a big, smelly surprise and a sticky one too!” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over Olivia’s ear. “Aren’t you proud of yourself?” she whispered, her voice laced with a perverse kind of satisfaction. “Such a dirty little baby, making a sticky mess like that. Mommy’s so pleased.” Olivia, already burdened with humiliation, felt a fresh wave of shame wash over her at Lucille’s twisted praise. Tears welled up in her eyes anew, not from the discomfort of the soiled diaper, but from the crushing weight of degradation. She had never felt so small, so utterly debased. “Please,” Olivia choked out, her voice barely a whisper, “just… just clean me up.” The words tasted like poison on her tongue, each syllable a surrender to the demon’s cruel game. Lucille’s smile widened, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “As you wish, my sticky little mess maker,” she purred, her voice laced with malicious glee. With deliberate slowness, she began to clean Olivia, her every touch a reminder of the scientist’s helplessness. Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of her situation. But even with her eyes closed, she could still feel Lucille’s cold, mocking gaze upon her. The cleaning process was agonizingly slow, Lucille taking every opportunity to prolong Olivia’s torment. She cooed and praised Olivia’s “good behaviour,” her voice a grating symphony of condescension. Olivia, exhausted from humping her teddy, fell asleep during her diaper change. Chapter 10: Life Could Be A Dream (Finale) When Olivia awoke, she found herself not in her bed, but in a crib, its bars cold and unyielding against her touch. Panic flared as she realized she was locked in, the familiar surroundings of her bedroom warped and distorted by the dim light filtering through the slats. A desperate urge to pee gnawed at her, the sensation growing stronger with each passing moment. Olivia squirmed, her diaper rustling with her movements, but there was no escape. Tears welled up in her eyes as she succumbed to the inevitable, the warmth spreading through her diaper a humiliating reminder of her helplessness. The door creaked open, and Lucille entered, her silhouette framed by the dim light. Her eyes gleamed as she took in the sight of Olivia, trapped and soiled in the crib. “Ah, my little baby,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did you have an accident? Such a shame. But don’t worry, Mommy’s here to take care of you.” Olivia clenched her fists, her cheeks burning with shame and anger. “Let me out of here!” she demanded, her voice a mixture of defiance and desperation. Lucille chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. “Not yet, my dear,” she purred. “First, we need to have a little chat.” She walked over to the crib, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. Olivia shrank back, her body pressed against the cold bars. Lucille leaned over the crib, her face mere inches from Olivia’s. “You see, Olivia,” she said, her voice soft and insidious, “this is your true nature. Helpless, dependent, in need of a mommy to change your dirty diaper.” Olivia’s eyes flashed with anger. “I’m not a baby!” she hissed. “I’m a grown woman, a scientist!” Lucille smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. “That’s what you think, my dear. But deep down, you crave this. You crave the comfort of a diaper, the security of being taken care of, the thrill of submission.” Olivia wanted to scream, to deny everything Lucille was saying, but the words died in her throat. A part of her, a small, insidious part, whispered in agreement. Lucille reached into the crib, her fingers gently tracing the outline of Olivia’s diaper. “Don’t fight it, Olivia,” she purred. “Embrace it. Embrace your true self. You’ll see, it’s much more fun to be bad.” A strange sensation washed over Olivia, a mixture of shame, excitement, and surrender. She closed her eyes, her body trembling as Lucille unlatched the crib and lifted her out. “That’s it, my little baby,” Lucille crooned, her voice a hypnotic lullaby. “Let Mommy take care of you.” She carried Olivia to the desk, where the strange contraption hummed with an unsettling energy. Lucille placed a helmet on Olivia’s head, its cold metal pressing against her temples. “Now, my dear,” she whispered, her voice filled with anticipation. “Let’s explore your deepest desires together.” The world around Olivia dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, her consciousness slipping away into the realm of dreams. The chill of the helmet pressed against Olivia’s skin, plunging her into the swirling chaos of the dream realm. She found herself in a dimly lit classroom, the air thick with the scent of chalk and old books. Rows of wooden desks faced a blackboard covered in complex equations and diagrams. Olivia was seated at one of the desks, her legs dangling above the floor. She was wearing a school uniform, a pleated skirt and a white blouse, but the most noticeable feature was the thick diaper peeking out from under the hem of her skirt. A figure stood at the front of the classroom, a stern-looking woman with wire-rimmed glasses and a tight bun. It was Professor Lucille, her voice booming across the room as she lectured on the intricacies of quantum mechanics. “Now, Miss Olivia,” she said, her gaze fixing on Olivia with a disapproving frown. “Can you explain to the class the principles of quantum entanglement?” Olivia squirmed in her seat, her face flushed with embarrassment. She had no idea what quantum entanglement was, and the diaper bulging between her legs made it difficult to concentrate. “I… I don’t know, Professor,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. Professor Lucille sighed, a sound of exasperation mixed with a hint of amusement. “Of course you don’t, you silly girl,” she said, her voice softening. “You’ve been too busy playing with your dollies and wetting your diaper.” A wave of shame washed over Olivia. She knew Professor Lucille was right; she had been neglecting her studies, her mind preoccupied with childish fantasies and the comfort of a full diaper. “But don’t worry, Olivia,” Professor Lucille continued, her voice taking on a seductive purr. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to teach you all about the wonders of science… and the joys of diaper submission.” She walked towards Olivia, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. Olivia shrank back in her seat, her heart pounding in her chest. Professor Lucille stopped beside Olivia’s desk, her hand reaching out to gently stroke Olivia’s hair. “You’re such a bright girl, Olivia,” she whispered. “But you need discipline. You need guidance. You need… a firm hand.” Olivia felt a shiver run down her spine, a mixture of fear and excitement. She knew what was coming, and a part of her, a dark, forbidden part, craved it. Professor Lucille stepped back, her gaze intense and unwavering. “Stand up, Olivia,” she commanded. Trembling, Olivia pushed herself up from her chair, her legs shaking beneath her. She was fully aware of the obscene sight she must have presented, her diaper sagging heavily between her legs, a wet patch spreading across the front. “Bend over your desk,” Professor Lucille instructed. Olivia did as she was told, her hands gripping the edge of the wooden desk as she leaned forward, her bottom thrust out. She could feel the cold air on her diaper, the material still damp from her earlier accidents. Professor Lucille moved behind her, her steps measured and deliberate. Olivia closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable. The first slap came down hard, the impact echoing through the classroom. Olivia gasped, her body jolting forward. The sharp pain radiated through her, a stark contrast to the comforting warmth of her diaper. Another slap followed, and another. Each one stung, the pain building with every strike. Olivia couldn’t help but moan, her body writhing beneath the assault. “Is this what you need, Olivia?” Professor Lucille asked, her voice thick with desire. “Discipline? Control?” “Yessss,” Olivia whimpered, the word barely audible. She was beyond shame now, beyond embarrassment. She was lost in the sensations, her body betraying her with each whimper and moan. Professor Lucille continued the spanking, each slap harder and more intense than the last. Olivia could feel her diaper growing even wetter, the heat from her punishment mixing with the warmth of her excretions and the heat from how horny she was getting. Eventually, Professor Lucille stopped, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Olivia’s bottom and princess parts were a throbbing mess, her body aching with the abuse. “Very good, Olivia,” Professor Lucille said, her voice soft and comforting. “You have learned your lesson.” Olivia stayed bent over the desk, too exhausted to move. She could feel the trickle of wetness trailing down her legs, her diaper now thoroughly soaked and leaking. In that moment, she belonged to Professor Lucille. She was her student, her submissive, her plaything. She had surrendered herself completely, her body and her mind. And she had never felt so alive. Suddenly, the classroom vanished, the scent of chalk and the echoing lecture fading into oblivion. Olivia gasped, her eyes flying open as the helmet was removed from her head. The dream’s lingering warmth clung to her skin, a stark contrast to the cool air of her bedroom. Lucille loomed over her, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “Well, my dear,” she purred, “it seems you’ve discovered a hidden talent for academic submission.” Olivia recoiled, a wave of revulsion washing over her. The memory of her dream-self, the meek student eager for punishment, filled her with shame and disgust. “No,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “That’s not me. That’s not who I am.” Lucille chuckled, her voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t be so naive, Olivia,” she chided. “That is who you are, deep down. You crave authority, discipline, the thrill of surrendering to a dominant figure.” Olivia shook her head vehemently, her eyes blazing with defiance. “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “This is just a dream, a twisted fantasy you’ve implanted in my mind.” Lucille raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Oh, is it?” she challenged. “Then why is your heart racing? Why are your cheeks flushed? Why can’t you deny the undeniable pleasure you felt in that classroom?” Olivia’s resolve wavered. The lingering warmth of the dream, the memory of Professor Lucille’s firm hand, the thrill of submission… it was all too real, too intoxicating. “This isn’t me,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. But even as she said the words, a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. Lucille leaned closer, her breath warm against Olivia’s ear. “Don’t fight it, Olivia,” she whispered. “Embrace it. Embrace your true self. You’ll see, it’s much more fun to be bad.” The helmet descended once more, its cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of Lucille’s touch. Olivia braced herself, unsure of what awaited her in the depths of her subconscious this time. The world dissolved into a dizzying vortex of colors and shapes, before solidifying into a starkly different scene. She found herself in a grand ballroom, chandeliers glittering overhead, the air filled with the strains of a waltz. But Olivia was not a guest at this elegant affair. She was dressed as a maid, her uniform crisp and starched, a frilly apron tied around her waist. A diaper peeked out from beneath her skirt, a stark reminder of her subservient role. Across the room, a figure stood out from the swirling crowd of dancers. It was Lady Lucille, resplendent in a flowing gown, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched Olivia navigate the crowded room, a tray of champagne flutes balanced precariously in her hands. Olivia’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as she stumbled, her diaper rustling with her every movement. The guests snickered and whispered as she made her way towards Lady Lucille, her heart pounding in her chest. “Ah, there you are, my little maid,” Lady Lucille purred, her voice a seductive melody. “I see you’re having a bit of trouble with your duties.” Olivia lowered her head, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I apologize, my lady,” she stammered. “I’ll be more careful next time.” Lady Lucille chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. “No need to apologize, my dear,” she said, her voice softening. “Accidents happen, especially to clumsy little maids who can’t seem to keep their diapers dry.” Olivia’s face flushed crimson. She could feel the warmth spreading through her diaper, a humiliating reminder of her inadequacy. Lady Lucille reached out, her fingers gently lifting Olivia’s chin. “But don’t worry, my dear,” she whispered, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I have a special task for you, a task that will require all of your… unique talents.” Lady Lucille led Olivia through the throng of dancers, her grip firm on Olivia’s arm. They reached a secluded alcove, hidden from the prying eyes of the guests. The air here was thick with the scent of perfume and something else, something primal and intoxicating. “You see, Olivia,” Lady Lucille began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I have a… particular interest in those who find pleasure in serving others. Those who revel in their own submission, who find joy in fulfilling their master’s every whim.” Olivia’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew where this was going, and a part of her, a part she had desperately tried to suppress, thrilled at the prospect. Lady Lucille’s hand trailed down Olivia’s arm, her fingers lingering on the curve of her hip. “I’ve heard whispers,” she continued, her voice a seductive purr, “of a brilliant scientist who has a secret, a hidden desire for something… more.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, but she couldn’t deny the truth in Lady Lucille’s words. The dreams, the fantasies, the forbidden desires… they were all bubbling to the surface, threatening to consume her. “Don’t be afraid, Olivia,” Lady Lucille whispered, her breath warm against Olivia’s ear. “Embrace your desires. Embrace your submission. Embrace your diaper.” Her hand slipped under Olivia’s skirt, her fingers brushing against the damp warmth of the diaper. Olivia gasped, her body tensing, but a wave of pleasure washed over her, erasing all thoughts of resistance. Lady Lucille smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. “There you are, my little pet,” she purred. “Let me show you how truly wonderful it can be to serve.” Lady Lucille’s fingers trailed along the wet fabric of the diaper, making Olivia shiver with desire. She could feel her heart racing, her breathing shallow and ragged as the older woman continued to touch her. “You like that, don’t you?” Lady Lucille murmured in her ear, her breath hot and heavy. “Feeling my fingers on your wet diaper?” Olivia could only nod, too overwhelmed with pleasure to speak. She had never felt anything like this before – the combination of shame, excitement, and arousal was intoxicating. Lady Lucille’s other hand reached up to caress Olivia’s breast, her thumb circling the nipple through the fabric of her dress. “Such a good girl,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry. “So eager to please, so willing to submit.” Olivia felt herself sinking deeper into the pleasure, her mind clouded with thoughts of servitude and desire. She wanted nothing more than to please Lady Lucille, to do whatever she asked of her. “Take off your panties,” Lady Lucille commanded, her voice firm and authoritative. “Let me see your diaper.” Olivia’s hands trembled as she obeyed, sliding her panties down her legs and stepping out of them. She stood there, exposed and vulnerable, her diaper on display for Lady Lucille to see. “Such a good girl,” Lady Lucille murmured again, her hand reaching down to stroke the wet fabric of the diaper. “So obedient, so eager to please.” Olivia felt herself melting under the older woman’s touch, her body trembling with pleasure. She had never felt anything like this before, never experienced such intense arousal and submission. “Now, go back to the party,” Lady Lucille said, her voice still firm but with a hint of amusement. “But remember, you belong to me now. You are my pet, my submissive, my little girl in diapers.” Olivia nodded, her mind still reeling with pleasure and desire. She turned and walked back to the party, her diaper wet and heavy between her legs, her mind focused on Lady Lucille and the new world of pleasure she had opened up for her. The opulent ballroom dissolved into a hazy blur, replaced by the stark familiarity of Olivia’s bedroom. The helmet was gone, the echo of Lady Lucille’s seductive voice fading into a distant memory. Olivia blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The sensation of the wet diaper between her legs remained, a tangible reminder of the dream’s intense reality. A wave of shame washed over her, followed by a pang of longing. She touched her cheeks, still flushed from the dream’s passionate encounter, and the denial rose within her. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head fiercely. “This isn’t me. It can’t be.” Yet, the memory of Lady Lucille’s touch, her whispered promises of pleasure and submission, lingered in Olivia’s mind like a tempting siren song. The logical part of her, the scientist, rebelled against these newfound desires. But another part, a darker, more primal aspect, yearned to succumb to the forbidden thrill. Lucille watched Olivia’s internal struggle with amusement. “Still clinging to your illusions, my dear?” she asked, her voice a silky thread weaving through the silence. “Denial is a powerful tool, but it won’t shield you from the truth forever.” Olivia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “This is wrong,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re manipulating me, twisting my mind.” Lucille tilted her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Am I, Olivia?” she countered. “Or am I simply revealing what’s been hidden within you all along?” Olivia’s resolve wavered, her mind caught in a tug-of-war between reason and desire. She longed to believe that this was all a twisted game, a cruel trick played by a manipulative demon. But deep down, a gnawing doubt gnawed at her. “You’re lying,” she insisted, her voice a desperate plea for reassurance. “This isn’t who I am.” Lucille’s smile widened, her eyes glittering with triumph. “We’ll see about that, my dear,” she purred. “The night is young, and we have so much more to explore.” The helmet’s familiar weight settled upon Olivia’s head, and the world around her dissolved once more. This time, she found herself in a brightly lit playroom, filled with toys and colorful decorations. But the atmosphere was far from cheerful. Olivia was seated in a high chair, a bib tied around her neck, a half-eaten bowl of mush in front of her. She wore a baby blue onesie, and a thick diaper bulged between her legs. A stern-faced woman in a nanny uniform stood before her, a spoonful of mush hovering in the air. “Eat up, Olivia,” she commanded, her voice firm but laced with a hint of amusement. “Big girls need to finish their dinner if they want to grow up strong and healthy.” Olivia scowled, pushing the spoon away with a petulant whine. “I don’t wanna,” she mumbled, her voice thick with defiance. Nanny Lucille’s smile tightened. “Oh, but you will,” she insisted, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “You’re a naughty little girl who needs to learn some manners. And I know just the way to teach you.” She set the spoon aside and reached for a wooden paddle hanging on the wall. Olivia’s eyes widened in alarm as Nanny Lucille approached, the paddle held menacingly in her hand. “This will teach you a lesson, young lady,” Nanny Lucille declared, her voice dripping with mock disapproval. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before disobeying your nanny.” The paddle connected with Olivia’s bottom, a sharp sting that sent a shockwave through her body. Tears welled up in her eyes, but a strange heat bloomed in her core, a mixture of pain, humiliation, and a forbidden thrill. Nanny Lucille continued her discipline, each strike of the paddle igniting a conflicting symphony of sensations within Olivia. She whimpered and cried, yet a part of her reveled in the punishment, her body responding with a growing warmth and a tingling arousal. “There, there,” Nanny Lucille cooed, her voice a soothing balm as she set the paddle aside. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now, are you going to be a good girl and finish your dinner?” Olivia nodded meekly, her cheeks flushed with shame and a strange excitement. She opened her mouth as Nanny Lucille scooped up another spoonful of mush, a flicker of defiance still burning in her eyes, yet her body already yielding to the intoxicating power of submission. The playroom scene dissolved, leaving Olivia blinking in the dim light of her bedroom once more. The helmet was gone, the echo of Nanny Lucille’s stern voice and the sting of the paddle fading into a disturbing memory. She was still in her onesie, the diaper heavy and warm between her legs. The lingering sensation of the spanking, a mix of humiliation and a strange warmth, sent a shiver down her spine. “Well?” Lucille’s voice cut through the silence, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Did you enjoy your little lesson, my dear?” Olivia recoiled, her cheeks burning with shame and confusion. “No,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “This isn’t me. It can’t be.” Lucille chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. “Oh, but it is, my dear,” she purred. “These are your dreams, Olivia. Your desires. Your fantasies.” Olivia shook her head vehemently, her eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” she insisted. “This is just some twisted trick you’re playing on me. I’m not like this.” Lucille leaned closer, her eyes boring into Olivia’s. “Are you so sure?” she challenged. “Why else would you dream of such things? Why else would your body respond with such… enthusiasm?” Olivia’s resolve wavered. She couldn’t deny the strange pleasure she had experienced in the dream, the conflicting emotions that had stirred within her. Could Lucille be right? Were these truly her hidden desires, her deepest fantasies? “Don’t fight it, Olivia,” Lucille whispered, her voice a seductive caress. “Embrace it. Embrace your true self. Embrace your little girl side.” Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat. A part of her, a small, vulnerable part, yearned to believe Lucille. Yearned to surrender to the comfort and security of being a helpless little girl in a diaper. But another part of her, the scientist, the rational thinker, screamed in defiance. This couldn’t be her. This couldn’t be what she wanted. Lucille watched Olivia’s internal struggle with amusement. “The choice is yours, my dear,” she purred. “You can continue to deny your true desires, or you can embrace them. The decision is yours.” The helmet’s familiar chill once again enveloped Olivia’s head, and her surroundings dissolved into a swirling vortex. This time, she found herself standing on a sun-drenched beach, the warm sand between her toes, the salty breeze tousling her hair. But something was different. Olivia was clad in a bright pink bikini, her body tanned and toned. Yet, beneath the skimpy fabric, a thick diaper bulged prominently, its outline unmistakable. A giggle escaped her lips as she ran towards the sparkling waves, the diaper crinkling with every step. A group of friends waved to her from the shore, their laughter echoing across the beach. Olivia plunged into the water, relishing the cool embrace of the ocean. But as she swam, a strange sensation spread through her diaper – a warmth, a wetness, a sense of fullness. Emerging from the waves, Olivia felt a pang of excitement mixed with a hint of embarrassment. She knew her diaper was soaked, but instead of shame, a thrill coursed through her veins. She waddled back to her friends, the diaper sagging heavily between her legs. To her surprise, her friends didn’t mock or tease her. Instead, they showered her with compliments, their eyes filled with admiration. “You look so cute in that diaper, Olivia!” one of them exclaimed. “It’s like you’re a little baby again.” Olivia giggled, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. The feeling of the wet diaper against her skin, the attention from her friends, the undeniable thrill of being babied – it was all so intoxicating. She spent the rest of the day playing in the sand, building sandcastles and splashing in the waves, her diaper growing heavier and messier with each passing hour. But the discomfort was outweighed by the sheer joy of embracing her newfound freedom, of reveling in the childish abandon that the diaper represented. As the sun began to set, Olivia’s friends gathered around her, their faces glowing with warmth and acceptance. “We love you, Olivia,” they chorused, their voices filled with genuine affection. “And we love your diapers.” Olivia beamed, her heart swelling with happiness. This was it, she realized. This was what she truly wanted. The freedom to embrace her childish side, to revel in the comfort and security of a diaper, to be loved and accepted for who she was, messy diaper and all. As the beach scene began to fade, a realization dawned upon Olivia. This wasn’t just a dream; it was a reflection of her deepest desires, her hidden yearnings. The joy she had felt, the acceptance, the pure, unadulterated pleasure of embracing her childish side – it was all real, all hers. Lucille, sensing the shift in Olivia’s demeanor, paused mid-motion, the helmet hovering inches above her head. “What is it, my dear?” she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. Olivia’s eyes snapped open, her gaze meeting Lucille’s with newfound clarity. The shame, the denial, the confusion – it all melted away, replaced by a sense of liberation. “I see it now,” Olivia whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “I see what you’ve been trying to show me all along.” A slow smile spread across Lucille’s face, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Do you, my dear?” she purred. “And what is it that you see?” Olivia took a deep breath, the words pouring out of her like a dam bursting. “I see that I’m not the person I thought I was. I’m not just a scientist, a rational thinker. I’m also a little girl, a playful, curious, sometimes messy little girl who loves her diapers.” Lucille nodded, her smile widening. “Yes, my dear,” she affirmed. “That’s exactly who you are.” Olivia continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. “I see that I don’t have to hide anymore. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. I can embrace my desires, my fantasies, my love for diapers.” Lucille lowered the helmet, her touch gentle as she removed it from Olivia’s head. “You are free, Olivia,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and encouragement. “Free to be yourself. Free to be the little girl you’ve always been.” Olivia smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up her face. She looked down at her diaper, no longer a source of shame, but a symbol of her newfound freedom. “Thank you, Lucille,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you for showing me the truth.” Lucille returned the smile, her eyes filled with affection. “You’re welcome, my dear,” she said. “Now, go and play. Be the little girl you were always meant to be.” And with that, Olivia, clad in her onesie and diaper, skipped out of the room, her heart filled with joy and a newfound sense of self-acceptance. A wave of euphoria washed over Olivia as she skipped down the hallway, her diaper swishing with every step. But as she rounded a corner, a sense of unease crept over her. The familiar decor of her house seemed off, the colors too vibrant, the proportions distorted. A chilling realization struck her: this wasn’t real. She was still dreaming, still trapped in the illusion crafted by Lucille’s insidious device. The joy she had felt moments ago turned to dread as she understood the implications. “Lucille!” she cried out, her voice echoing through the empty hallway. “This is a dream! I know it is!” A giggle echoed behind her, and Lucille materialized from the shadows, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Very clever, my dear,” she purred. “But even in your dreams, you can’t escape the truth.” Olivia whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest. “Let me out of here!” she demanded, her voice a mixture of fear and defiance. Lucille raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, but you are out, my dear,” she countered. “You’re right where you belong.” With a flick of her wrist, Lucille removed the helmet from Olivia’s head. The dream world shattered, the vibrant colors fading into the familiar darkness of the bedroom. Olivia found herself back in the crib, her onesie damp and clinging to her skin. The realization of her predicament, the undeniable truth of her desires, hit her like a tidal wave. “No,” she whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes. “This can’t be real. This can’t be who I am.” Suddenly, the world around Olivia transformed once again, the familiar chill of the helmet pressing against her temples as she entered a new dream realm. This time, she found herself in a lavish bedroom, the air filled with the sweet scent of jasmine and musk. The room was dimly lit, casting a seductive glow over the scene unfolding before her. Lucille stood before her, a sultry smile playing on her lips as she gazed at Olivia with hunger in her eyes. Lucille was dressed in a sheer robe that barely concealed her curves, the fabric clinging to her skin in all the right places. Olivia’s heart raced at the sight, a mixture of desire and trepidation swirling inside her. “Welcome, my dear Olivia,” Lucille purred, her voice sending shivers down Olivia’s spine. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Olivia’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight before her. She was no longer the innocent student or in a classroom or a maid in a ball; she was now a willing participant in a seductive game of pleasure and submission. Lucille approached Olivia, her hand reaching out to caress Olivia’s cheek with a feather-light touch. Olivia’s skin tingled at the contact, her body responding to the intimate gesture. “You’re such a good girl, Olivia,” Lucille whispered, her words a tantalizing promise of what was to come. “Let me take care of you.” With a deft movement, Lucille lowered Olivia to the plush bed, her hands expertly undoing Olivia’s clothing until she was left in nothing but her soaked diaper. Olivia’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal, a heady mix of emotions swirling inside her. Lucille’s touch was electric as she traced a path down Olivia’s body, her fingers dancing over the wet fabric of the diaper. Olivia couldn’t help but moan at the sensation, her body arching instinctively towards Lucille’s touch. “Such a naughty girl,” Lucille murmured, her voice a husky whisper. “Let’s see just how wet you can get for me.” With skillful fingers, Lucille began to rub Olivia’s pussy through the diaper, eliciting gasps of pleasure from Olivia’s lips. The fabric became slick with Olivia’s arousal, the friction sending waves of pleasure through her body. But Lucille wasn’t done yet. She produced a vibrator, the buzzing sound filling the room with anticipation. Placing it against the soaked diaper, she teased Olivia with the vibrating sensation, driving her wild with need. Olivia’s hips moved involuntarily, aching for more stimulation, more release. Lucille watched with a wicked gleam in her eyes, enjoying the sight of Olivia squirming under her touch. “Such a good girl,” Lucille cooed, increasing the intensity of the vibrator against the soaked fabric. Olivia’s moans grew louder, her body on the edge of ecstasy. And then, with a devious smile, Lucille presented a giant teddy bear, its plush form inviting and enticing. She guided Olivia’s hips towards the bear, urging her to hump the soft toy with abandon. Olivia couldn’t resist the overwhelming urge, the combination of the vibrator, the soaked diaper, and the commanding presence of Lucille pushing her towards a mind-blowing climax. She rode the teddy bear with abandon, her body shaking with pleasure as she reached the peak of ecstasy. As Olivia’s body trembled with release, the sensations washing over her like a tidal wave, she felt a sense of liberation unlike anything she had experienced before. In that moment, she let go of all inhibitions, all reservations, and surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure of the dream. The room faded away as the helmet was lifted from Olivia’s head, leaving her breathless and exhilarated. The memory of the dream lingered, a potent mix of desire and arousal that left Olivia questioning everything she thought she knew about herself. Lucille leaned over the crib, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “But it is real, my dear,” she purred, echoing Olivia’s words from moments before she went into her dream. “And it is exactly who you are.” She reached into the crib, her fingers gently tracing the outline of Olivia’s soaked diaper. “You see, Olivia,” she continued, her voice a soothing melody, “your tears, your denial, it was all part of the process. You were fighting against the truth, clinging to an outdated image of yourself.” Lucille’s touch sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine, a strange mixture of shame and pleasure. “But now,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “you’ve seen the light. You’ve experienced the joy, the freedom, the pure bliss of embracing your inner little girl.” Olivia’s gaze fell to her diaper, the physical manifestation of her surrender. A tear rolled down her cheek, but this time, it wasn’t a tear of despair. It was a tear of acceptance, of release. She had fought against the truth for so long, but now, finally, she understood. This was who she was, this was what she wanted. And as the tears streamed down her face, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was a little girl, a messy, playful, diaper-loving little girl. And she was finally home with Mummy Lucille. The End. You can read more of my stories on my deviantart page or my site.
  2. Chapter 1: For Her Good I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters The problem was that she had three roommates. Yet, Sir always said that never being alone was for her good. Sir said it just like that, in a text message, in response to her worrying. Sir said that life goes on. Sir said that... I will not bury the lead. I will not sugarcoat it. Consent culture rightly necessitates that I lay this more bare than anything. We are trying to change your life. Remind yourself once again, Mari. Are we entering this agreement purely for sensation? It was conversations like these that made Mari blush more than the details of their agreement. Sir's language stripped Mari like she'd brought a bomb through TSA. Sir had so effectively undressed her fantasies and fears, in these months, Sir had so quickly probed and unwound her proclivities, that she still felt like a child going to a parent with something as trivial as a hopelessly knotted shoelace. Except that in the case of Sir, she'd shown up presenting her tangled up psyche. Sir had unraveled her problems just the same. Sir had found her mental G-spot with the precision and command of an award-winning chiropractor. Sir never had to say things like: You will cum for me now. Instead Sir would just say: ahhh...that got you there, didn't it? And Sir, as if they were in Mari's head and not in her phone, would always be right. Big girls would respond with more than just emojis, wouldn't they? Sir's presence was digital yet encompassing. Texted but seemingly scriptural. No manager, professor, teacher, or other esteemed individual in her life had so thoroughly outclassed her. She was a rowboat bobbing beside a cruise ship, when Sir's messages crowned her phone banner. Never before had she been so blissfully cowed. Nothing crossed her mind that Sir had not thought of first. No mental caverns existed that Sir could not, with just a few whispers, lead her out of. I understand what you mean. Know this. You are the brave one. You are facing who you are. Take your sense of unworthiness, Mari. Let us say that you're the fuckup. The dropout, the girl with the dead end job. The under-performer. Let's pretend that your three roommates are indeed smarter, better grown-ups than you. Let us say that you've screwed up every relationship you've been in because you're a needy crybaby. Let's own that, Mari. Let's ball it up – put it in a diaper. Change it often enough and it won't leak. If we do this, perhaps none of your faults will leak into your worthiness either. *** A few days before the beginning of her agreement, the first cardboard box (Sir said that there would be very many), lay unopened beside her bed. The box was tucked between her bedside table and the closet, wedged in the space so that she could not even exit her bed to that side without crushing it. It stood out little among the messiness of her room – another token of fuckupery that even Sir did not know about. Even her roommates called her Monster Mari for the way underwear, socks, and clothes were piled on the floor. At her best, she told herself that it was organized. That there was a method to Monster Mari. At her worst, she knew the panties were going in a shoebox, destined for the mail. For Your Good. Just days away from the beginning of her agreement. Sir's last question burned on the phone. Is this thing we are about to do purely sensational? She shot off a message. "No Sir," she said. She knew it was a little girl's answer, and that Sir wouldn't be pleased. Sir was going to coach her through her fears, once again, and in the end Sir would be right. Mari rolled over and groaned. Sir had owned her orgasms almost since they'd begun messaging. She'd almost begged Sir to take them; without prompting, one night when they were first messaging each other. Before diapers and all that took over their DMs. She'd just asked for permission, Sir ignored it. She'd asked again, hot, her fingers moving fast. The question had prompted another lecture from Sir – one of the hottest things she'd ever experienced. Sir would do no half measures. Sir played no games. Permission now is meaningless without a totality, Mari. And I won't get into something so serious, so flippantly. That night, she'd wanted it. "Can I?" she asked. Again and again. Mari. You can do whatever you like tonight. We can have a serious conversation about it, and I would like to. But we will not have it now. They'd had that conversation just a few days later. Mari, for all her distractibility, for all her reprimands at work for not being on the phones long enough, for not working as hard as she could be, had never been more focused on a thing in her life. Selling her pussy to Sir was a divine urgency; it was the only thing that could get her heart to stop beating through her ribs. She sat on calls at work, at her desk in her Monster Mari room, one hand constantly between her thighs. I have a standard for this, Mari. This isn't my first rodeo. You will only cum with my permission. When I command you to go to your room to play and cum, you will do so. I will not ask when this would be disruptive. Though it may not be what you want, I will always ask For Your Good. Honesty is up to you. You can have sex with any person and any outcome is acceptable, so long as you report it to me afterwards. The last part always struck her as odd. Almost disappointing. She was hoping at least for something savage. Anal chastity, the purchase of some grotesque implement to rail herself on camera. It took her months to test Sir's nugget of freedom. When she returned to Sir with reports of a cocktail-soaked conquest, she was surprised about how happy Sir was for her. "Aren't you...I used YOUR pussy like that? You know?" Use big girl words. "Aren't you jealous?" I get to talk to you as much as I do. You don't know who I am. I have no right to feel jealous. And least of all no cause. I'm proud of you. "But it's YOUR pussy and I just...used it..." It was a guy, right? And he fucked you? "Yah. It wasn't, like, amazing. But yeah." And did he cum inside of you? This sort of question, with anyone else, would have made her roll her eyes. But with Sir it piqued her. She was once again disrobed with a text and it took great discipline for her to not respond with an emoji. "Well...in a condom. But yeah." That's what pussies are for, Mari. I am like an underwriter for your car, if you had one. I would not be displeased if you drove your car. I would, however, like to know if you were spinning donuts in a parking lot with it. Think of it this way. Your pussy doesn't belong to me. Rather, it simply does not belong to you. We do not live in a world where a public pillory to display your entries is safe or acceptable. But know this. The world is a better place when you have been mounted and used. In the same way that the world is better when food is eaten and not left to spoil, just so I hope that those who want to enter you, may. It is the same with your eventual diapering. When the day comes, Mari. You are not giving up your adulthood. You are simply accepting that everyone – everyone – is more adult than you. She remembered thinking about this for a while, and almost forgetting to ask for permission. "Will this be the case when I'm in diapers?" Yes, of course. "Will I get an exception for my diapers when it comes to...sex?" Do you want an exception? "No..." Then why does a little girl ask this question?
  3. Chapter 1 I came across the ad on a site I used to market my services. I had finished university with a decent degree, but struggled to get a well paid job and had slipped into ‘escort’ work through a friend who was in the same line of 'business'. I gradually started to specialise in kinkier aspects of the scene: partly because the money was better but also because the customers were, on the whole, nicer. I was doing okay, but the ad certainly caught my interest. “Well remunerated, long-term contract for a petit young woman with an interest in submissive role/age play.” I ticked all the boxes. I was only 5’1”, slim and an A cup bra size. I certainly had a preference for the submissive role and had quite extensive experience as a sub. Not so much on age-play, but the thought of it didn’t bother me at all. I called the number and a female voice answered. “Hello. This is Marie, can I help you?” “I’m calling about the advert for a young woman” I replied. “Ah, excellent. What’s your name?” I told her that my name was Louise Howe. “And what’s your current position?” I gave an outline of my current circumstances in terms of work, accommodation, personal life and location. Marie took it all on board and, when she felt the phone call had gone as far as it could, gave me a web link to send a few photos, “just regular pics - no need for nudes - but make sure there’s at least a couple of full length shots”. The next step, assuming my photos passed muster, would be an interview and selection process which would take three days in a location to be advised. I was told that all expenses would be taken care of and a fee paid for my time. The fee suggested was more than I’d earn in a month, so I had no hesitation in confirming my interest. She said I’d hear one way or the other in a couple of days and that was that. After finishing the call I poured a glass of red wine and thought about what had transpired. Marie had seemed nice, her tone had been very matter-of-fact - I could have been applying for a position as an accounts clerk. There was nothing to put me off so I sent off a few recent pics with the details she had asked for and then it was back to work, checking my messages on the adultwork website. A message was waiting from a man in London on business, staying at the Savoy Hotel. He was looking for a submissive and had left a mobile number. I rang the number and he answered straight away. He said he was at the hotel and was ready for a session right now. Charing Cross was about fifteen minutes on the tube so I said I could be there in about half an hour. He agreed my rates and gave me his name, Simon, and room number. He said to go through to the American Bar and call him when there. Before calling off he asked that I wore modest dress, but with a fairly short skirt and I was happy to inform him I’d not need to change! I have to admit that I was feeling pretty good on my journey in. The American Bar is, if a little pricey, fabulous and, with the best cocktails in London, I was hoping for a drink before we got down to business. On arriving in the bar I gave him a call. He was sat at the bar and waved at me as his phone rang. He looked like a nice guy, probably mid-50s, smartly dressed. He offered me a drink and I ordered a Coffee Black Velvet and then we moved to a more private table. After asking about my trip in it was down to business. He said that he wanted me to be his baby for the evening. I’d be wearing and using nappies and, as a baby, have no ‘agency’ at all. I’d be at the mercy of him as my daddy with the backup of a safe word. If I was comfortable with this he’d pay me for an overnight session. If not we’d have a one-hour session and he’d pay me for two hours. I’d had some experience with the adult baby scene before and it had always been fun, so I agreed to the overnight session. We finished our drinks and I went with him to his room. A “Do Not Disturb” sign was hung from his door handle and as we entered the room I could see why. There were packs of nappies, baby bottles, dummies, and clothes. A changing mat was on the bed and there was a cot in a corner of the room. “I told them that my wife and baby daughter might be here this evening, so they made a cot up for me”. I had to admire his preparations. “Time for your nappy, Louise”.
  4. In a certain sense, incontinence is like an empty gas tank. At some point you're driving and something has to be done about it and if you don't, you're going to be waylaid. Often it's smart to pre-empt the needs of your tank. The only difference is the obvious, that being empty and being full mean quite different things when it comes to gas tanks and diapers. I have, unfortunately, been known to run on fumes. In other senses, incontinence is like trying to keep a sandcastle from slumping and oozing into the dunes of the beach. Too wet or too dry, your magnificent plans are always coming back down to mush. Sometimes I describe it as a constant choose-your-own-adventure picture book. Except that it is one where almost all of the outcomes are bad (LEAKED - WOMP WOMP), where every 'picture' is a dark spot on my ass. I have, unfortunately, been known to be as bad at incontinence as I am bad at continence. But this story isn't about incontinence. Well it is, don't get me wrong. I don't have any stories about myself that don't include a diaper. This is about refilling the tank. This is about keeping the sandcastle up. This is about finding that final, glorious page of the picture book where something other than 'GET WET, LOSER' is written. I live with my boyfriend, whose name is Pete. He likes me for every other reason than my babyishness, but he likes that too. He doesn't mind that I'm too fraidy-scared to drive. He is totally okay that half of our cabinets are filled with sippy cups and disney plates – the ones with the little dividers and princess painted on them. He doesn't mind that I occasionally, without even noticing, shove my thumb into my mouth, though he does make me take it out for a pacifier if I do. He doesn't mind that I screech when I see a bug, though to be fair, who really really likes bugs anyway? It started in the middle of the night. I woke up confused and disoriented. I both knew why I was awake and at the same time, I couldn't figure it out. What was that, down there, on my butt? Is it Pete kicking me in his sleep? Is Gubbles, our cat, making biscuits on my tush? An intruder? Did the pillow get in between us to rest on my butt? What the... I realized that it was what it always was. The mess is what wakes me up. I never awaken with cramps with time to hop out of bed. That would be hopeless anyway. I'd probably just end up elbowing Pete in the face. After that, I'd trip on the covers. I'd step on Gubbles. I'd run headlong into the bathroom door. And despite all of the bumps and bruises and general carnage my midnight rush would cause, my diaper would still wind up heavy. No, any dramatic hope of getting to the potty is beyond me. I'm going to shit the bed and I'm going to find out after the fact. Now, the next thing here Daddy definitely should not know. I went back to sleep. I waited until the movement stopped and then I put a hand down there to feel it. It wasn't a ton. It wasn't anything in the emergency category. It really never is. I wear a special extra pad in the back part of the diaper for exactly this reason, and I usually don't need it. Sometimes I wrongly assess how much poop is really down there. Like I said, I'm not very good at being incontinent. Daddy – Pete – says that I should deal with it anyway, and no matter how disoriented he is, he is always willing to help no matter the hour. I know that I'm supposed to wake him up. But I also know that when poop does wind up in my diaper, like now, I'm supposed to wait. You never quite know when you're done. Well I don't, at least. So I crack my back and roll over to see if the smell or if the sounds of my toots have woken up Daddy, but they haven't. I tell myself I'm going to wait to see if there is more, and then I'll wake him up. I definitely don't want to wake him up for messy diapers twice in the same night, right? He has to work tomorrow, after all. So I wait, knowing full well that no matter how much poop is in the diaper right now, I'll have no trouble falling asleep...if I just don't...close...my...eyes... I wake up sometime later with a foreign hand on my hip. It's pushing me. Why? I wanna be here! Whyyy? Oh. I let it push me on my back. The dream I'm having surges back until I feel a cold feeling on my legs. The jammies are gone. Whyyy? I pull a hand towards my face and it gets most of the way there but then the dreams come back. Something about a beach...sandcastles...sandcastles melting and sand in my diaper... Not sand. I woke up to see Daddy. He's done more than push me on my back and take my jammies off. There is a new diaper on the corner of the bed. There is the powder and the wipes beside it. There is light coming from the lamp by the bed. I'm no longer by the pillows, I'm at the end of the bed. And there is something under my bum and I can feel the edge of it against my back. "Hi," I said. "Hi," he said. And that's all we needed to say. At some point my doodoo must have woken him up. Now my legs were up, now they were down again. In his tiredness he forgot the cold wipe countdown and I squealed. He didn't say sorry, but he put a hand on my tummy and told me that it was okay. I woke up again sometime later. The smell of poopy was all gone. I didn't even remember the rest of the diaper change. I didn't remember him taking the diaper downstairs to the bathroom with the genie. He didn't like putting the dirty ones in the upstairs genie. I don't remember him going in and washing his hands or spraying the febreeze or turning the fan on or opening the window, though now I could hear the constant tread of heavy rubber tires on the street below. I don't remember him coming back to bed, or if he kissed me on the forehead or tummy once as he did. But he was next to me. His back was turned. I moved to snuggle into him. I don't make a very good big spoon but I like to try. As I do, I realize that the butt of my diaper is stiff and bloated. I try to tell myself that it's not bad enough for Daddy to change me before breakfast, but I know that he probably will if he sees it. I fall asleep again and don't wake up until his alarm goes off. I get up fast. I'd fallen asleep too fast during my nighttime change for Daddy to put my jammies back on, so I found them in the laundry basket and put them back on. I realized that they still kind of smelled but I honestly didn't care. Carliah is a pooper, that's what it is, and poopy probably isn't done with me today yet anyway. Oh no. It wasn't. It definitely wasn't. That's why I'm telling this story. I try to sneak out of the bedroom once the jammies are over my diaper. It's even wetter than it was when I woke up and snuggled earlier. Even worse, the pee pee smells because it's been since the evening since I had any wa-wa. Thinking of that, I find my baba on the bedside table and take a slurp. I figured I'd have a quick sip and then go down to fill it with cold water. All so I can stay away from Daddy and enjoy my pee pee diaper for a little longer. But the slurps from the bottle turn out to be an oopsie, and Daddy wakes up. "Come here," he said, after aching and stretching under the covers. His eyes aren't open yet. One of his hands flops to the edge of the bed and beckons me. I try to ignore his command. "Hi Daddy!" I say. "Hi Carliah," he said. "Come here." "I'm thirsty." "Come here." I try to step around him anyway. I don't want a change and I know it's on his mind. My diaper crunches under my jammies, though, and despite his eyes being closed, he can hone in on my location with ease. His hand lashes out and grasps my back until it closes around my wrist. Rats. "Daddy!" I say, trying to sound as meek as I can. It's probably a miscalculation. Sounding small will only make Daddy harder under the covers, and a hard Daddy means, paradoxically, a dry Carliah. At least in this situation. I'm certainly wet in a brand new way as I feel his fingers enclose around my arm. I'm too horny to yank myself away. But I do try to turn towards him. I can feel where the pee is and its where it usually is – in the back. If he's lazy and he just pats the front he might not lay me down on the bed. But even if he's grunting with every movement of his body. Even if every joint cracks as he slugs his way to the edge of the mattress. Even as yellow gunk falls off his eyelids. Daddy doesn't settle for just patting the front. He tells me to spin around and presses in the shield of the diaper. His hand does not find the crunchy plastic of a dry diaper. Not even close. He leans forward and sniffs. "Daddy!" I say. "Are you pooped?" "No I'm not pooped Daddy," I say. "Smells like it," he says. I think for a second. Sometimes, poop can take me by surprise simply because I'm just so used to it being down there. But I don't think that it's the case this time. I came up with a reason. "I put my jammies back on," he said. "Okay," he says. There is a pause. "Lay down." "Daddy!" "You're too wet." "Daddy!" I say, tugging on his grip. He doesn't release and I'm still too horny to really fight. I couldn't get away anyway if I did. Soon enough I'm on my back. Once again. Daddy, more awake now, decides to give me a morning lecture. "The weather is getting warmer," he says, pointing at the window. "You know how it gets in the summer, Carliah. You know that we need to stay on top of it." "I know." "So I don't want you to fight me. I want you to help stay on top of it too. Were you trying to sneak out of here with this diaper?" "No." "Carliah. Did you wake up when you did your poopy last night?" "No! Daddy, please!" "Carliah?" "What Daddy?" "Be good. And lift your butt. That's better." Daddy was right. It was getting warm, and Spring was coming through the windows. I didn't put my jammies back on. I wore one of Daddy's t-shirts and long socks past my knees and I sat down on the couch. I had to fix my diaper a little; it wasn't one of daddy's best tape-jobs, but I couldn't complain because I'd been fussy and he'd been groggy. Daddy made me toast and some eggs and laid them down on the coffee table. He had picked one of the baby plates, this one with Belle from Beauty and the Beast. He had made himself the same thing, complete with a coffee. He poured me juice, though, and put it in a sippy cup so I couldn't spill. "Aww, I forgot the apples," he said. "It's okay!" I said, popping up. "I can get them." Daddy looked at my diaper, which flashed before his t-shirt fell over it to cover it. "Thank you honey," he said. I walked over to the kitchen. I tucked a hand under my shirt to feel that yes, my diaper was still actually dry. I still missed my big wet diaper, but this felt good too. Like a full tank of gas. Like a newly washed car, complete with its own new smell of plastic and powder and lavender lotion. Like a brain that was freshly snoozed, with no weblike gunk between the ears, ready to think big smart thoughts through the whole day.. I leaned across the counter with both hands to grab two apples. Carliah Garcia is not someone blessed with hands big enough to hold two apples in one hand at the same time. Perhaps it was the way my tummy contorted against the marble countertop. Maybe it was my movement, or perhaps the prospect of food. Food is always a catalyst; mealtime becomes change-time. I'm rarely in a state to order dessert, if you know what I mean. Sometimes the check can't come soon enough. But today, all I needed was to reach for two apples. And then that new car smell was gone. It hit my diaper in a flash. Like someone had pulled open the back and dropped a fist-sized rock right into the seat. Pee surged out too, as if it had been waiting for the time to strike. It came out with a fart too. Daddy looked up at me. He had a big mouthful of toast. "Everything okay, honey?" I knew I was blushing. I knew he could probably hear what had happened too. I stood there, arms outstretched, with two apples. "Carliah?" "Should I wash the apples?" I asked. Daddy smiled. "Yes Carliah, of course. Just a quick rinse. But you don't have to cut them up." "Okay!" I said, inflecting my voice as positively as I could to avoid my embarrassment. And disappointment. I had just convinced myself that my clean diaper was cozy. I did as I was told for the apples. I did not do as I was told earlier about my accident. About how it was getting warmer and I needed to be responsible. Instead, I sat down on the couch. I'll tell you that as soon as I did, I was no longer sad that I'd ruined a clean diaper. It felt good. It wouldn't last long, of course, Daddy was right there and would smell it, surely. Honestly, it was a perfect diaper. Not enough pee or poop to leak, but just enough that I couldn't forget it. You could say that an incontinent lass like me has developed her own, refined tastes. I'd really be like this all day every day if I could. With every bite of my toast I wormed my but into the couch a little more, squishing it further. If Daddy wasn't there, I'd make rubbies for sure. But he wouldn't allow it. He wasn't cross, but he was more in the mood for a lecture than indulgence. I expected him to give me a lecture about how I was supposed to get used to changing it myself this summer when he caught me. But he didn't catch me. We finished our breakfasts. He got on his phone and read emails or texts, I couldn't tell which. When I was done eating, he took our plates away. While he was in the kitchen I snuck a few rubbies in. Just a little. When I heard his footsteps again I stopped quickly, but the feeling was too good. I brought my heel against the crotch of my diaper and dug it in. I examined my split ends while gently rocking on my foot. I assumed it was change-time when he came by to kiss me on the head, but once again, he didn't lift my shirt and he did not begin to sniff around. Instead, he went back upstairs to get ready for work. I watched him disappear. Then I mounted the couch's armrest. I rode it almost all the way until I had an orgasm. But Daddy's feet appeared at the top of the stairs and I had to throw myself off on the couch. My diaper didn't feel so good anymore; the motion on the couch had distended and mushed it further. But I figured Daddy was taking me up to the bed and towel in just a moment, so it didn't matter. "Watcha doing?" he asked. He stopped beside the couch. He could probably see my diaper, but it didn't matter now. I was kinda hoping for that change. "Nothin. Still sleepy." "Okay. You'll remember to look at the chore list we made last night, right?" "Yes Daddy." "And I'll be home for lunch, as usual." "Yes Daddy." He took a step around the couch. I was sure he was going to lift his shirt off of me and patt my bum. But he didn't. He pulled my hair aside and gave me a big wet kiss on the cheek. "Anything else, honey?" "Hm?" "Are you all good?" I don't know how long it took me to respond. It felt like forever. But since he gave me another kiss, it couldn't have been that long. "I'm good, Daddy," I said. And then he turned and left out the door, smiling at me as he shut it and locked it behind him. To say that I was quite in shock was an understatement. Sure, the poop in my diaper wasn't the biggest ever, but it wasn't nothing. It was definitely poop and there was no way that Daddy would have missed it. It had been almost an hour since he'd grabbed my wrist beside the bed too, and he always checks me more than that. And then I realized that he knew. Of course he knew. And I lied. And he knew I lied. I ran upstairs and got my phone. It was a weird feeling, to move quickly with that much stuff smushed in there, but trust me, I've felt weirder. I found my phone under the covers and texted him. "Daddy," I wrote. "I messed up." "I just thought you were going to change it yourself." "But it's messsyyyyyyy," she said. "I think you can handle it." "Daddy!" "Daddy what?" "Daddy please?" Daddy came back in and marched up the stairs. I got the towel out for him, as well as the wipes and a new diaper. He put the diaper back in the drawer and procured a thinner one. "I want a thick diaper," I said, sucking my thumb. He batted my hand away. There was no time to find a pacifier, but he did scan the bed for one closeby anyway. "You're going to get a thinner diaper. If you leak, you're in trouble." "But I have to wait until you get home for lunch!" "Only if you don't change it yourself." There was no more discussion. I submitted to his wipes. He told me he was disappointed that I lied, and that we'd have a discussion about it later. He also reminded me of how much cream he'd needed to use last summer, and how much I whined about the rash. I took it all in silence. Soon enough, I was back in a thin diaper and alone until lunch. I was clean. I know what you'll think about this next part. You're going to say...Carliah, that's not real. You're going to say, Carliah, you're only five-foot-two. You didn't have steak and bloody marys, you didn't eat a whole damn piggy for dinner the night before. You even pooped twice yesterday – once around breakfastime, and once right after Daddy put you in a diaper after your shower (because that's how it goes sometimes). You might say, well... maybe this part is reasonable. Maybe it wasn't that much today, at breakfast, and maybe it wasn't that bad overnight too. Your Daddy wasn't late for work and didn't lose that much sleep, so maybe what happened next was not just reasonable, but predictable. All I can tell you is that I'm too little to know for sure. I don't know where the best place on the beach is to build a sandcastle. I don't, at the drop of a hat, know where the best gas station is to fill up a car in the city. I haven't, in fact, memorized the decision tree in the picture book so as to avoid all of the trap doors to an OOPSIE outcome. I'm a baby and shit happens. In fact, my opinion was that I was in the clear. I had, after all, filled my diapers quite hard that morning. Things were moving, and likely had moved. Prospects were as good as any. Chance of showers: minimal. Tornado warning? Pssh. Carliah was smooth sailing. Did Daddy give me a thinner diaper? Sure. Was I in trouble? Yeah, I was in trouble. But Daddy might forget. And Daddy didn't know that I'd got 95% of the way to orgasm on the couch. No permission. So I dodged most of the trouble anyway. The chores I had to do involved some errands. Cucumbers, more hand soap, more buttcream (always embarrassing to buy). Go to FedEX to get some postal thingy printed. Go pick out a card for Daddy's sister's birthday. There were other things. Phone calls about the house I had to make. And he wanted me to do some research on a vacation for the summer. But I figured that since my diaper was clean and dry, and thin to boot, and because the messes had just happened, that the best time of any to get out and about was right away. I said before I was bad at being incontinent. That I run on fumes. Honestly I don't know what else I could have done. Sometimes you're just toast. I took an Uber to the farthest place, which was the FedEx store. I got that taken care of, but while I was waiting I did a self check and rats, I was peed. Not too bad. I checked my bag just in case, and saw that I hadn't brought a diaper change. This didn't worry me. I often do that. Daddy never takes me out without one, but I often dip out without a dip. Especially on days like this, when the pee and poop came with the early birds. I went to a Hallmark to get a card. I started to feel something. It can sometimes be like that. Usually it's more like it was when I was grabbing the apples. When I have no idea I'm about to mess until it's in the diaper and still coming out. Sometimes, though, I get a tease. And sometimes it's a lie. I can't tell you how many diapers I've ruined going to the potty at the slightest feeling down there. It turns out to just be my period or my tummy or just, idk, the weird feelings you get just cause you're old. Or horniess. I've legitimately mistaken the feral need to fuck, so serious and debilitating that it feels like anxiety or a cramp, and sat on the potty because of it. I don't really know. Maybe it's just because I've had so little success pooping on the potty that I just don't know what normal, potty trained people feel like when they have to go. I think it's supposed to feel like what it feels like when a cock is coming out of your ass. Sorry. I know those of you anal fuckers probably think of it the other way. That a slipping cock feels like shitting. But I associate these things the opposite way, for obvious reasons. So I had a feeling. I thought it was horniness or the eggs. I suppose since I have ovaries, those two concepts aren't so different. I picked out a card without too much worry. I even squatted down to inspect the lowest ledge in the display. I worried more about the waistband of my pants and the sound of the crinkles than what was going on in my tum-tum. The feeling came and went, came and went. I trickled pee into the diaper, as usual, but nothing really progressed on the other end. In retrospect, I have to be a toddler – at best – to not have realized what was coming. Sometimes context, such as my messy morning, can be deceptive. Sometimes it might be better to think less, to understand less. My bottom made the need abundantly clear as I was about two back in the line to check out at Hallmark. It surged all of a sudden, like snow suddenly breaking off a roof. Like when you tip the cereal box too far to one side and the log jam breaks and the Lucky Charms all come cascading out. It was lucky. It was a miracle I caught it and clenched at all. More pee came out but I held my bum tight. I bit my lip and almost bent in half the card I wanted to buy. I looked behind me and saw a yoga mom idling through her phone, blissfully unaware of the jeopardy my diaper was in. I looked ahead, and an older lady was paying for her card in cash. Worse, she was paying not just in cash, but in exact cash. A coin rolled off the table onto the floor and the old lady looked at it wearily until the patron behind her stepped forward to pick it up. The situation was laughably hopeless. I almost laughed. There was no way I was paying without losing control. Daddy is gonna get hard when he hears about this. I thought about the edge of the couch, but I remembered that the diaper he gave me was small. And it wasn't close to lunch. And I was over a mile from home. It was getting warm. I still had chores to do. The feeling was a bit like trying to balance a basketball on your index finger. Drop it and...boom. Specifically, the feeling was a bit like trying to balance a basketball on your finger when you've never actually successfully balanced it before. So yeah. All it took was someone bursting through the automatic doors to make me drop the ball. They came in, turned, and shouted at someone idling in a car outside. Like any normal human being, I turned my head to see what was happening. I pooped my diaper for the third time since midnight. A man stepped up to counter and waved me over. "I can help you at this register, ma'am." The old lady was gone. It was still coming. I walked over. "Can you give it to me so I can scan it?" he asked me. Still coming. "Oh, yeah." The yoga mom was behind me. Really closely for some reason. "Cash or credit?" It's like my diaper is growing a rudder. "Credit." "Okay, whenever you're ready." Still coming. Right? No, all done. Oh. Wait. Definitely still coming. "You can remove your card, ma'am." Ma'am! Ha! No. No I'm never going to be a ma'am. I walked home. It felt too disrespectful to get into an uber. I carried my printout from FedEx and my Hallmark card and I passed right by the grocery store. I'd do those chores later. I texted Daddy, but he was busy and did not reply. Daddy was right, it was getting warm. The sun was beating down on me and my bloated diaper. I tried to stand away from people at crosswalks, but they didn't know to avoid me and found their way beside me more than usual. I hoped that the wind would waft my scent away. Or that they'd blame it on a dog or the sewer. I couldn't decide whether to hurry or go slow. I wanted to get home as fast as possible, but I also didn't want to pass in front of other pedestrians. I preferred to let them pass me. But there were always more coming out of shops and around corners. Walking fast meant it squished more. Walking slow meant I was in the hot sun longer. About halfway home I was sweating so much I was sure I was leaking. The mess in my diaper seemed to heat up my groin until it almost became claustrophobic. I realized that I was waddling and tried to correct my gait, but after a few blocks I gave up. I realized that when I got home, I had nowhere to go. I still had chores around the house. But what was I going to do? Stay standing the whole time until Daddy came home? Or sit down in this hot mess? I wanted Daddy! I texted him again. No reply. Someone bumped into me and I bit my lip. Was it possible to run away from my own butt? "Daddy I'll be in all the trouble in the world but you have to meet me at home now and change my diaper!" "I'll do no cummies for a week! I'll let you spank me bunches and bunches. But I need a new diaper soooooo bad." Finally I made it home. A part of me was mad at Daddy. Still no reply! I took off all my clothes and checked my pants to see if there had been a leak. There wasn't. I looked in the mirror and got turned on and I hated it. There was no Daddy to do anything about it and I'd ruin the couch if I did my favorite thing again. Gahh! Daddy called me. "Daddy!" I yelled into the phone. "Are you home?" "No." "Are you coming home?" "Carliah. I stepped outside. Carliah. No. Please listen. You have to do it." "You don't understand I had a..." "Carliah..." "Daddy PLEASE!" "Carliah, let me talk. Or it really will be big trouble. Do you understand?" "Yes Daddy." "You've done it yourself for years. You know many people who do it themselves. You have incontinent friends who change it themselves. You can do it too. I know you can." "But Daddy I have you!" "Mhm. And you also have trouble." "That's good I understand any kind of trouble but..." "This is the trouble. The kind of trouble involved in growing up. You're changing it yourself, Carliah. No, I know you made a big mess. Of course I love you. But I'm not coming home from lunch. Do you understand? Carliah? Carliah?" *** Peter arrived home at approximately six in the evening. He hadn't heard a peep from Carliah all day since she hung up the phone. He wasn't mad. No, far from it. He was curious. He didn't mind that she probably resented him, and that it would be absurd for her to resent him. After all, him making a twenty minute drive to wipe her butt, wolf down lunch, and drive back to work every day was a bit absurd. It was just so hot. It pained him not to do it. He really did like that he always changed her. She was so...dependent that way. But it was unsustainable. Both time wise and health wise. She needed to relearn the responsibility to clean up her own messes now and then. Not always, but often. He would have work trips. He would leave her on her own. She would need to deal with it. What was he saying? Carliah was over thirty. Carliah was fine. Carliah was getting spanked big time. She was getting soaped and he was going to make her use her mouth to great lengths to apologize to him. So he opened the door with a devilish grin. What he saw made his jaw drop. There was Carliah, her breasts out, her face panting and delirious. Her long dark hair was disheveled. She was wearing nothing but one sock and a diaper. Not even a bra. Her glasses were hung down to the very edge of her nose, and it hardly seemed to matter because her eyes were glazed and cross eyed. "Carliah!" She was perched atop the armrest of the couch. On foot on the couch, the other hanging off. Both hands pressed against her crotch. Sweat dripped down and Peter noticed her hair was stuck to her face. His eyes, stuck for a little while on her erect, raw nipples, made their way down to her hands. She had changed her diaper. No...she hadn't. He looked closer at the waistband. The waistbands. The many, many, many waistbands upon waistbands. "Carliah..." Carliah didn't acknowledge him. She rocked back and forth. What he smelled made his eyes go wide. Peter pushed through it and stepped up to the edge of the couch. Carliah was almost taller this way. She rocked back and forth, the massive balloon of plastic around her waist squeaking and crinkling as she moved. He closed his eyes and kissed her. Her mouth and breath were warm. "Daddy," she whispered, almost as quiet as a breath. She cracked a weak, delirious smile. Like she knew what was about to happen to her. Like she understood that the only place deeper and more full of poop than the septupled diaper she was wearing was the hole of trouble she'd just landed in. "I put new diapers on, Daddy. Like you said. Am I a good baby?" "You are...a baby," he told her.
  5. Hello babies! It's been a long time since I posted updates and it's because I've been working on a new project called "Mia's Stories". I've been working on this game for many months and I hope you really like everything I've done. What is Mia's Stories? Mia's Stories is the last project I'm working on and it's going to consist of several ABDL games in the same launcher. I am currently developing Hypnosis, the first Mia's Stories game. What is Hypnosis about? Hypnosis is about a young woman named Clara who has had urinary incontinence since she was little, however lately she has stopped having accidents at night and is finally going to be able to stop wearing diapers. However, her mother de ella has gotten used to having her little baby de ella pampered by her and she is not going to let her stop wearing diapers, so through different methods her mother de ella will make her wear a diaper again. You can download the demo from Itch.io and if you want the latest version of the game you can download it on Patreon. Of course I will be developing more content for Hypnosis. When I make an update I will publish a changelog in this post, you can also see all the changelogs on patreon for free. --------------------------------------------------- Demo Link (Itch.io): Here Download Link (Patreon): Here --------------------------------------------------- Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/ABDLMiah Discord: https://discord.gg/Bn8JKDvCzZ ---------------------------------------------------
  6. A/N: IMPORTANT TO NOTICE Hey all! I hope you're all doing well! Do not worry! I am still working on my other stories but had started this a while ago and felt like I should post it! Just a warning in the beginning that this story will contain a lot of non-con, sexual content and humiliation. If this makes you uncomfortable than I suggest you don't read it! I love seeing comments so I'd love to see everyone's comments! ooOoo Summary: When a young new independent journalist decides to write about something other than the typical run of the mill stories, she is introduced into a new life, just not in the way she expected. ooOoo Chapter 1: MommyslittleBiggurls.com 22 December 2021 Hello Friends! It sure has been a while! I hope you’re all doing well on this frosty morning. Here in Montana, we’re certainly going to have a white Christmas. Sugar and Cookie sure are excited to see Santa and have been extra careful to be good girls; always asking for the potty like good little girls, eating all of their veggies at dinner and making sure to drink all of their babas full of yummy milk! I’m sure you all are experiencing the same with your little ones at the moment, even the disobedient can’t ignore the happy cheer of Christmas. I really can’t believe it’s only been three months since we first adopted our newest little girl, Honey! Of course with new littles, it’s always an adventure and Sugar and Cookie are being the best big sisters they can be! It can be hard, especially around the holidays to deal with an un-regressed, naughty little so that brings me to the topic of today’s post: Punishments. If you're like me or are a new caregiver, it’s never easy training a new little and before they can be our sweet little babies, they will be literal demons! It is never fun but in order to nip that naughty behavior in the bum, punishment is required and it is not always as simple as quick spanking. Listed below, you will find three different punishments to try if you, like me, were at a loss. Punishments: Punishment 1: Corner time with a twist Depending on the severity of the naughty behavior, instruct your little one it's corner time for a certain amount of time. While many, if not all, will just find this incredibly boring and whine, there is a small twist. Listen carefully to these five steps: Take littles’ clothes away (that means no diapers/pullups/or undies as well!), Give a nice soapy cold enema to their bum-bum and insert a buttplug to ensure no dribbles Administer a firm spanking (I’ve found different objects such as a belt or hairbrush to be most effective!) Little will bend down or kneel in the corner with their bum-bum high in the air for everyone to see After a certain amount of time, if the little has not moved from their position, you will instruct the little to tell you what they did wrong and have them beg to release their bodily functions. If you are unsatisfied with their response, even more minutes will be added to corner time Punishment 2: Potty Time with Horsy Let’s get real, we’ve all struggled with littles refusing to go potty in their diapers or on the training toilet and it’s a pain to have to insert enemas and suppositories into screaming littles. That’s how I came up with horsy time. The rocking horse, while meant to be an object of amusement during playtime, can just as quickly be turned into an object of torture. What you need to do is listed below: The little will sit on the rocking horse in only their bottoms, whether that be a diaper or pull-up Place earphones on little and set to the wet diaper hypnosis Instruct the little to rock back and forth and do not stop no matter what and not to mess or wet themselves Plan a certain amount of time and come back when the time is up If the little is still rocking and is dry, they have earned the privilege to go potty. If not, horsy time is extended and the dirty diaper stays on another several hours The constant rhythmic motion combined with hypnosis at the same timing will put the littles right in the mood to have to relieve themselves. How they do it will no longer matter. The added pressure to keep a constant rocking in order to avoid further punishment will take a heavy toll on their mind as well and increase the need for positive behavior. Punishment 3: No Playtime with Teddy If you choose to allow your little to have any sexual release, this punishment can have a rewarding effect. As a human race, we are sexual beings but not everyone deserves or should have such an experience. Littles have gotten it into their minds that they should be allowed to have such experiences, but what do they know? They’re just littles. It is our job as caretakers to instruct and control their urges. If we leave them to their own devices, who knows what will happen? My little girls are allowed one play session a week with Mr. Teddy Bear to release all of their icky cummies by the hand of mommy and daddy. While Rosie and Cookie know being a good girl will lead to happy feelings, Honey is still learning. Orgasm and cum denial or “the tickles and ice cream dance” as we call it, are an excellent way to assert dominance and make them quickly realize who the real grownups are and who is in charge. Mittens or restraints are a must for untrained littles! You never know where their wandering hands will end up! Chastity belts are also a great device, especially if they get a little too excited during playtime and try humping (which is extremely discouraged!) IMPORTANT: It is important to enforce anything sexual is not allowed without the approval, observation, and act by grown-ups because you never know when littles might accidentally injure themselves! I hope you all enjoyed my little list and hopefully it helps you on your journey to having a regressed little! It may seem tough at times but we’ve all gone through it before (I currently am!) Stay tuned for next time and meanwhile, have a Merry Christmas! Love, Mommy Bree ooOoo The sound of the ding signaling the post had been successfully posted was a happy feeling to say the least. Unknown outside the world of ageplay, Bree Hawthorne was as famous as could be within the community. With over ten thousand followers and readers, people tuned in from all over the world to read about their simple little family. Being a blogger on top of a mommy had become her full time job and she didn’t regret a single second of it. She always knew she wanted to have a family and her love for blogging couldn’t have been a more perfect combination. There were so many who envied to fill the role of a Hawthorne little but only so few could actually meet the requirements. That’s why they had taken to unique means of obtaining their little girls. Kidnapping was a bit too harsh a term. They preferred adoption. Did the public need to know that? No. Would they ever find out? Probably not. Looking around outside the large glass windows, the only view for miles was farmland with snow capped mountains in the background. Bloomington, Montana was the perfect place to go to if one didn’t want to be found. They had the freedom to be who they were without any nosey neighbors disrupting their lives. Her husband, coming from old money, allowed them to own lavish homes around the country, buy the newest high-tech adult-baby equipment and pay off those they needed to stay quiet. Everything was as it should be. Everything would soon be perfect. They were our babydolls. Sugar, Cookie, Honey and- “Another post?” Jasper. At the sound of his deep voice, she spun around in the swivel chair. Face to face with her blonde, strong-jawed, blue eyed handsome husband. He was everything she dreamed of in a man. Strong, smart, caring, loyal. A great daddy to their three wonderful girls. What more could a person ask of a spouse? “Yes. I’ve finished just in time for… lunch!” she exclaimed, glancing at the time and shutting down the macbook. “Today’s post was about punishments and I gave the best examples of Honey. How is she doing this morning actually? The baby monitor on her end has been awfully quiet.” she asked, having been in the office the entire morning working. “Sleeping.” was his only response, scowling with his hand over his face. “Do I want to know what happened?” “No.” It was always a struggle to tame the girl and her rebellious behavior and silly dreams. Most often then not her bum was black and blue, littered with marks and bruises. How a five foot, one-hundred-twenty pound girl with not an ounce of body fat had managed to give them this much a fight, they did not know. While the little blonde fought they pushed back just as hard. She would break eventually. They all do. “Sugar and Cookie are in the playpen writing letters to Santa,” that made them crack a smile. “I can feed them while you handle, Honey? I may just take her over my knee again and that’s not what she needs at the moment.” Bree reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck as his face burrowed into her kinky black hair, placing a trail of kisses upon her chocolate colored skin. “So it’s my turn to play the bad mommy,” she mused. “Precisely.” her husband cracked a smile. “It feels so much longer than three months since we got her. Remember?” Oh, how could they forget…
  7. Law of the Diaper - Episode 2 - Part 1 Meliora Lady Meliora Van De Natte sighed heavily as she relieved herself, urine spiralling down her leg and onto the clay-tiled floor of the hall. She sat at a long table, with many other guests in attendance, including her distant cousin, the King, himself. The floor was sloped in a way that allowed people’s pee to flow into the middle, where they were promptly drained away. Despite this, the floor was still wet, and reflected the gold trim of the high-beamed roof. The chamber was grand, regal, and -- to Meliora at least -- a little over-pompous. And to consider, she thought, that those babies in the north believe us to be barbaric. Meliora didn’t much like the haughty nature of the court, but barbarity? Ha! She scoffed at the very thought of it. The King was in the middle of another one of his showy-speeches, “...for many a year now. To think! Back then we were but insects on the world stage…” and Meliora was getting tired of it. As much as she detested these things however, they were necessary to keep the king satisfied, especially as she needed to talk to him with great urgency. But, the King was in the middle of making himself look good, so she decided to concentrate on her food, it was the only good thing about these feasts anyway. Sitting cosily on her silver platter, was a selection of smoked vegetables, steaming roast potatoes, and slices of Stalle, fried to perfection. Many years ago, so the holy texts said, when humans and non-humans were at war over food, the god Liefyr gifted the peoples of the world the plant Stalle, so they would cease eating eachother. Apparently it had worked, because sat around the table with her, where many a non-human. Not that anyone had ever put much thought into it. The days where tension grew high between species was long gone, relegated to the history books of old. At least here in the south. Court and country were a civilised place now, happy and harmonious. Well, country was, court perhaps not so much. Despite the relative peace in the presence of the king, tensions between individuals still ran high, especially behind his back. Opposite Meliora was Lord Aert Van Grizmanen, a wolf with a particularly sly canine-gaze. Like Meliora, he sat stoically, determined not to give anything away to his political enemies. Enemies like Meliora. Just look at him, she thought with a juvenile air of competitiveness, thinking he can beat me at my own game. She broke her stoicism, and her meal, for a brief glare at Aert, but before the wolf could return it, the King concluded his speech. “Thank you! Thank you! You have been a wonderful audience.” the King waved magnanimously. He was kind, and often cared for the people of Plassenar, but unfortunately that came at the cost of any real power. Even now, one Kanniss Blomscheet, a wealthy sugar-merchant who’d been invited, was whispering in the king’s ear. No one spoke to Meliora during dinner however, and she to no one else. Her neighbor, Lady Halene Goudenel, was chatting idly to the man next to her, a lord which Meliora didn’t know. Meliora continued eating, ignoring the two chattering, but halfway through their conversation, Lady Halene lifted her furry rear upwards slightly, and farted noisily. “Ahhhh,” she sighed, “I shall have to go to the mess-hall after this!” Halene waved her hand in front of her nose, looking around. Meliora hoped that the woman wouldn’t notice her, but alas, it was not to be. “Lady Van De Natte! I didn’t see you there!” she said, her talking companion going pale upon seeing who Halene was attempting to talk to. Halfway through a bite of food, Meliora made an attempt at saying ‘hello.’ It came out as more of a stuffed mumble. “Hello to you too! Wonderfully diverse platter today, wouldn’t you say?” Halene continued, determined to push through the awkwardness. She twirled her hair around one of her antlers aimlessly, waiting for a response. Meliora eventually gave in, swallowing her food indelicately. “Yes, I suppose so.” Unfortunately, it seemed that Halene took that as cause to persevere, because just as Meliora was about to resume her meal, the woman conversed again. “I take it you wish to see His Majesty after we have concluded.” It was a statement, not a question. For some reason Meliora felt a child crawl through her. Suddenly she was on edge, and she felt another trickle of warm urine down her bare leg. No one spoke to Meliora during dinner. No one. Did she want something? Meliora realised that she had been quiet too long. “Yes, my Lady. I do. Is there something you wish to ask?” “Oh, no. Actually, I was hoping to speak to you afterwards. However, I understand that you’re busy.” Halene said. Meliora wasn’t sure how to respond. She rarely spoke to Lady Goudenel, her being on the High Council for only a few months. Meliora hadn’t gotten a good read on the woman yet, she was still somewhat of an enigma, and that scared her. It was a strange feeling -- Meliora couldn’t remember the last time she had been scared. Should she accept? This would be a good opportunity to understand the woman a little better. Maybe Meliora would gain some information on one of the other council members. It was a tempting prospect. “Unfortunately not tonight,” Meliora said eventually, “but --” “It isn’t at all urgent,” interrupted Halene, waving her arm toward the table. “When are you next available?” “It may not be for some time. If all goes well I aim to be out of the country for a week or two.” “Well, that just happens to be the subject I wished to bring up.” Halene asked with the dimmest flicker of a smile. Despite herself, Meliora smiled back. “I should have room for tomorrow afternoon, if that will suffice.” “Wonderful!” the woman said with an excited nod, complimented with a wide grin, “I look forward too--” Ffffttttt. The odorus noise spilled out from her seat. “Oh dear. This food really has got the better of me. I do hope this all finishes soon, or I may have to relieve myself here!” Halene giggled at her little joke, and returned to her dinner leaving Meliora to ponder what she had gotten herself into. By the time everyone had finished, the King was ready to retire. He bowed, waved his hand, and excused guests, some of which tried to hound him. Meliora would have to get in quick. Thankfully, some of the people going after His Majesty, were some of her own. Magist Gaerdt and his young apprentice, a feline girl in her twenties, were trying to push past the guards. Knowing that they’d never get past, they were instead preventing the King from leaving quickly enough so that Meliora could catch a word. Fortunately, Meliora was very much respected by the guards, and they let her pass with no small amount of reverence. She had to admit, she liked the effect it had -- as if the oceans were parting for her. It made her feel strong and powerful. “Your Majesty, if I could only-” Gaerdt croaked, before Meliora glided past. “Your Majesty!” she said, bowing gracefully. She wouldn’t have much time to convince him, only a sentence or two. This would have to be done carefully. “May I have a word? It is of the utmost importance.” The King stopped in his tracks, lowering his head respectfully. “Lady Meliora, I’m sure you have much to say, but can this wait? It is late and I-” “Well …” Meliora countered, “I was going to ask about next week’s summit. I would very much like to ask you some questions, run some ideas past you. After all, most of the men here are on the wizened side of wise. You have a much more contemporary view of politics.” Long ago, Meliora realised that to survive court politics, you had to be brutal. You had to systematically hunt down your enemy’s weaknesses, and exploit them ruthlessly. The King liked clever words, or at least words that sounded clever to him, and a little stroke of his ego wouldn’t hurt either. Merchants were good at that, hence their power in his court. Luckily so was Meliora. Clearly it had worked, because the King seemed to be considering her proposition. “Oh, all right. But we shall have to talk in the mess-room, I’m getting rather desperate.” The King finally conceded. “Gaerdt,” said Meliora, turning to her Magist, “Please wait for me in my quarters, we have much to discuss afterwards.” “Yes, Lady.” he replied, and he and his apprentice bowed. “Come Narriss, we still have to find that book.” and with that, the aging man hobbled away, the young feline apprentice helping. Meliora and the King were escorted to the mess room, the King dribbling pee behind him as he walked. Usually, due to the sterile nature of urine, one could relieve themselves wherever they wished. Excrement, however, was not so sanitary. Peasants usually messed themselves as they toiled, using it as fertiliser for their fields. Here in the city however, designated mess-halls, or in the King’s case a private mess-room, was where people went number two. The room was somewhat large, big enough for multiple people. At the far end were two windows and a small balcony, bordered by the Plassen flags -- brown fabric, with white and golden waves. The King often held meetings here, so there was seating, golden chairs with silk cushions. The floor was the same clay tiles of the dining hall, each bearing the royal standard. Meliora made a move towards a chair opposite the King, who upon entering immediately pulled his pants down, starting to fidget. Meliora herself was wearing a dress, much preferred when desperate. Watching as the King leant over his seat, pushing, Meliora thought of what she was going to say, how she would approach this. It was important, and the King needed to understand what was at stake here. “Gggggrrrrrggg” he groaned, pushing out two long logs of poop. They snaked out of him, and coiled around each other neatly onto the stained cushion below. What am I going to say? What would convince a man to go to war? “Ahhhhhh …” sighed the King in relief, a few loose farts escaping. He sat back down on top of his mess, pushing it into the cushions with an audible squelch. Then, just as Meliora got an idea of how to approach the topic, he wriggled his bottom, pushing the poop around. Prince or peasant, it didn’t matter -- squishing was one of the few feelings that everyone enjoyed, Meliora included. A spike of envy even shot through her momentarily, annoyed that she didn’t have to relieve herself, but she quickly regained focus. “Right then, Lady Meliora. What do you want to know?” “Well Your Majesty, first and foremost, do you have any ideas about approaching the treaty?” she asked. The King looked slightly taken aback at that, and Meliora had to force her face to keep straight. “Whatever do you mean, Lady? I was under the impression that they had already agreed to sign it?” “Well yes, they did imply that.” Meliora said, steering the King into the position she wanted. “But we know the North cannot be trusted with matters as serious as this. They are frivolous and fickle, thinking only about their play and not their work. You don’t really expect them to be that consistent do you?” Meliora didn’t really lie. It was cause for concern. These northerners knew nothing of hard work and labor, many lived in luxury, playing all day. “I had assumed--” “With the utmost respect your Majesty, that is exactly it. You assumed.” “You didn’t come here to ask me for help did you?” He looked like a child being told off. Perhaps he was ashamed that he had been so naive. Meliora almost felt bad. But he needed to know. He needed to understand. Meliora respected the man’s kindness too much to lie about something like this. “My King, if I may speak frankly?” she waited for him to nod his head, and then continued, “I don’t believe any good can come of this summit. The people of Luin … they’re not like us. They won’t sign this treaty, there’s too much that they gain from war.” “What could they possibly gain from war?” the King asked, leaning forward. “Weapons sales, unity through common enemy, certainty in a changing world.” Meliora sighed, it was a harsh truth that war was so simple. Contracts, treaties, negotiations, why bother when you could just engage in conflict? There was a deep silence between the two. The King had his face in his hands, thinking. Meliora had to tell herself that she was doing the right thing. Of course she was. The King only wished his people had the same luxury that the Luiners had -- he could be a great King, truly great, if tempered by the ruthlessness of his aides. Why was it so hard to watch this man accept that war was inevitable. Was she as ruthless as she thought? “Meliora,” the King said suddenly, raising his head from his hands, “I hear what you are saying. I really do. You don’t trust Luin, and you want to strike before they have the chance to lure us into a false sense of security.” “Yes. Yes, Your Majesty, that is precisely it--” but before she could continue the King interrupted. “I’ve never told anyone this, but when I was a prince, my father took me to the front line. The regalia and glory of war was appealing to a child, and I went with glee. But when I arrived it was nothing like I thought. The place stank of death, of decay. There were bodies lined up in the streets of camp, sometimes in piles. It -- I still have nightmares. But I had never thought more clearly than in that moment. I bent down to one of the bodies, and …” the King stopped. He seemed distant, as if scared to go back there, to that place. Meliora hadn’t seen him like this before. “... And I bent down to say my prayers to one of the fallen. It was a boy, Meliora. A boy of twelve years old! I can’t remember what caused his death, only that his face was death itself. His eyes were empty. His soul, gone. Imagine what was taken from the world. Imagine the potential that boy might’ve had. All gone in an instant.” He stopped for a moment, his eyes slowly coming back into the room. Meliora was transfixed, “Lady Van De Natte, the other side may be very different from us, but I can guarantee their children have died too. Lives on both sides have died for a war they didn’t start. If they have a shred of humanity, and suspect they have more than a shred, then believe me when I say, they want to end this war as much as you or I.” The King was looking at Meliora now, directly into her soul. His deep, brown eyes yearning for peace, yearning for an end to this petty conflict. The ripple of doubt in Meliora’s mind had transformed. Great waves of torment, battered by a storm of guilt and shame, crashed and bellowed within her. They twisted her stomach, tugged violently at her chest. Could she be ruthless? I have to be. She had to be ruthless for the good of the realm. There was a long, final pause before Meliora spoke. She sighed heavily. “What do you want me to do, Your Majesty?” Narriss Narriss hadn’t seen anything like it before. The port in which the ship was docking was packed full of people. They brushed past each other, all heading to one place or another, like an ant colony. Even the capital hadn’t been this busy, or if it ever had, Narriss had been busy working with master Gaerdt. The gentle slosh of the ocean lapping against the boat, had been replaced by shouting, chattering, and a loud constantly-ringing bell. But what shocked her the most was what people were wearing. Some, like her, wore tunics and pants, robes and cloaks. But some wore onesies, sucked pacifiers nonchalantly, and underneath it all were the unmistakable bulges of diapers. In spite of this, the air smelt familiar. Sea salt and urine mixed in the air across the harbor, floating across the ocean beyond. Narriss’ closed her eyes. The wind blew gently through her fur, her tail swayed gently behind her, and her ears relaxed by her sides. She inhaled deeply, taking in the atmosphere of the place, and a strange peace came over her. A gentle, laminar peace. “Narriss.” A sharp voice from behind her said. She turned quickly, seeing Master Gaerdt standing there. “Come, we have business with Lady Meliora.” Narriss nodded, and followed her teacher down into the ship’s cabins. They had been travelling here, to the Isle of Ieder, for three days now, and she was getting sick of being bunged up in a tiny cabin with Master Gaerdt. She had complained out loud initially, which had been a mistake. “It gives you plenty of time to focus on your studies instead of napping then.” Master Gaerdt had said, never glancing away from his work. Though she swore she could hear a smile in his voice. Lady Meliora’s chambers were nowhere near as cramped as everyone else’s. As they entered, Narriss saw the familiar sloped floor, with a tile pattern running from under Meliora’s desk. It was glistening wet. The tile pattern continued past the centre of the room and rose again like the edge of a bowl, stopping under a plush-fabric seat. Lady Meliora herself sat at an ornate desk, silhouetted a little by grand windows behind her. Why don’t we have any windows like that? Narriss asked herself as she stood behind her teacher. Meliora scribbled something on a piece of fresh paper, before glancing up to Narriss and Master Gaerdt. She gestured for them both to sit. “Master Gaerdt,” she said, nodding to Narriss’ left, “Apprentice Narriss,” she nodded to Narriss, “Thank you for attending me here.” That was odd. Meliora barely seemed to notice Narriss normally, let alone speak to her. This was all strange. Something was about to happen, Lady Melliora wanted something from Narriss, but what could she possibly offer? She was just an assistant, an apprentice. A flash of dread struck through her. The Lady looked uncomfortable sitting at her desk, almost fidgety. She was never normally like this at all. What was going on? Meliora cleared her throat before continuing where she left off. “As you are both aware, we have a very important mission here on Iedar. To go over our aim again, Master Gaerdt, we want to establish relations to aid the signing of the North-South Disarmament Treaty, as requested by …. nnng … the King.” Meliora looked wholly uncomfortable after she said that, jostling in her seat. It was well known to the servants of Meliora, Narriss included, that the woman thought the war was still a necessary fight. Narriss had to agree. Unlike here in the south, Luin and the Dullen Isles (especially the former) were hostile to her kind. Plassenar was fighting for freedom -- freedom to relieve yourself where you wanted without punishment, freedom to be chaotic, and freedom to be different. If that meant tearing down their broken culture to achieve this freedom, so be it. “Now that all the official stuff is out the way,” Meliora continued, “I need to ask you two a favor. This stays absolutely confidential, do you understand?” she looked directly at Narriss as she said it, and without hesitating, Narriss nodded back. She wasn’t sure she liked the Lady, but the woman’s cause was just. “I cannot … nnn … I cannot believe I’m about to say this --” Lady Meliora went quiet suddenly, and began to wriggle more noticeably. She slid her rear across the velvet cushion of her seat. Narriss looked to Master Gaerdt, who only blinked in surprise. Meliora put a hand between her legs, and suddenly Narriss realised what was happening. As if she needed any more confirmation, Meliora quickly gave up, and took her hand away, said “Oh, blast!” rather more audibly than Narriss suspected the lady intended, and leant back in her chair. Less than a second later, she sighed as urine gushed out from under the table, hissing through Lady Meliora’s dress. Even from the other side of the table, Narriss could see a dark patch spreading on her clothes, as familiar as the blue sky. “Mmmmmmmaahhhh!” Meliora’s shoulders lowered and despite her usually reserved demeanor, a tiny smile flickered onto her face as she peed. She quickly finished and, evidently self conscious all of a sudden, straightened her dress before plastering on a calmer expression that contrasted oddly with her now scarlet cheeks. Silence punctured the room, and Narriss couldn’t help but look to master Gaerdt. However, he patently ignored her, focused on the Lady. “My Lady! Were you … were you holding that in!?” he said, visibly shocked at what he’d just witnessed. As if in defiance of what had happened, Narriss’ master let his own water escape, flooding his robe. Small rivers of urine, from both Meliora and Gaerdt, flowed into the centre of the room and were swallowed by the drain leading to the wooden cistern below. Meliora grew softly stern, straightening in her seat. “Not a word to anyone else on this ship at what you just witnessed, is that understood?” As shocked as she was, Narriss was the first to nod. She was used to taking orders, from Meliora, from Gaerdt, from any of her many superiors. But somehow Meliora didn’t feel so high and mighty anymore. Something about what had just happened made the woman less imposing, less regal. It was like a cloud had blotted the sun. Everything was still in the same place, but a certain luster had vanished. Narriss noticed Meliora looking at her, and she snapped her face back to impassiveness. Did the Lady notice? Eventually, Gaerdt followed with his nod of submission to the Lady, but Meliora just sighed, defeated. “I’m sorry you two had to see that.” she said somewhat sullenly, “These people, the summit, they expect certain behaviors from us, just as we do them. The deal was that they would be prohibited from going over-the-top with their regalia just as we do ours, to avoid offence. Part of that is … we are to relieve ourselves away from their notice during the meetings. I was practicing, here, now, and clearly I could not handle it.” “What restrictions have been placed upon them, my Lady?” Gaerdt looked to Narriss, appalled that his apprentice was talking without permission, but she couldn’t help herself. All this had gotten her riled up. Why should Plassenar have to bend to the will of another nation, just to sign some stupid treaty? Why should Plassenar suffer? However, Lady Meliora didn’t seem to mind. “That is a good question, Apprentice. In exchange for us being subtle about our culture they have agreed to hold back on their pompous clothes, and ... let ambassadors from different species into the meeting.” Narriss’ head boiled with indignation. Under the table, away from the view of the Lady, she clenched her fists, hard. Her hairs pricked up in defense, and she felt her face grow taught, struggling not to grind her teeth. Meliora was going through all this trouble to appease these people, when they should just treat everyone as equals. More and more, Narriss was growing angry at this whole twisted situation. The king, our king, wants to make peace with them? Meliora seemed to sense her utter frustration at the situation, and leaned forward. “I understand that this is hard Narriss --” “I’m sorry but you don’t understand at all.” Narriss snapped, half thinking. Gaerdt’s bemused face melted into anger at his apprentices’ impulsivness. But Narriss didn’t care. She was angry, and had the right to be so. However, Master Gaerdt had been teaching her to control that anger, focus it. “Apologies, my Lady, I shouldn’t have said that.” Narriss expected Meliora to be annoyed just as her master was, but the woman was strangely resigned about the whole thing. “No, it’s fine,” Meliora said, waving it away, “You are right. I don’t understand. This is why I have chosen you for the task. I know I can trust you, you’ve been with master Gaerdt here as long as any of my other staff, and your rank means you are in a prime position to understand both court and country in a way my friends simply cannot. But, more than all that, you are one of the people that Luin is trying to restrict. Your eyes, in that regard, see differently to mine. I grew up in a castle, in a place of privilege and luxury. I need to see what you see if I am to win this meeting.” “I’m sorry my Lady,” Gaerdt said, “Win?” “Quite, magister Gaerdt. No one wants peace, so even a small concession towards that aim will be a victory. But we need to focus. We need to practice. We need to keep calm.” Meliora said with the slightest hint of flourish in her voice. She was right. This was all too important to let anger take it all away. That’s what they wanted. Narriss breathed in deeply, centering herself. The anger within her, that raging storm, spiralled in her chest. Slowly, carefully, she pushed upwards into her head. She drew power from it, cunning, and perception. Eventually, it was no longer anger, but a vague pool of energy. Narriss felt as if she could draw from it, take whatever she needed. Her stomach cramped slightly as she contemplated it, feeling something brewing within. But before she could put much thought into that, Meliora spoke up a final time. “What I need from you Narriss, desperately, is reconnaissance. I need as much information as I can get -- ideally what the very heart of their culture is. What I need is to see where they eat, change, and what they do when they’re not at these meetings. But even then I fear that I am still not prepared. I’ll be honest, I wish I could send Gaerdt but ... ” Lady Meliora looked down at the wet patch on her clothes. For the first time, Narriss saw fear on her mistress’ face. “This little demonstration shows our weakness. We need to hide it. We need to be discreet. Gods forbid it should come to this, but what I need is a diaper.” Narriss Waygar, the capital of Iedar, smelt of crap. Literal crap. This was a very strange place, chaotic and bewildering, far more so than even the capital city. Because it was a sort of neutral zone between Luin and Plassenar, both peoples went about their own rituals without regard for the other. Some, few, relieved themselves in the street, where they stood, not bothering to consider those around them. Just like home, Narris thought. But others wore gaudy clothes, onesies with bright patterns on them, frilly dresses, and sucked on pacifiers. They kept their business, and smells, hidden in the seat of their pants. Even here, closest to the Plassen crossing, these were in the vast majority. A group of Littles were huddled together just down the street ahead, one leaning against a stone wall. They were whispering conspiratorially to each other, one glancing over their shoulder. Narriss didn’t get a good look at their expression whilst she hurried past however. As she approached, a tall woman in normal clothes burst out of the wooden door next to them and ushered the group of littles indoors. Although she looked almost normal in that long green dress, Narriss could see the obvious bulge of a diaper underneath. The woman spun around to close the door, and a flicker of fear shadowed her face momentarily, before she fled inside. Narriss bowed her head to the ground, feeling her face boil, and her stomach growl. How was she supposed to actually find out about their culture if they did this? After wandering about for an hour or so, Narriss didn’t have much luck finding anyone who wanted to converse. It was difficult identifying any Plassener’s to talk to here. Besides being so very few of them, any she managed to approach seemed to scarper away, warily. She’d even tried going up to the guards, but they’d just growled and skulked away as well. This was all taking too long, the meeting was only in a couple of hours and she still had no information. ‘Plan B’ was the merchants. Not quite the everyday person that Narriss was hoping to find, but maybe it would work. Surely they wouldn’t pass down a customer? At the very least she could find somewhere to acquire a diaper. She’d been putting it off, though she didn’t quite know why. All this was so odd--the way the Luiners just waddled brazenly about in their baby-clothes, locked away under layers of padding. After a brief wander through the mud-laden alleys of the town, Narriss managed to find a small market selling a vast collection of things. One was selling books from an open-air stall nearby. Maybe he would be able to help. He was talking with someone else, a large woman with somewhat shaggy hair. She didn’t look much like a Little, so Narriss assumed she was a Big, the people who cared for the freaks that dressed up. As Narriss approached the stall, the woman glanced behind. Her conversation with the shopkeep died down to hushed whispers and, reflexifley, Narriss’ ears pricked up. Naturally, they were much stronger than human ears, and picked up the conversation without much hassle. “I hear they’re planning on invading, by migrating into Luin!” the woman said. The man simply nodded solemnly as if it was a sad truth to be accepted, like death or paying taxes. The man’s face scrunched up and he grunted quietly. At first Narriss assumed it was the topic of conversation that had caused such a reaction. But then she remembered the diapers. “Yeah, as if we don’t let them close enough already. That new deal’s supposed to make it easier for them to get in, y'know. I --” the man cut off as he caught Narriss’ eye. “No no, please keep talking!” Narriss said loudly. The large woman startled and clasped her chest with her hand. Narriss realised her face had gone tense. She tried to relax and calm herself but… “Speak demon and it shall appear.” the shopkeep said, glaring toward Narriss with the sadistically sly grin usually only seen in Wolf-kin. Then again, what did she expect from the people who invaded her home? “Demon?! Where?!” Narriss said, bathing in exaggerated, mock fear. This man would not get the best of her. He would give her all the information she needed, or at least point her in the right direction to find it. The woman glanced down at Narriss’ waist, made a disgusted face, and nodded goodbye to the shopkeep. Perhaps she’d noticed Narriss’ tail, or worse, her lack of diaper-bulge. Either way, she and the shopkeep were now alone. “It’s considered rude ‘round here to listen in on other people’s conversations y’know.” he said, almost growling with tension. Yet they consider us animals!? Narriss mused to herself. This place was horrible. Backwards. “It’s also rude to refuse paying customers.” she said to the shopkeep. Hopefully the promise of money would quell his anger somewhat. However, it seemed that she’d underestimated this man’s discontent. “I don’t want your grubby hands anywhere near me!” he said passionately, as if Plassener’s were known for being particularly dirty. Yet, they weren’t the ones who carried their waste against their backsides. Narriss raised her spotless hands in response. “My hands are clean as clouds,” she said, “And luckily for you I just need information. So I won’t be parting with any of my money today, sir.” The man eyed her for a moment. He seemed placated, if only slightly. “I don’t know ‘nuffin!” he said, crossing his arms. “Just go someplace else!” Narriss was starting to get annoyed now. This man was being deliberately stubborn, and for what? Maybe it was time for a retreat. If she couldn’t get the information she needed, at least she could get the diaper for Lady Meliora. “I just need to know where I can find a changing station.” there was a brief moment of silence. The shopkeeper's eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised why he was asked such a question by the likes of … well, her. “Is that some kind of joke? Why in the name of Liefyr does a shaggy like you want to know that?” he shook his head in disbelief. Narriss’ ears went hot. She hadn’t been called that word in a very long time. This slimy son of a bitch was clearly too stuck in his little mud-hovel to say anything productive to her. She was done here. Letting out a deep breath, Narriss turned and walked away. She’d find the godsdamned place by herself. Behind, she heard the man chuckle quietly. Willing herself not to turn and punch him, Narriss focused on her mission. However, the shopkeep made the mistake of thinking he had gained something in that little argument, and shouted across the market. “Yeah! Go back to your shithole in Plassen you hairy bitch!” That does it. Narriss felt a storm surge inside of her, and a sudden cramp in her gut. If the bastard wanted to be closed minded, so be it. He deserved everything he was about to get. She walked back toward the merchant, who went suddenly pale. Clearly he was expecting her to walk away. Maybe she should have. Oh well, Narriss thought, hopefully he’ll remember this. “Fine. You win.” Narriss said calmly, which only served to unease the man further. “If you won’t take a moment out of your day to help me find somewhere, then I guess I have no choice but to do my business here.” and she hiked up her dress. The man looked horrified, and stepped back into the recesses of his book-stall-cave. Narriss simply smiled, and bent over the wooden counter of the stall, so her bare rear was nearly touching the wooden countertop. Her tail swished behind her, brushing against the cool air. Then, grunting a little, she began to push, slowly releasing pressure in her bowel. To her slight embarrassment, she farted a few times, but that was nothing compared to what was coming. As she pushed, she felt a rather large ball of poop force it’s way out of her, sliding through, pinching off, and then slapping down onto the counter. She let out a few more farts, feeling much better now that her gut was empty. Her mess balled beneath her, forming a rather satisfying warm, and stinking, pile. Narriss looked to the merchant again, grinning slyly. His face had gone red, and he looked as if he was leaning against the wall for support. Narriss glanced about quickly, and noticed that there was a small crowd watching the incident. Although most Little onlookers looked horrified, a small group to the left sniggered at the merchant. A huddle of Plasseners also gathered nearby, smirking to themselves. “Thank you very much for your help,” Narriss said as innocently as she could muster, “I was beginning to get a little desperate.” and as a final act of spite, she pulled her dress down, and fell back to sit in her mess. It squashed beneath her, moulding to the shape of her rear. She wriggled about for a moment, before pulling herself up with a very visible brown stain on the seat of her dress. After all, why shouldn’t she wear it proudly? She made her way into the crowd, toward some of the watching Plasseners. They grinned knowingly at her as she approached. Finally, people who seemed willing to talk. She’d finally find out what was up with this place, which would be a solid start. How she was going to find diapers for Lady Meliora from these Plassen folk she did not know, but one step at a time. There was a chance the Lady wouldn’t even need a diaper if she managed to get the right information. As she approached the Plasseners, their smiles faded however. Narriss noticed they were looking at something behind her. A cold human hand suddenly gripped her left arm tightly, pressing against the fur. “Miss,” a woman’s voice, hard and harsh, said from behind, “Please, come with us.” Narriss tried to turn without jerking her arm too much. The woman was a guard, wearing the white-red colours of Iedar, but Narriss could tell she was a little. The guard’s hair was tied in pig-tails, and she could swear the woman had a diaper-bulge. “No! You don’t understand! I have important business here, under the command of Lady Meliora Van De Natte, of Plassenar!” and she tugged her arm away, but the guard who was holding her back simply grappled the other one. “I’m sure you are Miss, but we can’t just let people go poo poo on private property!” Narriss went quiet. Maybe she should have thought this through more. Damn! “Okay, okay, I’ll go with you. Let’s just make this quick.” “You’re not going to run if I let you go?” the guard said, and Narriss felt her tail droop instinctively. She wasn’t sure she could if she tried. “There are guards everywhere,” Narriss said, “I doubt I would get very far.” This seemed to placate the guard and she let go. Two more joined her and the whole retinue marched Narriss away. About two hours later, judging by the church bells, Narriss sat in her small cell, alone. The guards had brought her back to a modest gaol on the outskirts of Waygar. Almost immediately upon arrival, the guards had insisted on diapering her. Her hairs pricked up harshly even thinking about it. Despite how wrong it felt to have this bulky padding around her waist, she’d gone along with it in the interest of saving as much time as possible. It wasn’t all that embarrassing really, not after having dropped a mess in public. But it just felt so strange. How did people defecate in this? She felt a nervous twitch in her bladder at the thought. Afterwards, Narriss was able to present the guards with a royal seal that Meliora had given her, and someone, a while ago now, had gone to fetch anyone who could get her out of here. So, Narriss sat in her cell, left leg bouncing up and down erratically, albeit hampered slightly by the diaper now under her dress. The summit would start any moment, and she was here! She tried not to dwell on that too much. What have I gotten myself into? She thought glumly. What would the consequences be? Lady Meliora said that she had to behave with courtesy--well what if she needed to relieve herself during the meeting? Would the negotiations fall apart? Back in Plassenar, you’d just ... go. I suppose you’d do the same here, too. Just in a diaper instead of on your seat. Something about that felt dishonest and wrong. Pulling up her dress slightly, Narriss looked down at the diaper. She kind of needed to pee again, though the thought of doing it in that thing was mortifying. It surrounded her waist completely, locking away the freedom to go where you needed, trapping the mess next to you. Again, the thought of using the thing made her slightly disgusted. Although, she had to admit, it did feel quite nice when dry. Like a pillow, almost. Hesitantly, more out of curiosity than anything else, she poked the fluffy fabric. The diaper was so thick she could barely feel her finger beneath the padding. She poked it again -- THUD. The door to the gaol burst open, and a vaguely familiar woman stepped onto the stone-tiled flooring--that woman Lady Meliora was talking to at the feast. Her antlers sparkled gently with the fresh mist outside, and her nose twitched slightly. Her dress was almost as regal as her strides towards Narriss’ cell. “Well, well, well,” she said, moving towards the iron bars that held Narriss there. “We have gotten ourselves into a bit of a mess haven’t we?” “My lady!” Narriss said quickly, curtseying. Halfway through her bow, she realised that lifting her dress to curtsey would reveal her diaper. She felt her cheeks grow warm with blush as she saw a wry smile on the lady’s face. “Delved into the local culture have we?” “I-I-” Narriss couldn’t think of anything to say. To be caught like this! Embarrassment flushed through her. “It’s alright, young one.” the woman said, “I am Lady Halene Goudenel, I was sent by Lady Van De Natte.” her smile shifted, wry became warm. Narriss felt her embarrassment subside, albeit only slightly. “Guard!” she said loudly, and there was a clatter from the back-room as a onesie-clad guard stumbled in. “Please let my friend here out of her cell. I shall be taking her with me!” “I’m afraid I’ll need to see some--” before the guard could talk, Lady Halene thrust a piece of paper towards them--a writ of some sort. “Huet!” the guard shouted, and a second guard, presumably called Huet, emerged from the back. Unlike the first, he was not dressed in a onesie, rather somewhat normal clothing. He took the paper of the first guard, scanned it briefly and nodded. And just like that, Narriss was free. “Hurry my dear,” Halene said as Huet guard unlocked the door. Finally, Narriss went down to remove the cloth diaper from around her waist. Oddly, Halene stopped her. “No time, we must be on our way. The summit has already begun.” a jolt of fear burst through Narriss like lightning. She had let Meliora down. She’d let her country down. The two of them left the gaol. “Is the Lady okay?” Narriss asked. She and Halene moved quickly through the market outdoors, people from all directions rushing past. It was tricky walking with the thick padding between Narriss’ legs, so she mostly waddled along as best as she could. “She is fine Narriss. I’m sorry we couldn’t get you out sooner. She is glad to hear you are okay, but wasn’t best pleased when she found out what happened.” Narriss went quiet. So much for being discreet. Halene clearly noticed her contemplative silence. “It’s all right. She’s just a little stressed at the moment. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” Narriss could only nod. “At least tell me,” Narriss eventually said, “Is the summit going well?” Meliora The summit had been going horribly. The representative of Luin hadn’t been budging on any of his points and, as expected, his implied acceptance of the treaty had been less than concrete. His sense of grandeur and power was seemingly only bolstered by the large pavilion under which they all sat, each politician perched like vultures along a large stone table. They were all dressed rather conservatively, not a single sign of the usual regalia that accompanied them-- bright colours, pacifiers, that sort of stuff. Only the occasional rustle of a diaper indicated that they were, in point of fact, from Luin. Surrounding Meliora were a team of Lords and experts from Plassenar. In particular, her Aide–Lord Griet–sat to her left, and Lord Aert Van Grizmanen, a wolf-lord, to her right. They were the pain with which she would colour her canvas. Meliora had sent her Wizard’s apprentice, Narriss, away to gather information to use against the Plasseners here, but she unfortunately had failed to make any sort of appearance. Then, after finding out that the idiot girl had been imprisoned, Meliora was forced to send Halene away to get her out, and even she had been taking her time. It had been over an hour now. Dammit, why was Meliora always clearing up other people’s messes! The talks had stalled since, but she forged ahead, at the behest of her king. She’d resorted to placing valuable resources up for trade, and what’s worse, there was also another, more personal, problem that was preventing her from concentrating fully on the remainder of this damned meeting. Meliora wiggled slightly in her seat, holding her pee in as best she could. That damned girl hadn’t brought back a diaper either. She’d just about managed to relieve herself elsewhere, along with her retinue during the brief recess they’d had, but hadn’t found the opportunity to go since. Just as she suspected, this visible weakness had opened them up to political attack. You’ll just have to hold it, she thought to herself, though rather more aggressively than she had meant to. Although she suspected that this meeting would be over shortly. “Lady Meliora!” The man opposite her–Lord Vauque De La Seule Couche, the cousin of the Queen of Luin–said with immense exasperation, “Surely you cannot be suggesting that we just remove our troops from Ile De Sommeil! You’d simply move troops in to displace them!” The man was, at this particular summit at least, not the bane of Meliora’s existence. That award belonged to the other Lords and Ladies gathered around the great stone table. Despite Vauque’s relative willingness to negotiate, she was still having troubles however. Unlike the other lords in Plassenar, she did not know the Luin people and their secrets. She clenched her fists, and her thighs, under the table in an increasingly vain attempt at keeping some semblance of composure. But before Meliora could respond, Lord Aert spoke–his pointed ears perked up, “Lord Vauque. We have all seen far too much bloodshed in the past few years to send troops into a foreign land where they will have no means of escape. No one wants a war.” Yes! Meliora may have ‘locked horns’, so to speak, back in Plassenar, but here that sharp mind could be put to good use. She knew bringing him was a good idea. Meliora nodded, and continued, “Ile De Sommeil, much like this beautiful island here,” and Meliora tore her hands away from holding herself to gesture to the landscape around them, “Could flourish with trade between our two great nations. You have our word, my word, any troops we do send will integrate into a mixed set of guards for the island with your own troops. In return we ask only that your troops do the same, and we shall be open to trading in coal, iron and gold from our prosperous mines down in Modemeer.” This seemed to give Vauque pause for thought. There was a moment of quiet while he stared past Meliora, interrupted only by the gentle grunts of another lord beside him, who was obviously filling his diaper. Oh how she wished she could let herself go like that! As much as Meliora tried to distract herself with thoughts of the meeting, the fresh earthen-stink that floated through the air only served to remind her of her own relief, or lack thereof. She pressed both of her hands into her lap as subtly as she could, but caught Lord Aert in the right corner of her vision, glancing concernedly at her, his tail stiff, and hairs raised. Clearly he was in need of relief as well. Please hurry, she thought. Vauque looked down, smiling gently, and Meliora’s heart leapt. He sighed, and, to every Plassen Lord’s surprise, slowly began nodding. She met his eyes eagerly. “I am open to these terms,” he said. Yes! “But we still have things to work out. I must talk with my superiors, and you with yours.” Meliora smiled broadly. This had worked out well. Not as well as she had been hoping for, but well enough. It was a solid start. “I couldn’t agree more, though I think you’ll find the King very enthusiastic about this deal!” Meliora said. Though Vauque didn’t quite have the reaction she expected -- he almost chuckled to himself. “I must admit, I do find myself wanting to trust you, Lady Meliora. However, I also find that my trust is a little more cautious for your King, who seems more content making deals with sugar-merchants, than running your kingdom himself.” Vauque said. Meliora’s smile vanished. Perhaps she should have tried to contain her shock, but her need to pee was taking up that space inside of her instead. “How did -- how did you find out about that?” she said. Vauque opened his mouth to say something, but before he could a messenger boy waddled up behind him, and whispered something in his ear. His eyes went wide momentarily, and he gestured for the boy to leave before standing up. The lords and ladies from his side of the table all followed suit. Meliora still sat, half out of shock, and half because she wasn’t sure she could stand without wetting herself. The other members of her side glanced expectantly. “Lady Meliora,” Vauque said sympathetically, “I would stand if I were you.” Meliora frowned. What was this? Still confused, Meliora stood as carefully as she could. It was just in time too, because as she tried to scrape together what little composure she had left, two young men, each dressed in colourful blue uniforms, strode onto the pavilion with trumpets in hand. Meliora was beginning to shake, both mentally and physically. All of this was so confusing. Was it planned by Lord Vauque in an attempt to intimidate? Maybe he knows about my bladder situation, she thought tensley, and he’s stalling for time. Her cheeks began to burn red as she felt all the tables’ eyes on her. Meliora attempted to move them to her side, feigning composure. She was attracting glances from all around now. Hopefully this wouldn’t last long whatever it was, though Meliora had to admit, she had a bad feeling about all this. The trumpeters raised their instruments and rumbled through a regal tune. Then a third figure, this one wearing a bright, frilly yellow dress, short enough that it barely came halfway over their diaper, stood at the entrance to the pavilion as the trumpeters left. “Ladies and gentlemen,” they said to the row of Plasseners, some of whom were beginning to squirm a little, “Boys and girls,” and they looked to the opposite side of the table -- to Vauque and the other officials from Luin and Dullen, “And representatives of the land, I duly present her Royal Highness Queen Amée De La Seule Couche of Luin, Keeper of the Seven Swords, Guardian of the First Crib, and Herald of the Winds of Puer.” Shit. After that mouthful, and a minor moment of private panic on Meliora’s behalf, the announcer bowed and backed up, before parting to the left of the entry. And then, the Queen of Luin herself entered. Flanked by two guards in the same uniform as the trumpeters, a woman in her mid twenties flowed into the room. And flowed was the right word to describe the sight. Although she seemed to radiate a pompous regality in that massively oversized frilly tutu, and despite her waddle at the blatantly thick diaper that coddled her (in fact, it looked thicker than almost any other Meliora had seen), she was still as graceful and gentle as the wind itself, as if she had been born a particularly beautiful peacock. For a brief, blissful moment, Meliora forgot about her need to urinate, and followed the table’s awed bowing and curtseying. This may have been a mistake. As soon as she attempted to lower herself into a curtsey, she felt her bladder pang, and released the tight grip of her urine in surprise. A tiny dribble spat out, and warmly twisted down her leg, before she managed to regain control. As a small wooden throne was brought up behind her, the Queen nodded regally and they all sat. It was slightly easier to maintain control like this, and upon sitting, her hands were able to snap back to hold her crotch. She began to wiggle slightly in her seat. To her left, she could swear she heard a small fart from Lord Griet, Meliora’s aide. However, no one else seemed to be paying attention to that, their energy instead focused on the Queen. “So, it seems I am in the graces of some of the finest political minds in the land!” she said, puffing up her dress slightly as she brought her hands down in excitement. “Yes your majesty!” Vauque said. “I believe you already know our people,” and Vauque gestured to the two representatives to his left, “but we also have Lady Moren Wystwith, of Dullen,” a lady to Vauque’s immediate right nodded in recognition, “along with Lady Meliora Van De Natte, representing Plassenar,” and Meliora felt all eyes cast upon her as she tried to keep herself together. She stopped wriggling for a moment to nod towards Her Majesty. Gods it felt awful to stop! “A pleasure to meet you both!” the young Queen said. As soon as she began chattering again, Meliora resumed her little … what was it those Dullener’s in the north called it? Ah yes, ‘potty dance’, hiding behind the safety of the table. The Queen smiled at everyone before continuing, “Please apologize for my intrusion, I was in the area and was merely curious as to how these sorts of proceedings functioned.” The Queen was newly appointed, her father apparently having died in battle, during the most recent Pacification War. But Meliora didn’t have much time to dwell on that, she had to force herself to remember to smile and nod when Vauque began to recount the meeting. As she pressed her hands into her lap as hard as she could, she noticed her dress growing slightly damp. Was she leaking already?! Gods, not now! Maybe I should look down to assess the damage… No. That might give everything away. She was becoming really desperate now, holding herself as best she could. She felt the urine pressing against her bladder, begging for release. Meliora glanced towards the others on her side of the table. Some of them, too, were wriggling slightly in discomfort. Compared to them, the opposite side were eerily calm. Lord Vauque, whether oblivious or not, took his time informing the Queen, who sucked serenely on a pink pacifier a servant had provided her. To make matters worse, just as Vauque’s conversation was coming to an end, Halene and Apprentice Narriss decided to return. Lady Halene was visibly stunned to see the Queen, and slowed her rush to a walk, whilst the young apprentice moved to the seating outside of the pavilion, with the lesser officials, and looking rather ashamed. And was she waddling? The Queen broke off her conversation with Vauque, removed her pacifier, and looked to Halene perturbedly. “And you are?” she asked with an air of surprise. “Lady Halene Goudenel, Your Majesty.” Halene said with a curtsey. Although the Queen seemed a little mollified by Halene’s obedience to procedure, she placed her pacifier on the table instead of resuming. “Well, welcome Lady Goudenel. Do we have any more surprises awaiting us?” She looked at everyone around the table. Meliora was tempted to say that they might have a rather golden surprise if they continued much longer, but thought the better of it. Damn, she wasn’t thinking straight now. She felt another quick burst of pee release, dampening her dress. It was fortunate she was wearing dark colours, because she felt a large wet patch under her rear. “So, Lady Halene, why do you join us only now?” “Oh, I was just taking a quick break from the summit, your majesty.” Halene said. “Yes, I’m sure it must be wearing on you, what with your odd lack of diapers. Though I do hope you remain in my presence for the remainder. This all sounds quite thrilling.” It seemed almost like a threat. A few of the Luin delegates chuckled slightly, though Meliora noticed Vauque’s silent refusal to join in. The Queen only seemed bolstered by the reaction she’d gotten however. “In fact, I’m surprised that none of you have wet yourselves yet! What with all the rumors about you people and your barbarity.” the Queen directed that one straight at Halene, and it was quite clear what she was intimating. A general chuckle from the opposite side of the table didn’t help either, though once again Vauque just reddend, looking embarrassed. A furious blush enveloped Halene, and Meliora saw her fists clenching. “Please excuse my potty mouth. I find the differences in our cultures fascinating, but clearly the more concerning aspects are exaggerated. You seem to be controlling yourselves finely today my lords and ladies. One could only imagine if …” Meliora stopped listening to the queen. The bursts of urine were becoming more and more frequent now. Please let this be over. Please let this be over! All this pee-talk was taking its toll. The warm, damp patch on her rear was growing slowly, trickling into the chair beneath, and Meliora realised that she had fully begun to wet herself. All she could do now was delay the release as much as possible. Meliora saw Vauque glance at her, and blissfully, he cleared his throat and spoke, “Well, I believe that’s been quite enough for today. We have a busy time ahead of us, let us make the most of it!” and he raised his wine glass. Everyone around the table followed suit, though thank the gods no one drank, and they scooted their chairs back. Almost there! Her backside felt wet with warm urine, and as they stood, she felt the cold air get to it. If she could only hold it for a few more moments, just a few more … But the movement was too much. Meliora’s bladder spasmed, and she momentarily let go. It was impossible to hold again. There was little else she could do but gasp, as Meliora felt a sudden stream of warm urine burst out from between her thighs. An utterly blissful wave of relief flooded through her, rippling up her back, as she let her pee go. She sighed heavily, her eyes fluttering in pleasure. Maybe she could have gotten away with a small wet patch on her dark clothing, but this was simply too much. She felt her pee hit the front of her dress, soaking a glistening warmth into it, and putting on a show for the whole table. As her stream slowed, she opened her eyes and blushed as gobsmacked expressions from the other side greeted her. There was no uproar, no shouting. The Queen simply watched in petrified horror, before eventually striding around to Lord Vauque. She whispered something utterly inaudible in his ear. Those around him seemed to have heard however, and sly grins crept onto their faces.Vauque himself only frowned, almost angrily, holding his tongue. She turned and faced Meliora directly. “It seems that I was wrong.” she said quietly before twisting around, her frilly tutu following her moments after in a spiral, and striding away from the Pavillion. The remaining delegates, Meliora included, were left stunned. She looked to Vauque for answers. All he offered was a look of sympathetic resignation. “I’m sorry.” he said. And with that, his side of the table all left the pavilion as well, leaving a very wet Meliora, and her allies, alone. END OF EPISODE 2
  8. My Fav Things: Shower, specifically, getting a diaper full of water and rubbing it Enemas / Diarrhea (Do I even need to explain this nice feeling) Stain (using enema, diarrhea, pee) the backside, underside, front side, etc.. Pour oatmeal that I made watery on purpose into a clean diap Mineral / Castor Oil because it affects me in a way to where I have questionable poots that turn into a flood Squish the mess, pee, diaper fillers (oatmeal) Last but definitely not least: walk in public with a short skirt that exposes the diaper well
  9. 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.”
  10. Hi there! This is about a fictional ABDL community that I'm working on. It features adults who live in a kinky community for ABDLs. Everyone is over 18. I have about 10 chapters done and will be posting them here over time. Here is a detailed disclaimer that talks about the content and themes of this novel:: https://www.patreon.com/posts/65186383 Content Warnings Extensive Diaper Use (Wetting and Messing) Extensive Regression themes Extensive Sexual themes Adult Nursing CNC Spanking/Corporal Punishment/Orgasm Control-Denial/Chastity Bullying and teasing Humiliation ------- Previous chapter is here: --- Chloe sat on the stool in the upstairs preschool playroom and fumed. She turned her head, slowly, inching her chin millimeters at a time to make it seem like it wasn’t moving at all. The clock was directly behind her. “Chloe, face the wall,” said a voice from behind. It was the voice of Mr. Hentier, the grownup in charge of this section of the playroom. “If I have to tell you again, you’ll stay there longer.” She snorted and returned her head towards the dull pink walk ahead of her. Whatever. Without being able to see the clock, Chloe guessed that only ten minutes had passed. That meant another twenty remained. Well, twenty minutes remained on the stool, though her discipline wasn’t going to end there. What a fucking baby, she thought. Tattling because she’s a big crybaby and can’t handle the truth. Chloe had been rudely disturbed during her nap, and had to make things clear. She stayed under her covers, because her covers were the best thing available to help shield her nostrils. She yelled and screamed with righteous fury. These miserable two months could not end fast enough! Her roommate gave it back (though with tears) until a stern knock came at the door. Not waiting for permission to enter, as the two women inside were merely preschoolers, Mrs. Marath burst in. “I’m bigger than she is,” Chloe said, whining when Mrs. Marath began ripping the covers off and grabbing at her arms. The smell was even worse without the covers on her face. “She’s lying.” “Oh, nobody cares,” the grownup said, annoyance dripping from her words. “Behave more, then. Then maybe someone will believe you.” Chloe had still pleaded her case while she was marched down the halls of the Preschool in pajama pants, which did a poor job of covering her Todders, and a black bra. Mrs. Marath hadn’t even given her time to put a shirt on. She was dressed like a goddam Nursery stinker. “She pooped in the room,” Chloe pleaded. “I told her to get out and that she was a baby.” “And that’s all you said?” Mrs. Marath laughed. “You want to keep going? I haven’t decided how many spankings to assign you. And besides, I don’t see pullups on that bottom of yours yet, so you shouldn’t talk.” Chloe held her tongue. Everyone agreed that it was a faux pas to mess in a Preschool dorm room. Hell, it was frowned on in Daycare, so even though Jaclyn was essentially a Daycare baby at her core, she still should have known. It wasn’t even her first time in two months. Sometimes, in cribs, people couldn’t help it. But in Preschool there were beds, and there were always nighttime grownups to help find a potty in a pinch, if you pressed the button in the hall. This, though, was a midday mess. Unacceptable really. Jaclyn had gone out of her way to do it or take her business to the room and stink it up and Chloe had told her so. If she said dumb or bitch or shit pants thumbsucker, that was what Jaclyn likely needed to hear. Go ahead, little crybaby. Tattle on me for being a big meanie. Just make sure you tell them why I was a meanie. Then we’ll see whose reputation stands in the long-term. Oh right, nobody is going to care about you because you’re going back to the DAYCARE! There was a boy beside her, sitting on his own stool, also staring at the wall. His name was Karl, and Chloe did not know him well. He wasn’t new to Preschool, in fact he’d probably been here for the last year and a half, the whole time she had. Maybe even longer. But he was quiet and uninteresting and she didn’t find him altogether attractive. A waste of a man in pullups, really. He’d been sitting on the stool since before Chloe had been brought into the playroom, and Chloe had overheard that his crime had been skipping his chores. As boring a sin as he was a person. Chloe wasn’t sure what the Nursery penalty for skipping a chore was, she wasn’t even sure Nursery babies could tell time. But in the Daycare and Preschool, truancy called for a spanking after a timeout. And Chloe knew that well because she’d been on one of these stools for the same thing just yesterday, and she had had a makeup chore this morning because of it, and after she completed it, she would still have to plead to her room grownup Mrs. French to get her outdoor privileges back. Though Jaclyn’s crybabyness probably caved any hope of that until at least tomorrow. At least Chloe had a good reason to get in trouble. Mr. Hentier walked over to the stool area to fetch Karl. Chloe watched him stand and follow the grownup out of her sight. She made sure not to turn around too much to bring the grownup’s wrath once again. The pair did not walk far, and Chloe heard them clearly. “You’re wet,” Mr. Hentier said. “I’m sorry,” Karl said. There was no more on that topic. His pullup, in addition to his shorts, was going down around his ankles too, right there in the playroom. “You need thirty,” Mr. Hentier said. And then he began to bring the palm down on Karl’s bottom. Hentier brought it hard, and the smacks were loud and crisp on the man’s bottom. The punishment stools of the upstairs playroom were located along one wall, right beside the potties. Both of the Preschool playrooms were considerably smaller than the massive ones that could be found in the Daycare. Even the smaller Daycare playroom dwarfed both of the Preschool playrooms. The Preschool building lent itself to smaller alcoves and quieter spaces. It had a large upstairs library, which was the only library in all of Nurserton. There were more changing rooms, rather than theme-park sized ones in Daycare. Occasional potty rooms were sprinkled throughout all of the floors in a far greater density than could be found in Daycare. They were still the bowls on the floor potties though. Flushers were for Juniors and grownups only. Chloe could hear the conversation in the playroom behind her. Preschoolers, overall, were a disappointing bunch. There wasn’t a whole ton of difference between what Preschoolers did for leisure, and what Daycarers did. Games, baking, watching Disney, taking naps (this wasn’t so bad). They just did the same things, but did them in slimmer, less stinky diapers. Karl’s spankings punctuated the din of a crowded playroom. Perhaps about two dozen other Preschoolers were in there now, but many of them hushed to watch Karl get a spanking. Karl’s punishment was over as soon as it began. Chloe knew it wouldn’t feel that way though. There were footsteps and rustling as Karl got dressed. Mr. Hentier would be taking him to the changing room down the hall. She waited, counting in her head and imagining the distance it took to get from the punishment area, across the playroom, and through the door. She turned her head to look at the clock and her surroundings. Fifteen minutes left, she saw. She also saw that the playroom had gotten a bit more crowded than it had when she was first marched in here. A group of Preschoolers were watching Star Wars, almost a dozen were having a very elaborate tea party. Two women were having a handstand competition, their skirts flipping to reveal their diapers underneath. A bunch of babies were nearby her in the lounge playing a card game, probably Magic the Gathering. Beside them was a single woman, sitting in a chair with her legs crossed, meeting her eyes over the cover of a book. It was Jessica, one of the few special ones. The soon to be Juniors. Chloe almost wanted to laugh every time she saw her. It was earlier this year when Jessica had been dragged out of the outdoor pool with a stinky swim diaper, and the pool had only opened in early May. Jessica had no chance in undies. “You’re supposed to be turned around,” Jessica said, folding her book closed on her lap. Chloe stuck her tongue out back at her. She didn’t turn her head back for her, though. Chloe knew that Mr. Hentier would soon be back. When exactly he did, Chloe couldn’t be sure. That he had shoes on barely made a difference against the carpeted floor of the playroom, and grownups were just averaged sized adults after all. But then she heard uppity Jessica’s voice. “Chloe turned around for a while,” she said. “Did she?” answered Mr. Hentier. His voice got louder. “Did you turn around Chloe?” “No,” she said. “She’s lying, ask anyone.” “No, I believe you,” he said. Then the footsteps got louder. Chloe heard his clothes rustle. The pink on the wall became purple as his shadow cast over hers. “You earned fifteen more minutes, and it’ll be more if you argue.” Chloe didn’t even nod. She sat and stared at the wall and fumed. Stupid Jaclyn and stupid Jessica. They were friends, that’s what it was. They were both sitting together at breakfast this morning, they were often together. Probably met as thumbsuckers in the Daycare together or something. Daycare babies who couldn't cut it always stuck together. They liked to hold hands as they rode the elevator back down to stink town. Jessica included. Jessica very much included. Who did she think she was? She wasn’t even a Junior yet. She’s probably all hopped up on her newfound power. The little bed puddler. Whatever. It’s just a half hour. At least she wasn’t getting locked in her room. She felt her diaper through her pajamas. It had been a little wet, and her last change had come before lunch, towards the end of potty training. She’d pooped on the potty at the beginning of class and got a star, and then she wet for the rest of class until she needed a change. She’d wet at lunch, and the grownup who checked her as she left the cafeteria let her go. After that, she went back to her room to take her nap, during which she wet again. She woke up to pee; she wasn’t a bed piddler, though she’d barely gotten to drift off to sleep again before Jaclyn came in to crap her pants. Now, probably no more than an hour since the end of lunch, she had to pee again. She let it go. She’d hit her twenty stars a few days ago anyway. The minutes ticked away, though they did so in secret, somewhere behind Chloe. Timeout can, at times, represent its own sort of sedentary adventure, and sure enough, Chloe did not spend long alone. Two women were brought this time, and Chloe felt confident enough to crane her neck to look at them. Penny was the one whom Mr. Hentier sat down just beside Chloe, a tall brunette, strong and rather intimidating, who always wore pigtails and was the poster child for big-but-not. Yes, Chloe knew that someone foolish, like a Jessica, might think that it was herself that was the biggest hypocrite in the whole building. But it was Penny. Chloe, at least, never lied about having earned pullups. She was honest about that, not just because she didn’t actually want pullups, but because she didn’t care about being the biggest. She admired Sofia, another Preschooler, who never did her number #2 in the potty and earned all her stars the hard way, simply because she found the whole concept of using the plastic potties repulsive and decided to use them as little as possible. Chloe sympathized with that. Penny was the type of baby who couldn’t see how Sofia or Chloe was bigger than her, and even when backed into a corner with all the evidence that her few dalliances in pullups didn’t amount to much, she still wouldn’t. To take shit from Penny was all the more annoying because Chloe had her own, very valid reasons for being ‘below-average’. Below average, at least, as the Preschool went. The other woman sent to the stools was Ariba, one of the youngest people in the entire village. A fresh, fresh, 21-year old. Chloe would only learn later that Ariba was there for pouring a bowl of cereal, milk and all, down the back of someone’s diaper. Mr. Henriet sat her on Chloe’s left, so that Chloe was the prisoner in the middle. “Mr,” Penny said, seated upright on her stool, “I have to go potty.” “You know the rules,” Mr. Henriet said. “I really have to go,” she said. “You should have done that before you started playing with yourself,” he said. Penny turned herself and stomped her feet. “Please! I need my stars!” No you don’t, Chloe thought. You coulda shit in the potty in PT today. Penny hadn’t. During PT, during Simon Says, Penny had bent forward and filled her diaper, and then kept on playing. Before that, multiple grownups had all but led her to the toilets and asked her (as they asked everyone) if she had to go. She’d said no. Penny was doing worse than even Jaclyn, as she often did. The only difference was that Penny always managed to offset her failures with a passable month, though just barely. It was no secret that if Penny ever missed the mark and was finally put in Puffington Pluses, she’d never climb back out of Daycare. Mr. Henriet walked away after only saying to Penny what everyone knew he’d say; “Hold it, you’re a big girl.” That was the rule. In the Daycare they’d swoop you off a timeout stool to carry you to the potty, and sometimes even knocked time off a timeout for potty success. In a world of stinkers like Jaclyn, grownups had to cherish every poop that got in a potty. In Preschool, you held it through your timeout. Penny crossed her arms and huffed. A few minutes later, Penny put both hands on opposite ends of the stool, lifted her bottom up, and did her business. Chloe watched it all happen and then buried her head in her hands. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, loud enough for Penny to hear it. All she did though was hold her chin high in the air and examine her personal piece of the pink wall. A whisper came from Chloe’s other side. “Who did that?” “Who do you think?” Chloe complained. “You,” Ariba said. “Eat me,” Chloe spat back, still in a whisper. “I don’t pay to eat pussy,” Ariba snarled. “Especially not from a bitch like you.” The grownup’s voice, now tired, rose up from behind him again. “For God’s sake ladies,” he said. “No talking! How hard can this be!” Chloe chewed on her tongue, but couldn’t help herself. “Ariba called me the b-word!” Ariba groaned from beside her. Mr. Henriet could be heard growling behind them. Once again he crossed the carpet to reappear behind the ladies. Chloe began retelling the events, starting from Penny’s accident. “She’s leaving out that she said ‘eat me,” Ariba said, taking both of her hands and karate chopping her own diapered crotch. Mr. Henriet registered this in silence. “Did you say the b-word?” Ariba considered for a moment, and looked at Chloe. Then she turned her head toward Mrs. Henriet. “Sure did. Didn’t stutter one bit. Bitch bitchy bitchy-ass bitch bitch assbitch poopybitch little pussy is a coin slot bit..,” Mr. Henriet did not listen to any more. In one motion he scooped Ariba up. He lifted her off the stool and into the air. Ariba laughed like a crazy person. Chloe watched, breaking the head-turn rule once again, as Ariba was hauled over his knees, as her diaper was ripped off and the spankings began. He didn’t even ask her to count, he just began…bam bam bam! They were serious and they snapped. He covered thigh and upper cheek. Ariba laughed through the first fifteen until she started to squeal and cry. Now and then Henriet would stop and tell her to hold still. Eventually, he asked her if she was sorry. “Didn’t stutter one bit,” she said, through tears. The spankings resumed, and come the end, that moment of continued defiance would turn out to be only the halfway point. Ariba soon began to bawl as if Mr. Henriet’s hand was in fact a hot poker, branding her bottom with every slam. The 21 year old would not return to the stools. Instead, Henriet would fix up her diaper and send for an attending Junior, who would take Ariba back to her room. Ariba was in for a decent grounding, which would start with room-confinement until possibly dinnertime. Chloe would receive yet another fifteen minute extension for her poor choice of words, which was even worse because of Penny’s stink. Worse yet was that Penny only had a twenty minute timeout, meaning that she’d be let off the stool without a spanking and taken to the changing room before Chloe was off. The spanking finally came, after an hour on the stool. Chloe’s lower back hurt, as did her thighs, though she didn’t know why. She’d know why soon enough. Henriet took her to the wooden chair he had set up beside the stools and had her stand in front of her while he untapped her soggy diaper (he checked for number 2 first, just to humiliate her). Chloe’s eyes met many of the other playroom denizens. The numbers had thinned since she’d been dragged into the playroom Mrs. Marath’s haughty storm. The heat of the high afternoon was passing and many of the babies had pilfered outside. Or, the juice and other drinks everyone had for lunch had done their work, and the changing room was packed. Chloe had thought Jessica had left, but there she was, pullups around her ankles, seated on a plastic potty with a Junior standing beside her. Oh, what a showoff. Chloe felt many eyes on her when her diaper came down, and the air in the playroom felt cool now that the warmth of her pee had fallen away. Her hair was trimmed to nothing, as was everyone’s who still needed diapers and pullups. It’s easier to change that way, but here, cheeks and lips out in the middle of a room that boasted a few dozen, Chloe felt even more naked. Mr. Henriet made sure she laid across his lap such that her butt faced the most populated angles of the room. He told her she’d have to count to 45, thirty for what she’d said to Jaclyn, and another fifteen for how she’d acted during her timeout. If she misbehaved on his knee like she had been since she’d been there, he warned, it could be more. After ten Chloe was already panting and closing her eyes before the hand came down. “Are you going to apologize to your roommate?” he asked. “Yes sir,” she said. His legs against her stomach made it hard to breathe. After 12: “Are you going to do it again?” “No sir,” she said. If Jaclyn doesn’t mess in the room again, I’ll hold off. After 20: “We’re going to use respectful words when we don’t like something, right?” “Yes.” “Yes what?” “Yes sir!” She was panting for real now. She wasn’t even halfway…though she would be if it hadn’t been for Jessica and Penny and Ariba. He’d switched to her thighs and back again, and everything was burning. After 25: “You’ve been a bad girl,” he said. After 26: “Where do bad girls belong?” “Right here sir!” Fuck that one hurt bad. After 31: “Where do you look when you’re in timeout?” “At the wall sir!” After a few more she bucked and almost slid off. Mr. Henriet didn’t scold her, and helped her readjust across her lap. Seeming to know she was nearing her limit, the last dozen were quicker pops. Built on the earlier spankings, these still stung. They would continue to sting for hours. Chloe’s misdeeds continued that day, though that was the end of what she was caught for. After her spanking, Mr. Henriet took her to the changing room. She had to watch Penny’s poopy butt get changed, making that the second such privilege this day alone. She didn’t see any of Jaclyn, not in the playroom, not with her best friend Jessica. Surprisingly, Jaclyn hadn’t been in the upstairs changing room, though Chloe supposed that more than an hour had passed since her faux pas in their dorm room. Hoping that Jaclyn was getting lost in the woods, Chloe returned to her room. When she opened the door, she found that Jaclyn wasn’t there. The smell was, though, but perhaps it was her imagination. She didn’t take her clogs off to step on Jaclyn’s bed to open the windows. That, at least, was fair. Chloe figured that she’d resume her nap, now that it was almost two hours after she’d tried to start it. Laying down felt better than sitting, after all, and a few more minutes of the breeze and Chloe’s room wouldn’t smell like poop anymore. Yup. It was Chloe’s room. Not Jaclyn’s. Jaclyn was meant for a crib. That was for sure. She took her skirt off and changed her shirt into something comfortable. She put headphones from the cabinet beneath her bed and laid on her tummy to avoid feeling the sting of her bottom. She procured an old iPod. A laughably ancient artifact by outside standards, it was a perfect one for Nurserton. It provided music, but no phone to the outside world. More importantly, there was no camera. She didn’t remember where she got it. That was the case for many of the things in her cabinet. And it would not be the case for something else. Chloe relaxed for a while, and then stood up and shut off her iPod. Yes, that would seem fair. She thought. She walked to the door and opened it. The hallway was empty, all she could see was a row of still doors. Ariba happened to be one of her neighbors, and hers was the only room where the light was on. The door wouldn’t be locked, but Ariba would be dead meat if she was caught coming out for anything less than a fire alarm. Chloe shut the door and returned to her room. It couldn’t be anything obvious, nothing that she’d wear on a regular basis; nothing that she’d notice anytime soon. Normally, nondescript and regular things were the best targets; like the headphones and the iPod. Even if the original owner had seen them in Chloe’s hands, as they had, in fact, they would have no way to prove the Chloe’s were indeed theirs. Often, they wouldn’t even suspect it. Fancy personal onesies and clothing items, things that Jaclyn had acquired plenty of over her time here, wouldn’t do. But this item needn't be for Chloe’s benefit. This was for Jaclyn’s loss. She reached into a drawer on Jaclyn’s bedside table. There she found Jaclyn’s jewelry box. She took it out and opened the latch. There was a little song that played when she did, something she’d heard and rolled her eyes at countless times. It was a little Disney song. It reminded Chloe of Cinderella. What a drooler. There, sitting on the side of the box was a smaller, inner box. She reached in and opened that box, black and felt, which housed a single pair of earrings…small and shiny, with a pink heart set in the middle. Chloe had seen many roommates get their demotions, and knew that in the craziness that the move entailed, baby Jaclyn wouldn’t have time to even open her jewelry box to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be. Baby Jaclyn wouldn’t think of it until she was set up in her boisterous baby room, and then she’d suspect that she’d lost her precious earrings somewhere in transit. Even if she blamed Chloe, she’d never find them. Chloe left her room, diaper dry and ass sore, and marched off to her hiding place. She gave Ariba’s door a good tongue for posterity. The felt box was still in the larger singing jewelry box, which itself still remained in Jaclyn’s bedside drawer. Its contents, however, jingled in Chloe’s pocket.
  11. Disclaimer: https://www.patreon.com/posts/65185502 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.*** Previous chapter: ------ Lily rested her mop on her shoulder. After a moment with her eyes closed and her breath steady, she peed. Warmth surged out of her. It hit the front of her diaper like a tennis ball against a wall, and then it sloshed backwards beneath her. She took a deep breath. It wasn’t a good feeling. She didn’t like her pussy being dipped in a pool of her own hot urine. But it was a familiar feeling, and fleeting. The diaper absorbed it all to carry it like a pocket against her inner thighs. Whatever peeing used to feel like was a distant memory. Another inmate walked by, heedless of the wetness on the ground. The woman smelled like sweat. She smelled of worse things too. This inmate had clearly come from the yard, and brown streaks of dirt from the women's tennis shoes followed the inmate through the part of the block that Lily had been told to mop. Lily sighed and took the mop off of her shoulder. She held it over the bucket, wrung it out, and then plunged it back into the soapy broth. Clean the floor from Cell 230 to 260. That’s it. That’s all she had to do. So she set out to deal with the tracks left by the other inmate. She didn’t bother yelling at her. What was the inmate to do? It’s not like there was a mat by the big double doors that separated the interior of Cellblock A from the yard. One couldn’t leave shoes anywhere but in one’s own cell (against the wall, under the cot, if one didn’t want to anger a guard during an inspection). This wasn’t a house, where shoes were left by the door. This was a public place. And nobody cared whether or not the floor was actually clean. Lily did though, so Lily mopped. She started in the direction where the woman came from, towards the double doors to the yard. She wasn’t supposed to go beyond cell 230 with her bucket and mop, that wasn’t her job. Her job was to just clean the floor from Cell 230 to 260 and to do it, and nothing else, for an hour. That ‘nothing else’ included talking, but she spoke anyway. Other inmates that she knew would come by and they’d say hello. Sometimes they’d ask her if she knew where another inmate went, or if the guard walking on the upper deck was in a good mood. Those bad moods really mattered because that determined if even a little amount of conversation merited discipline. But almost always, even the surliest guards don’t feel like writing a discipline report on an inmate for some chitter chatter. That doesn’t mean they never did, no, they absolutely will at some point and there is also nothing to do about that. But there’s no point in living to avoid it. They’ll write up an inmate when they want to, and Lily had learned to accept it. She took a look at the nearby guard. He was a big man, and thick around the belly. He had a belt with a club in it, though she’d never seen any of them actually use those. He was up on the upper deck, and he looked like he had seen the same thing Lily did; a woman coming in from the yard in muddy shoes. He made his way to the nearby staircase and went in the direction of the orange-clad woman in muddy shoes. Mopping wasn’t enough to fully occupy Lily’s attention, even if it was difficult to make out the dirt footprints against the reflective surface of the floor. She felt like a tracker, following some wounded animal. But really, no, she felt nothing like a hunter. She felt more like a roomba, with wheels and an optical lens that could spot filth and hone in on it. Lily see dirt, Lily clean dirt. That’s what Lily is capable of. The guard disappeared into the cell where the woman had gone. Honing in to check that diaper. A different breed of roomba. He came out a few moments later, with the woman walking in front of him. The woman’s face was expressionless as she walked in front of the guard. Her diaper was thick. Its outlines were clear in front, and they puffed out the orange fabric of her jumpsuit. Lily’s was no better, no, Lily’s was worse. Most uniforms shrunk in the caustic detergent of the laundry rooms, though the tightness and revealing embarrassment around the crotch were always the least concerning aspects of the shrinkage. The outlines of the woman’s diaper were visible on her tummy, where the top of it stopped, and across her hips, even though the plastic wings of the diaper there were very thin. The woman looked uncomfortable as she made her way, and her gait had the tinge of a waddle to it. She had probably been like that when she came through Lily’s section of the floor before, but Lily had been too busy peeing to notice. She had noticed the woman’s smell, though, and it was no surprise that she was going where she was going. Not far away, towards the center of the cross-shaped block where Lily lived (and would continue to live) was a changing center. It was one of two in Cellblock A, the other being located symmetrically opposite across the rotund central area of the block. It was nothing more than an area blocked off by a low wall, with chairs oriented around a medical table. The woman walked there and sat down in one of those chairs. From Lily’s position in the middle of the hall, she could count maybe ten or so heads sitting in chairs just like that woman. She knew almost all of them (though this particular woman in the muddy feet was someone she wasn’t familiar with). They all stared blankly at the medical table, which featured another guard as well as a woman, an inmate, stark naked on her back. The best seats in prison. Lily watched as the guard began his return journey down the hall. His boots squeaked as he went. Lily looked at the path that the guard and the woman took. Another trail of muddy footprints crossed the space between 230 and 260. These were less visible, but Lily had little else to direct her attention towards. She made a mental note to mop down in that direction once she was done with the first set of footprints that the inmate had made. She doused the head of the mop once more in her bucket and made her way. One of the things to think about in Stenton, when there is just nothing else to think about, is when you’re going to get your diaper changed. To say that Lily was not resentful of the woman who had tracked dirt not once but twice through her section of the floor was an understatement. She was jealous. Jealous that the woman was now sitting in the changing queue. The best seats in the house. She’d be out of her diaper and she looked like she’d used it well enough to make the trip worth it. Did it suck to be over there, with the other women in the changing queue? Yup, always did. Did it smell bad to be over there? No doubt. It never smelled good when you sat down in a chair next to multiple other grown women in soiled diapers. Was it fun to be stripped while a guard draws wipes through your ass? Nope. Never was and never would be. But at least the full diaper would be gone, and that was something that the woman with the muddy feet could say that Lily couldn’t. Though it wouldn’t be long until a guard took her there either. Hopefully. Although you could always guarantee that at some point, for even the slightest thing, a guard might cell you and write you up, you simultaneously couldn’t guarantee that a guard would actually take you to the changing area. Whether or not a guard took an inmate to one of the changing stations around the block had nothing to do with what was in their diaper. Everyone was on a schedule, more or less. Even a quiet, boring, and ordered place like Stenton prison could experience enough chaos such that any schedule could become wildly unpredictable. When it came to changing, guards had a plan for the day, one they didn’t share, often not even with each other. All of them, though, agreed that the diapers were there for punishment, and that if a little chaos resulted in discomfort for the inmates of Stenton, then chaos was working as intended. There was no legal requirement that the part of Lily’s sentence that enumerated ‘three diaper changes a day’ had to be religiously followed. There was no independent committee that interviewed prisoners to make sure they were getting the appropriate amount of diaper changes a day, according to what their judge had ordered. Nobody cared, for one, and nowhere in Lily’s sentence did it say she had a right to any amount. It only said: In addition; Lily is to be diapered for the entirety of her incarceration. She will be permitted no more than three diaper changes in a calendar-day during the duration of her custody. This aspect of Lily’s punishment will begin with the issuance of this sentence. Indeed, she hadn’t. She’d lost track of the days long ago, but she knew without a doubt that she’d got no more than three diaper changes a day. The average was undoubtedly lower. There were days when she only got two. There had been some sticky, hot, itchy, mushy, smelly, sleepless days where she’d only got one. Three was just the ceiling. There were no four-change days in her memory to match any of the under-three days. The only thing keeping her at three at all was the guards, for following the rules was part of their nature. Lily’s lawyer had prepared her for sentencing, way back when. “They’ll probably give you two. We’re fighting for three.” “Why not four?” Lily said. Technically, five changes was a possible limit, but she knew enough to not hope for that. The lawyer shook her head. Apparently, Lily’s lawyer knew enough to not hope for four either. Lily was already convicted by that time, already in orange, already diapered. There had been a thick diaper waiting for her in the side chamber where they took her after they dismissed the jurors that had decided to convict her. She’d remembered holding it together in court but bursting into tears as soon as that huge white diaper came into view. Her bowels churned and her feet felt like lead in the bright concrete warren beside the courtroom. Her hands had been cuffed in front of her, and two guards on either side were holding her by her biceps. Their guidance was firm as they took her, almost limp, to the table. They took off her cuffs and stripped her… Her last use of the toilet had been so unceremonious. A rushed evacuation before it was time to listen to the prosecution put the cherry on top of Lily’s public evisceration. A few months later, with her jury long gone and presumably eating ice cream and tanning on the fine Shamurian beaches, her lawyer shook her head. “No, four would anger the judge,” she said. “Three is the best we get. We ask for four and we guarantee that the judge will give you two.” Lily understood negotiation well enough to agree with her lawyer’s logic. It was hard to sit there in the sentence proceedings (there were two appearances in court prior to her actual sentencing) and listen to her lawyer argue for three diaper changes a week. Especially since she was already wearing them in jail, between her conviction and her final sentencing. In jail, prior to sentencing, they gave her five changes, and that was already unbearable. Worse, she’d seen the path of many women whose trials had gone before hers. She’d seen them all try to adjust to four from five (most wound up getting four to five changes, but Lily was in for something more serious). All whined and begged and complained. “My client is sorry for what she did, she has expressed sincere guilt. This is her first mistake before the law, and she is going to vow that it never happens again.” It wouldn’t. It literally couldn’t. They’d made sure to take away Lily’s license to practice law as soon as they diapered her. “My client looks forward to her punishment,” her lawyer said. Lily remembered herself sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair for the first time not wearing a dress, but in the same kind of orange jumpsuit she wore today. She had tried to imagine that being true; that she was looking forward to it. Yes, I’m excited for what’s coming next. I woke up this morning in my jail cell in my diaper, and listened to the woman next to me in the van to the courthouse who told me that the smartest thing to do, if I could, was to shit myself as soon as I got off the van so I wouldn’t have to shit my diaper in court because they generally wouldn’t change me again until the whole day’s proceedings were done. I figured she was right, yet she was only half right. Piss and poop was in my diaper for an hour before they changed me to bring me out here. I just got my asswiped by a policewoman who thinks my buttcheeks need to be scrubbed like metal pan, and yes, I am looking forward to years and years more of this. “Lily understands that four changes a day is fairly prompt and she’s aware that her crimes are too serious for that, and she wouldn’t want her upcoming incarceration to be wasted on a punishment that isn’t severe enough.” Her lawyer spoke correctly, if inaccurately. No matter what, once convicted, it was best to prostrate yourself before the mighty righteous will of Shamurian society. Even if you plead ‘not guilty,’ you were supposed to be ecstatic and thankful that the good people of Shamuria had put you where you belonged. You didn’t have to believe it, but you had to say it. The prosecution argued for two changes a day. The prosecuting attorney, the winning attorney, was dressed impeccably and conducted herself with the same bright-eyed enthusiasm she had worn the entire way. She was young and Lily had overheard that her case was her first-ever as the lead attorney. The swagger she brought was contagious, and the jury had awarded her with a conviction. “Got the bitch!” The bitch was Lily. She was got. Lily picked at her hot wet diaper and took a break from mopping, resting the haft once again against her shoulder. She tried to recall the attorney’s name, but couldn’t. She must have been no older than twenty three at the time. Long straight blond hair, always wore a skirt to the knee and leggings. Designer jackets, glasses. More importantly, she had perfect pitch. She sang a lullaby to the jury in a manner Lily could only dream of. Her voice rose and fell as she unveiled fact after fact, damning Lily with every note. Two hours into the first witness hearing, and Lily realized she had worse odds than a lobster hovering above boiling water. She asked questions and left them unanswered, leaving the jury to contemplate Lily’s criminality on their own. She rarely pushed the line and the judge rarely had to scold her, whereas Lily’s lawyer had to fight tooth and nail for every edge. This woman doesn’t need a law degree, the young prosecutor had said during her closing statements. She needs diapers. And you’ve got a chance to put her in them for a long time. It took just two hours of deliberations, which is barely more than the time it takes for a jury to retreat into the decision room, have a snack, and run through the list of things they have to do. Fresh off cold-cut sandwiches and soda, the jury took advantage of their chance, and a diaper had been laid out for her in the processing room. Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! A win for Shamuria and humanity! Months later, when the number three came down from the mouth of the judge, the lawyer tried to be cheerful for Lily. It was as if to say, an average of eight hours in your piss and shit between changes isn’t so bad. Imagine if it was twelve! Yeah, it could have been six. It could have been less than five hours on average. But eight isn’t so bad. You’ll be fine. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Yeah, you’ll have to sit in it for a while longer than you do now, but those two extra changes of five a day don’t amount to that much. It was the only thing that Lily could be cheerful at throughout the whole trial. Lily watched as a tall, slender woman exited a cell in the section she was assigned to clean. Her name was Lindsey, and like Lily and the other woman, she too was dressed in orange with an obvious diaper underneath. She stepped out onto the newly mopped floor and looked both ways, as if addressing a street that she was about to cross. In doing so, she made note of the guard, who had returned to his post on the catwalk. She looked at Lily too, and gave Lily a long, forlorn look until Lily turned away and pretended to be busy. Lily continued mopping and made a deliberate effort to not pay attention to the woman. Lindsey was a newer inmate, here for maybe three months at most, and was a four-changer. It was weird, how quickly you learned to remember how often someone got their diapers changed. But it mattered because it directly affected how pleasant they were to be around. Lily knew a few more things about Lindsey though, as she was one of the more famous residents of cellblock A. A television actress, Lindsey received a two year sentence for bribing an admissions office with cash to help get her daughter into an elite Shamurian university. Rumor was that wouldn’t be the end of it, as some of the other inmates claimed to have seen her get loaded back on the ferry, which either meant you were being freed or you were going back to court. In Lindsey’s case, it couldn’t be the former; she hadn’t been in Stenton long enough and judges never, ever, reduced sentences. Lily hadn’t seen her go, and hadn’t heard any concrete evidence of such happenings. But she did know that no matter what, whether you’re a five-changer or a one-changer, the only toilets in the building are located behind the huge blast doors for the guards. This wasn’t a guess. Inmates who had the misfortune to be taken through the doors reported that on the other side were a pair of men’s and women’s bathrooms, just for guards. Not really a big surprise, Lily saw no need to take her own trip through the doors to find out. One was never in a state of freedom when going through those. Just so, by standing in the middle of the hall, Lindsey had already internalized the dominant code of ethics among inmates at Stenton. You have to shit, so shit responsibly. Shitting at or after lockdown was a recipe for drama, as was doing it at mealtime. You tried to avoid doing it in your cell at all, unless you had a good reason. That rule was more up in the air, as sometimes avoiding a dirty diaper in the cell was a bit much to ask of one-changers. Everyone violated it at one point or another, sometimes simply because a lockdown could happen in the middle of the day. Lily had once been sitting in the changing area, one inmate away from getting her dirty diaper changed, when the alarm bell rang. She had to race back to her cell, her diaper still engorged and disgusting. That lockdown had lasted over two hours and her cellmate had to suffer through it with her. There were lots of reasons that could happen, some more forgivable than others. The rule was that you tried to avoid it. Lily saw out of the corner of her eye that Lindsey was still doing her business. It would seem odd to do it so blatantly, but it made perfect sense. She wanted to do it out of her cell, in a place where nobody would be surprised by her. Now and then that backfired, and a rowdy prisoner might point and laugh at a woman trying to be as obvious as possible so others could avoid her. Nobody wanted to come around a corner just to bump into a grown woman taking a dump in her pants. You learned to appreciate blatant evacuation as a global favor, as humiliating as it was. The most important thing, which Lindsey knew already, was to do it so the guards would notice it. Being obvious was great, yet being heckled drew even more attention, no matter how much it made you want to die. That was another part of it. The surest way to ensure that the guards don’t change a diaper is to ask them to change it. The surest way to sit in poop for the rest of the day was to see yourself to the changing queue on your own. As dirty as Lindsey was making her diaper, she wouldn’t be changed out of it until a guard decided it was time for her to sit in the chairs. Finally, Lindsey finished loading her diaper. She stretched, checked again to see if Lily was watching her, and then looked up once again at the guard. The guard, who had surely seen everything, didn’t react. Lindsey didn’t hide her dismay, and rolled her neck dramatically and sucked on her teeth. There was nothing to do, though. She fixed her uniform, pulling it out where it had gotten too snug around her crotch. She sniffed her hands. Then, pooped diaper and all, Lindsey walked gingerly towards the center of the cellblock, out of Lily’s area to clean. Lily’s chore continued. A rectangle that is fifteen cell blocks long is large, but not large enough to occupy her and her mop for an hour. To use up more time, she offered to mop the cells of inmates in that area. She didn’t go in any that were empty. Most waved her off or pretended not to hear her at her door. Some she avoided because she already knew the answer of the occupant inside. Some were asleep. But a few stepped out of their cells so she could clean the small floor that they nominally called their own. One of those women was Kimmi. Lily came across her, mop and bucket in hand, while she was kneeling on her pillow, which was placed on the floor. She was bent over a deck of cards that she had splayed out on her cot. The international card game of prisons…even diaper prisons: solitaire. “Yeah sure, though it’s the air that’s dirty,” she said. Kimmi laughed and hauled herself up. She pushed past Lily, and she crinkled as she went. Lily’s nose rankled, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. “Don’t worry,” Kimmi said. “The bitch is on the dock.” Lily took this to refer to Kimmi’s cellmate, Rita. She didn’t need any reference to know what Kimmi meant by the dock. “Hope it hurts,” Lily said. Kimmi laughed again and nodded in agreement. Kimmi stood by as Lily mopped. The cells weren’t big enough for it to take too long, but Lily took her time. Why not take her time? Kimmi talked to her as she cleaned, despite the rule forbidding inmate job-conversation going both ways. Despite her soiled diaper, Kimmi had bubbling energy inside her, and she seemed to hum to a rhythm whenever she was silent. “I hear you got a whole hell coming to you,” Kimmi said, bobbing her head. Lily wasn’t surprised the word had already gotten to Kimmi. You’ll be fine. Just fine. A few docks is better than a lot. Four docks in a row is not a lot. Argue and you’ll get five, so shut up. “It won’t be so bad,” she said. “They going to break you up?” Lily hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know,” she said. “That’d be a bummer. Luckiest thing in this whole place finally coming to an end. You two have been bumping it forever.” Kimmi said. Then she opened her arms to envelope some of the bars that formed the open wall of her cell. “Come to mine,” she said. The notion that Lily had a choice of what cell the guards put her in made them both laugh. The comment had more meaning than a simple joke, but for now Lily preferred to treat Kimmi’s absurdity as simply that. “Come on. I only stink up the room to get back at Rita. You should hear her! It doesn’t stop at lights-out.” “I can imagine.” “She’ll be writing a whole slam book on me, you can be sure of it. She’s going to make a series about her awful cellmate.” Kimmi laughed again. “I can’t wait to read it.” Lily bent low to mop under Rita’s cot. Part of her wanted to rung the sodden head of her mop onto Rita’s bed. To leave a dirty and soapy mess so that Rita had nowhere to rest on her way back from the dock. But she thought better of it. She was in deep enough trouble as it was. “So, what do you think about rooming with me?” Kimmi asked, again. “I’m still rooming with Marji.” “Yeah but not for long.” “We'll still be together.” “Really?” Kimmi said. She narrowed her eyes as the true thrust of the conversation was laid bare. “They’ll be watching you.” Kimmy leaned against the bars and stared at Lily. Lily became hyper aware of her own contours under her orange jumpsuit. She’d never thought she’d be sexy again, though this concern didn’t arise until weeks after actually being put in diapers. In retrospect, it would have been wise to get some action when they still let her wear panties. One of her greatest regrets. There had been more important worries back then, though as a lawyer, she should have foreseen where it would all end up. Now her pussy didn’t know or had forgotten that she was in prison. Her pussy was the one that made her look forward to diaper changes not just so she could get out of the diaper she was wearing, but so that she could see the bodies of the other women without their jumpsuits and their own thick diapers. It could be a gruesome sight, at times, but you could always close your eyes for the beginning and just look when the woman’s bottom was cleaner. Most diapers weren’t like that anyway. It was a weird, discordant feeling, to be aroused in a place like a changing area. But it made a sick, twisted sense; her pussy had adapted to the situation. It’d taken much longer for her to realize that other inmates had accepted the same realities, that they’d learned to ignore the thickness of her ass and crotch, and the garish glare of perpetual orange. Her thighs and ass, covered in a diaper that she had been wearing since the morning and forced to move in and pump in as she sweated in her full length suit, hadn’t gotten used to it, like her pussy had. She wanted a change badly, which, conveniently, was what her pussy wanted too. Somedays, she wished she could be more like Kimmi. Kimmi was one of those rare few in Stenton who seemed to enjoy her time behind bars. Or at least she was able to tolerate it effortlessly. She’d been cheery from the getgo, quick to joke, quick to to laugh, and quick to stop taking pee and poop so seriously. How could she care what was in her pants? She was a one-changer. The answer to what was in her pants was almost never good. She’d openly estimated that she maybe spent less than an hour a day without piss in her diaper. She even didn’t care to admit to the other women that she was wetting the bed ‘involuntarily’ and that she was ‘definitely wetter when she woke up than when she went to bed.’ Even more, she’d turned a whole breakfast table red with embarrassment when she blurted that ‘masturbation felt better when the front was thick with pee because it gave you firm something to rub against.’ Kimmi could be a hoot around the dock, too. If she was on the benches, watching woman after woman get spanked and paddled on the dock, she’d call and cheer. Kimmi never did it maliciously (as some might be for Rita right now), but always in a way that, if it were you getting spanked, it made you feel better. Lily hated, most of all, that the pillories and the dock were in the very center of the block, but Kimmi made it bearable, provided she was there. Oh come on, that one was a little low! Swing batter-batter swing! Come-on tootsie keep that back straight we gotta see that roast beef. Yes girl! Lily likes it doggie doesn’t she? She’s doing a great job! Show us what you’ve been hiding in those diapers hun! Sometimes she would get other inmates singing so that the sounds of the smacking died away, even to the ears of the woman getting hit. Nobody ever minded the raucous atmosphere she could create, save the guards and the occasional women who still thought they could sleep through their sentence. The guards sometimes felt that Kimmi’s irreverence took away from the essentially punitive exercise, and they would cell her for the rest of the day. That only made the average inmate appreciate Kimmi more. Except for the Ritas of the world, of course. The inmate cheers were markedly different when it was Rita’s bottom up on the platform called the dock. The mood was a bit more in line with what the guards intended when Rita got spanked. So it was fine to be around Kimmi, even when Kimmi smelled like shit. She was the type of inmate that could make you forget there was a bag of piss around your waist and that it’d been years since you’d had a private moment of free access to your own vagina. Moreover, she was the type of gay that wasn’t a gayness of reluctance. Kimmi guessed that up to half of the women in the prison, at least, were willing, but very few were voracious about it. Like Lily, they’d sexualized what was available. The straighter girls relished those few moments on changing tables with male guards, doing everything they could to repress their extreme embarrassment and the awareness that the guard who was seeing her excrement couldn’t possibly find her sexy. They’d whisper to each other about the way he wiped. He lingered. He palmed my butt. Nobody ever had the heart to remind the women of what they already knew themselves. Well, Rita did, and gave everyone yet another reason to hate her. It mattered greatly to the straights what fantasy they could roll their eyes back into when the stiff and pissy diaper on their crotch was pressed into their clit by another female inmate. If they could believe that they were back on that table with strapping officer Sipho, if they could believe that the mouth kissing their breasts through their orange jumpsuit featured his stubbly lips, they could cum. Lily never disabused a straight woman of that fantasy. She knew best to melt away, to simply appreciate the time between her legs, even if she wasn’t thinking about Lily and there was nothing down there but diapers and urine to smell. When their half-assed efforts to help Lily cum in return brought them both to boredom, Lily was fine to leave. The memory and imagination of the straight woman’s genitals beneath all those layers and the memory of her convulsing body, were vivid enough for Lily to pleasure herself alone in her cot. But Kimmi meant it. Kimmi reciprocated. Kimmy sought it out and saw her as more than an elaborate vibrator which she could place between her legs while she fantasized about what lay behind the zipper of officer Sipho. Kimmi didn’t become ashamed and refuse to talk to Lily for weeks after one shared moment. She would be eager again and again until the guards hauled them both on the dock. And then some. “I think we’ll still be together,” Lily said. “We haven’t talked about it.” “What’s she doing?” “I don’t know. Probably celled,” she said. Marji had been in an equally bad mood since the guards had caught them on top of eachother yesterday. Knowing Marji, she’d lashed out and was sitting on her cot with a chain around her ankle. “Atta girl,” Kimmi said. “I’m not trying to steal her girl, you know,” Kimmi said. At this point, Lily was only pretending to mop. “No. I couldn’t imagine a lady with a diaper like yours would attempt to flirt with a catch like me,” Lily said. Kimmi laughed again. “Hey. If I waited to be clean to make my moves, my cunt would close up. You gotta know what you’re working with.” With this, Kimmi made a shimmy and showed her bottom to Lily, pressing it against the bars. It was a grotesque thing to do considering what Kimmi’s diaper had inside it, but Kimmi never shied away from the absurd. It was refreshing, even when it made Lily recoil in mock disgust. “Oh stop it,” she said. “Hey, your hour is almost up, by the way,” Kimmie said. She motioned to the clock that was high up on the wall at one end of the block. “You on one or two changes today.” “I’ve not been changed since just after breakfast.” And didn’t she know it. Her diaper was soaked, and she’d been holding number two since then. A guard had felt her ass right after the end-of-breakfast bell, before her meal had got things moving. She’d discretely pushed as he felt her, but all she managed to do was fart into his hand. It wasn’t atypical timing for a first change, and as a three changer she could expect to get changed in the two or so hours after breakfast. She preferred on the later end of that range, so she could get her movement going and so her first change of the day could be a dirty one. It didn’t always work out that way. “When they let you out, let’s get changed together,” Kimmi said. She didn’t mention let’s try to get changed together. Sometimes, it was nice to pretend that you had agency. Surprisingly, she was dead right. Lily’s diaperchange was all but assured after her chore was done. It was more than an hour after lunch now, and the guards went looking for the threes before and after lunch. Lily was probably one of the last threes to still be wearing her post-breakfast diaper, excluding those who’d been downgraded to twos for discipline. It sure felt like it. The ideal day, for Lily, was a late post-breakfast change, a late post-lunch change, and then a post-dinner change, so that she was fresh for lockdown. She rarely got all three in a day, but much of her excess effort was spent trying to orchestrate it. What else was there to do? She’d hide from guards before meals and find them after, when she was fuller. The goal was always to spend as little time as possible in full and dirty diapers. She doesn’t need a law degree, she needs diapers. She wondered if her jury thought of that when they considered her guilt. Yes, this woman needs her priorities narrowed down to nothing but a toddler’s mindset. Where to pee and poop most effectively. That’s where this grown woman, who once argued cases before a court, who survived three years of law school, who was about to make partner at just twenty-eight, belonged. That’s what her mind was really good for. Good mopping and good fecal logistics. “You just want to see me naked.” Kimmi craned her head. “It’s officer Billie at the table,” she said. “At least at the close one.” Lily stepped out of the cell with her bucket and mop and looked down the hall. She still knew most of the women sitting in the chairs there. Lindsey was there. The woman who’d tracked mud through her section was there too. She was the one on the table, but from their angle they could only see her large tits bouncing about as the officer Billie raised and lowered her legs. Way beyond, she could see the blast doors to the guard quarters. One of the doors creaked open, and a guard came through it and into the cellblock. The door shut lazily behind them, but the hollow slam reverberated all the way down to Kimmi’s cell. “Damn,” Lily said, looking at officer Billie. Kimmi allowed herself to be distracted by the scene for a few moments. For once, Lily knew Kimmi wasn’t looking at the bare-chested woman. She turned back to Lily. “Well get it done and stick together. You got five minutes so nows your time,” she said. She was very likely right. Five minutes left in her hour (which was almost all the time she needed to actually complete the job allotted for an hour), meant she should get to business. She was only relieved when a guard ordered her to bring her bucket and mop to the closet. Generally, a diapercheck would come after that. Lily had planned all along to poop right at the end of her hour. Her early change notwithstanding, and the squicky itchiness she felt right now (which was par for the course after the prosecution nailed her many years ago), today was fixing to be an efficient, reasonable day. The punishments for playing with Marji would not come until tomorrow. “Alright,” Lily said, and she headed out of the cell toward the center of the block, where Lindsey had pooped earlier. It also occurred to her that she had spent conspicuously long in Kimmi’s cell, and she was definitely pushing discipline if the guard on the catwalk was paying attention. Kimmi put a hand on her shoulder, though. Lily stopped, and watched where Kimmi pointed. “Do it on Rita’s bed,” she said. Lily turned. “Noo,” she said. “That’s a little much.” “Come on. She won’t notice it over everything else,” Kimmi said, waiving to herself. “Just give her a nice extra flavor to her pillow. You know she deserves it.” Kimmi’s suggestion was extreme. It represented a side to Kimmi that Lily had rarely seen. A ferocity and vengefulness that did not coincide with her general cheerfulness. But it still made sense to Lily. Loyalty and camaraderie were the root of Kimmi’s character. It was her and her girls against the bullshit. Rita wasn’t one of them. Rita with her horn-rimmed glasses, who paid the commissary extra to get her hair products, who threatened everyone with a salacious expose, who bragged that when she was out, the world would welcome her eagerly. Many of inmates, despite their lofty origins, knew that nothing waited for them but diapered slavery and middle-class employment. And even the best outcomes were still many, many years down the road. She’d even written about Lily. Before Rita had found trouble with the law, Rita made headlines finding out everything she could about other wealthy men and women who’d fallen out of favor with Shamurian society. Case Closed! Corrupt lawyer weeps and begs like a helpless lamb as she realizes the law is no longer on her side. “She really squirmed when we got her out of court. They’re all very emotional so we understand. But they have to learn quickly that if they fight us, we’ll change them less. We’ll keep that diaper on ice until the morning and she’ll understand what she’s in for.” It’d all been true. Rita had gotten to one of those guards and got the quote. Even the story about sitting in that first diaper until the following morning was true. At first, Rita’s own fall from grace was celebrated in Stenton. Then they met her, and realized nothing could be worse than having to hear her talk. Rita was the bullshit. All of this is to say that yes, Lily leaned her mop against the bars, kicked off her slippers, and squatted right on Rita’s pillow. Here’s what happens when you’re not on our side but you’re inside, you cunt. It was relaxing and delightful, truly. One of the best bowel movements she’d ever had in her entire time at Stenton. A massive relief. Her stomach shrunk an inch in circumference. Officer Billie at the table waiting to deal with it. The rest of the day to relax and play cards and only have to worry about how fast she was pissing herself. Her poop was huge and firm and as disgusting as ever, but she wouldn’t have to be in it long. “What the fuck!” came a voice. Lily hadn’t realized she’d opened her eyes. “Fuck you,” Kimmi said. Her voice wavered though, and Kimmi seemed to shrink away from the new person standing in the door between the bars of her cell. Lily gasped and stumbled off of Rita’s bed. “I said the fuck are you doing?” Rita asked, stepping into the room. She was blonde and freckly, and she kept her hair wavy with the product she bought. “Nothing,” Lily said. “Nothing?” Rita was shouting. Lily was anxious to leave. A guard who arrived had a lot of pretext in the scene that was unfolding. “You were shitting on my pillow.” “No she wasn’t,” Kimmi said. Rita spun and pointed a finger at Kimmi. Rita’s cheeks were flush, and her eyes were still watery from the spanking she’d taken on the dock. She didn’t deserve any sympathy, but it was hard to imagine her being anything but angry at what she’d returned to. “It was your idea,” she said. “It wasn’t my idea because nothing happened!” Kimmi shouted. Lily was trying to step between the two, to get her bucket and leave. Kimmi could handle herself. If a guard came now to see this, she was sure to be disciplined. Getting into a fight in a cell when she was supposed to be mopping was way out of line. Rita’s bone to pick was clearly with Kimmi, despite the fact that it had been Lily’s action that had enraged her. Lily pushed past them, grabbed her bucket and mop, and exited the cell. Her diaper was incredibly full of piss and poop, and it squished into her as she walked. She was sweating all over now too, and she could feel the oil of her hair on the back of her neck, the moisture down the sides of her hot jumpsuit, and of course, all of the heat generated by the mess she’d made in her diaper. She wanted out of there, to continue making wet circles on the ground until some guard took her to be changed by officer Billie. “Stop! Hands on the bars!” Lily’s heart sank. She propped her mop in the bucket and did as she was told. She was outside the cell, and she knew the position. Palms open, hands up above the head, feet spread, chest against the bars. She didn’t even see the guard who had ordered her against the bars, but she could hear his boots and that his voice was male. She could also hear that he wasn’t messing around. “You two, against the wall, now!” Kimmi and Rita immediately stopped talking and assumed the same position, but against the wall at the back of their cell. Lily was anxious for what came next. She heard the guard walking, his boots creaking and the chains and metal hanging from his belt loops were jingling like he was Santa Claus. “What happened?” came another guard’s voice. This one was female. “Fight.” “Physical?” “No.” “About what?” Rita, like an idiot, decided to speak. “They shit on my pillow!” “Quiet!” The guards barked at the same time. “Head against the wall,” the female guard said. Lily could see that Rita’s head was against the wall, but the guard continued. “Do you hear me?” “Yes ma’am!” Rita said. “You talk again, I’ll bring you right back to the dock, you hear me?” “Yes ma’am!” “You want that to happen?” “No ma’am!” Lily could hear the smugness in the voice of the female guard. They enjoyed doing that to inmates. It could go on for minutes. Rita surely hated it, Rita would be scratching a hole through the concrete in rage right about now. Lily couldn’t enjoy the schadenfreude, though. Her’s was coming. The guards then talked to themselves. They were so quiet that Lily couldn’t even hear them. Finally, the male guard addressed her. “You, out here,” he said. “Yes sir.” “What happened just now?” Lily gulped. “I was offering to clean cells because I had mopped the main floor, sir,” she said. “I was cleaning this one,” she said. “You were cleaning this one?” “Yes sir.” “Whose cell is this?” “This is their cell, sir,” she said. She realized that this was vague, so she motioned with her head inwards, towards the two women. “Have you defecated in your diaper?” this time the female guard asked. “Yes ma’am.” “When did you defecate in your diaper?” “A while ago ma’am, while I was doing my job, ma’am.” “When’s your job up?” the female guard said. Lily knew this answer could damn her. “Not sure. It might be soon, I might have had another hour. I’m not sure if I’ve been given two hours or not, Ma’am.” The male guard spoke to the female one. “She’s up on her chore now, I was about to come get her.” They were quiet for a moment. Lily wondered if they were still talking. The guards knew the schedules and goals of their inmates as well as the inmates. The guards knew that inmates would try to time their messing for when they were most likely to be changed. This meant that Lily’s claim to have messed herself a while ago was doubtful to them, and if Lily was lying about that, then Lily was in all likelihood the guilty party. Rita was then asked to give them a play-by-play. Contrary to her signature journalistic flourish, Rita was not unlike the blonde prosecutor that had sent Lily here in the first place. Another blonde bitch getting the better of me. Rita knew to tell her story politely, soberly, and with plenty of sir’s and ma’ams so as to be as deferential as possible. She told everything she could. She said I think I saw and I think that to make herself seem more impartial. She might have been screaming at Lily and Kimmi just moments before, but now she ‘wasn’t quite sure what she saw.’ When Rita was done, the pair of guards returned their attention to Lily. “What do you have to say?” “I don’t know sir.” “Is she right?” “I don’t know sir, I’m not sure what she said, sir.” “She said she saw you on her bed, squatting on her pillow.” “No sir.” “No sir what?” “I didn’t do that, ma’am.” “Then what were you doing in that cell?” “Mopping ma’am.” “For ten minutes?” They were probably already going to side with Rita for everything, so there were was no use lying further. Lily felt her legs tremble. She tried to maintain her composure. Despite all of the wetness in her jumpsuit, and the piss in her diaper, Lily’s throat was dry.“Yes ma’am.” “Were you talking with another inmate while on your job?” Answering truthfully also got Kimmi in trouble, but she knew that Kimmi knew that ship had sailed. “Yes ma’am.” Lily bit her lip and rested her head against the bars. The day had been going so well… This woman doesn’t need a law degree. She needs diapers. Send her where she belongs. They’d probably cell her in her dirty diaper until dinner. She was probably looking at a two-change day. They might add an extra visit to the dock next week too. Kimmi would get something similar. “Did you lie to us earlier? Did you defecate yourself on that inmates pillow? Be honest now, don’t make us have to ask this stupid question a million times.” And then, for reasons Lily didn’t quite understand, she started crying. The tears came out of nowhere, as if they were as incontinent as Kimmi was when she was asleep. She convulsed and her stomach sucked in like she was experiencing the mother of all hiccups. She could see the jury, the prosecutor with the long blonde hair, the lawyer trying to be as nice as possible when she was really tying to say: “You’re fucked beyond belief.” She could feel the dock, which was coming for her ass tomorrow. She could feel the good day she had slipping away. Another good day lost in a sea of lost days, spent mopping and plotting out when she peed and pooped like it was life or death. “Yes,” she finally said, not knowing why she said it, and wishing she hadn’t. “Yes ma’am?” the guard asked. Her voice was a lot closer. Lily was trained well enough to not move her head. “Yes ma’am,” she said. Snot choked her voice. She thought about being in this same position, against a wall, side by side with Marji. Just yesterday. Different officers, different violations, different cells. Same awful outcome. “You defecated on her pillow?” “Yes ma’am!” she said. Tears were getting into her mouth and sticking her hair to her cheeks. Was she one of the bad ladies now, one of the idiots who couldn’t avoid the dock? “You lied to us, why?” “Because I didn’t want to get in trouble,” Lily said. She felt like such a child saying that. That was the guard’s whole point. “Ma’am.” She wanted to wipe her eyes, but she knew she had to keep her hands on the bars. “You happy you’re in trouble now though?” Always, always, guards asked questions like that. Just like in court. Lily is eager to get this next phase of her life underway, so that she can learn from her mistakes. Yes, I’m looking forward to my docking. I love my diapers. I love them so much because they remind me of who I am. “Yes ma’am.” “Say it!” “I’m happy I’m in trouble, ma’am,” she said. She broke down again, and coughed. She could hear the guard stand up. She expected one of them to grab her arm and pull her, and her full diaper, back to her cell for the rest of the day. But that isn’t what happened. Not exactly. Instead, the two guards talked quietly for the final time. “Take her through the doors,” the female guard said.
  12. Hi there! This is about a fictional ABDL community that I'm working on. It features adults who live in a kinky community for ABDLs. Everyone is over 18. I have about 10 chapters done and will be posting them here over time. Here is a detailed disclaimer that talks about the content and themes of this novel:: https://www.patreon.com/posts/65186383 Content Warnings Extensive Diaper Use (Wetting and Messing) Extensive Regression themes Extensive Sexual themes Adult Nursing CNC Spanking/Corporal Punishment/Orgasm Control-Denial/Chastity Bullying and teasing Humiliation ------- Previous chapter is here: ------- Andrew sat in the Daycare playroom. He had nothing to do until lunch. He sat on the bench of one of the large plastic picnic tables. Often, these tables were a platform for arts and crafts such as beading or stenciling, but for now, they stood empty. The day hadn’t really got going yet. Most babies were on their way to chores, or to potty class, and if a baby didn’t have to do either of those things, perhaps they opted to go back to bed. Some, sure, had gone off to the gym, or had taken walks before the June air got too hot. Many were here, doing what he was doing, kicked out of the cafeteria, but not quite ready to move on to begin their day. They formed gaggles in the vast expanse of the playroom. There was a group laying on the floor, their hands cradling their full bellies. Others had turned on the television and leaned back with their heads in their hands. Still some weren’t satisfied with their breakfasts, and had taken to the in-playroom kitchen. Even with all of that, the playroom felt deserted. The Daycare playroom is the biggest single playroom of all of Nurserton. The grand Daycare playroom. It wasn’t even the Daycare’s only playroom, though it was far larger than its sibling, a playroom that was itself as big as the only playroom in the Preschool. That other playroom was upstairs and almost a ten minute walk from the big playroom, which was on the first floor and could be found just inside the main door. The big playroom didn’t take credit for being the largest room of Nurserton in general, though. That’d go to the Nursery, which in some senses was all one big room, minus the network of grownup apartments that encircled that lofted room. It was once a concert hall, during Nurserton’s past life as an elite boarding school. He was very familiar with the openness of the Nursery. This playroom, also called the ‘main’ playroom, or ‘the market’ or ‘the casino,’ -all of which were fitting nicknames in one way or another- was in many ways the heart of all of Nurserton. Well, the outdoor campus on a nice day might be, but all year-round this place held a fair claim to the title of Nurserton’s common ground. Nursery babies who were friends with Preschoolers would meet here as a natural halfway point between their homes. Juniors would meet other Juniors in one of the many alcoves, fresh off work and wishing to rest their legs after a morning of standing beside the changing tables. Andrew watched a lady move across the large carpeted expanse. She was bounding, almost skipping, no, almost hopping like a frog. She traveled across the great and uninterrupted and multi-patterned carpet, a carpet that is a large part of why they called this place the casino. In terms of games, there were only videogames and board games, so Andrew figured that had to be why. Casinos were always carpeted in big colorful and gaudy carpets. The hopping woman -Andrew did not know her name- stopped and whirled around. A grownup had called to her, waving her back. The woman tapped her chest, as if to confirm that yes, indeed, had that grownup called her? It seemed he had, and she walked her way back towards him. She wore a frilly dress, which matched her bow and was accentuated by long white stockings. She addressed the grownup, who hadn’t taken a step in her direction after calling her over. He spun her gently by the shoulder, ignored everything but her dress, which he lifted by the fistful from the back. The grownup’s other hand fished into the back of her diaper, visible now that the dress was displaced, until he let it snap back into place. The grownup then clasped a hand on her wrist, spoke something into her ear, and led her away. Now that the grownup had drawn her too close to himself for her to have room to skip and hop, Andrew noticed that she waddled. Andrew left breakfast in the cafeteria over ten minutes ago. In that time, he’d watched many other babies share the same fate as the girl in the frilly dress. First a diaper check, and sometimes a brisk walk out of the playroom to disappear down the hall to the left. Sometimes they went free. In fact, a check happened to him only a few minutes ago. The check itself was brought about by another man, another baby, who had been on the same plastic bench. The boy had been occupying it, and affecting the air around it, since before Andrew arrived. This did not bother Andrew, but a grownup, trawling as they do during this time of the morning, did get bothered. The grownup (a different one from the one who pounced on the girl with the frills), sensed something amiss with his nose, turned his head toward the plastic bench, and made Andrew and the other man stand up for a onesie-unbuttoning. Andrew had been deemed wet, but his Puffington Plus had plenty to give yet. The other man, the guilty baby whose stinky diaper had brought the checks upon Andrew and himself, followed the grownup out of the playroom, going the same way as the lady. He sighed. The now-gone manbaby sitting on the tables beside him had been cute. Andrew had caught his name when the grownup addressed him. It was Paul, or something that began with P. P for the poop in his pants. Clean shaven, slender, and wiry…with a diaper that had bulged and hung behind him, even through the onesie. There was nothing sexier to Andrew. He’d thought of joining maybe-Paul when the grownup had made eye contact with them and come over with the intent of checking both Andrew and Paul. If he had, he would have been escorted the baby-way too; out of the cavernous playroom and down the hall to the left, with the cute man beside him. The grownup was attractive too. A man in his thirties, with a beard. Andrew hadn’t paid any more attention to him than he had to, though. He preferred other babies. But the stinky man was straight, Andrew knew that for sure. He’d given the grownup a little nuh-uh when asked about his diaper and earned himself a smack on his bottom when it turned out he’d been rebellious for rebellion’s sake. It’d been very cute, but no, Andrew still was sure he was straight. He’d never seen him play with anyone, men or women. Andrew hadn’t been around the Daycare long enough to know many people that well, so his lack of information could be misleading. Yet the stinky man just had a straightness to him…he just had that masculine simplicity of a cis-het man. No, he’d have to look someplace else. It was like this, on Mondays. He had potty training on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He had chores on Monday afternoons, Wednesdays, and Saturday mornings. Those commitments weren’t the issue, it just so happened that everyone he knew was busy on Monday mornings. A friend of his, Sean would be around and available on Thursday morning, eager and staring at him in the cafeteria, and Andrew would know to keep his diaper as clean and dry as he could so they could slip the door-grownup (there was always a door grownup manning the main door to the Daycare, and they wouldn’t let anyone come to or go from Daycare with a soiled diaper) and get into the woods to play. Erik was available in the time-sense, but not in a romantic sense. Well that wasn’t one-hundred percent true, come to think of it. If Erik was indeed dating Geoff, as everyone said they were, then Erik was very free…for a price. Erik would drop everything to say yes, that was the point of dating Geoff. But Geoff would come for his tushy tax sooner or later. Tushy tax. Geoff liked his hierarchies, and he loved to let anyone top his bottom, as long as Geoff himself was the top of tops. Andrew would love to pay that tax someday. The problem was that he couldn’t really use what he’d pay for. It was the same issue he had with Aron, who was just about the only boy free on Monday mornings. Aron’s cock was in plastic, and not just diaper plastic. Hard plastic with a padlock. There was nothing for Andrew to do with him. Andrew adjusted himself on the plastic bench. Maybe he’d go back to his crib for a nap. His room was on the west side of the Daycare, and thus the room would be cool and dark, because it was shielded from the morning sun. His roommates, all three of them women because of course they would be, wouldn’t likely be there. Likely. If Erin, hell, if even his roommate Mika were there, neither would tell on him if they noticed he was playing. But not even that would be an issue. His roommate Erin, a former Nursery baby who was long in the Nursery before now, was in potty training on Monday mornings. Mika, a miniscule woman in her late thirties with a pixie cut and a sex drive to rival his own, had been given extra chores and was thus also accounted for this morning. Getting caught diapers-down with a guy in the plushie forest will do that. Aron’s plastic predicament was further testament to that. The problem with going back to the dorm wasn’t Erin or Mika, though. It was his third roommate, Angela. She’d tell on him for playing even if she wasn’t there to see it. She’d sniff the room and declare it smelled like boycum (she had done this, but thankfully only to try to frame Mika). Andrew preferred not to think about her. Just his luck. Potty train for months to get to Daycare, and wind up in a dorm room full of women. As women went, 2-3 were just fine, and Erin was one of the best around. But still! The plushie forest loomed not far away. It was an entire offshoot from the main playroom, a deep and rather dark rectangle growing out of the side of the playroom causeway. It was home to some of the largest stuffies in all of Nurserton; Fredline the enormous bear, almost twenty feet tall. Tiburon the blue whale, big and solid enough that you could crawl into its mouth and nestle in his hollowed out belly. Tiburon was a common snuggle place for fresh couples, though anybaby with experience knew that grownups checked there often for more aggressive canoodlers, and doing anything more than spooning and kissing would land you on the wrong end of the paddle for sure. There was another bear, Frosty, who was a huge smiling polar bear. Andrew didn’t like him; his white fur was impossible to keep clean, and he was thankful that the plushie forest was often dark enough to not notice. There were at least a dozen other plushies taller or longer than ten feet, and perhaps a hundred more stuffed animals that would be considered large if seen anywhere else, and not beside the other plushie leviathans. Most were at least the size that might be the grand prize at some arcade, hanging there at the carnival stall as the grand prize for an impossible game of ‘throw the ring on the bottle’. The plushie forest was so named because, given the variety of stuffies that you could find there in the dim light, it seemed as if the space had tall trees and low bushes. It served mostly as a place to talk in private, to nap in complete and soft bliss, or to take a big risk in playtime. It wasn’t the dumbest place to play. It was possible to get away with it. Outside was best, but there was no sense going out to the woods without someone to play with already. One didn’t waddle through actual bushes looking for sex, not even in an ABDL paradise like Nurserton. If Angela was taking a nap in her crib, it was a better bet to hide behind one of the huge bears than to do it in his dorm. Andrew got hard there, on the plastic bench. Last week he’d been at breakfast with the boys and Aron, still a few days before the incident that would cage him, had stolen glances at him all through the meal. While depositing their food trays, Aron had grabbed his bum. He did it quickly in the crush of all the babies trying to dispose of their own trays and get to their chores or potty class. Understanding the intent of the grab, Andrew had followed the tall and curly-haired boy across the hall and through the playroom. They were each stopped twice for diaperchecks by grownups, but both passed both times. Andrew knew Aron was taking him to the plushie forest, and his heart raced (his heart still raced a week later, just thinking about it). Grownups patrolled the plushie forest enough that their capture was likely if they tried anything daring. Yet Aron got off on the thrill, and the plastic predicament he was in today was not his first such punishment. They went to the big flat tail of Tiburon the whale, walking slowly along the ribbed body of what was perhaps the largest plushie in the whole world. When they finally got to the little alcove created by the soft whale’s tail Aron stopped him and pushed Andrew down by his shoulders. Andrew barely had to pull Aron’s diaper down to see the man’s excitement. He took him in his mouth. Andrew’s chin pressed into the folded wetness of Aron’s diaper. Perhaps knowing that Andrew’s ideal morning was not spent in the pillory or in babyjail, the large barred enclosure in the main playroom for serious timeouts (which were the type of timeouts one got for this sort of thing), Aron didn’t draw it out. Aron came quickly. He held down Andrew’s head as he drew close, and delivered a hefty load into his mouth. Hmmm…what would it be like to be the first boy to play with him after his week in plastic? Andrew hoped he could score that. Aron would cum quickly, but he would cum a lot. Sean would probably get the rights to be the first, though. They played together the most, having been Daycare buddies going on years. Andrew sighed again. He really had to make more of a name for himself here. Sean on Thursdays was his only regular thing. The Aron thing had been recent, but now the plastic had taken it away. He wasn’t reliable anyway, not as a partner. Once out, he’d be back in a cock-cage before long, and his days were often punctuated by inconvenient timeouts. He was always telling Sean: Sorry, I gotta get back to my dorm. My dormgrownup says I’m in trouble. Yet there were tons of boys here, partially because the Daycare was the only building that was majority male. Andrew wasn’t sure why that was, but he knew that if it was, the Daycare was the place for him. All he needed was a boyfriend like Geoff to put his bottom on the market. He also just needed to meet people. Like the stinky boy from earlier. Maybe he was at least a little gay? He did get a little naughty with the grownup. Wouldn’t have hurt to try. How long had Andrew been at Nurserton…over two years? Yet he still felt new. And of course he did, he was new as far as his time in Daycare was concerned. But it had been almost two months since he’d been upgraded to Daycare. He recalled his first days in the Nursery, how hard it had been to remember every new boy’s name. It took him more than a week of sitting down at random tables to finally find Erik, Sean, and Aron, and he’d made few friends since then, and even fewer partners. It seemed that friends just came easier in the Nursery than they did here. The main playroom felt even more dead then it had a few minutes ago, when the skipping girl had been dragged away. Part of this was its size. The babyjail was populated, though few people had misbehaved that badly by 9am, so its occupancy was thin. A pair of babies rode enormous tricycles around. He didn’t pretend to know the schedule of every gay or bisexual man in Daycare, but where were they all? Someone, somewhere, was hankering for a blowjob. This was never a problem in the Nursery. In the Nursery the problems were that almost every guy was a bottom, and it was even harder to find an unsupervised place to play without being busted. A big open room like the Nursery, where over two-hundred babies lived, was the hardest place in all of Nurserton to play. Easy to meet people, harder to play. The Nursery was the direct opposite of the Daycare as far as he assumed. Obviously, being a junior or a preschooler was even more different, but Andrew never considered living in those places. He never wanted to be that big. Being that big was for the real world. He sat there for a while longer, until his morning coffee and breakfast: a bagel and cream cheese, began to work in earnest. Without thinking, perhaps from years of habit at Nurserton already, he placed both hands on the plastic bench and tilted himself forward. His diaper puffed out beneath him. Andrew grunted and exhaled, and then sat himself down. He felt a lot better, he felt a lot lighter. His bladder had let out a strong stream as well, so that his Puffington Plus was bloated. It could still hold more, of course, but no grownup was going to let him continue if they saw him. At least none of his onesie buttons popped. Should have taken care of that ten minutes ago. If he’d just pooped when the straight guy had gotten them both checked, he’d be halfway through the queue in the changing room (There was a big changing room beside the casino and the cafeteria, and it was the largest of its kind in Nurserton, and perhaps the world). That’s where the straight guy was now, along with the girl in the frills, and along with many others the grownups had seen and taken out of the playroom, to take them waddling down the hall to the left. He worried that maybe all the guys were stuck in the changing queue, waiting for their turn on a table. If so, it was all the dumber that he hadn’t punched his changing-room ticket earlier. Andrew sat there, in a dirty diaper, on the plastic bench for still a while further. He thought about where his fourth roommate, Angela, a popular and attractive lady who always brought people back to the dorm to entertain them with gossip and primping, had gone off to. If she wasn’t in the room, the room would be clear, seeing as Erin and Mika were occupied for the next few hours. With his diaper this full (it was a pretty big mess), snuggling in his crib and playing with himself would be very comfortable. And it’d be a perfect crime, so long as he could sneak out before any of the women could properly pin him with the stink he gave the room. Erin wouldn’t even care about the stink, after all, she had spent something like three straight years in the Nursery. Mika would only be slightly bothered. Once again, it was Angela who worried him. Regardless, he still wanted to play with a guy. He wanted to suck a dick. So he stood up, fixed his onesie on his belly because it had gotten scrunched, and began to walk down the immense carpet and the seemingly empty playroom. He didn’t expect to make it far; any grownup who got close would stop and unbutton him and lead him off in the direction of the skipping woman and the straight boy. The thought didn’t bother him much. There were more guys there, after all, if there was one guy sitting there bored and alone in the changing room, there’d be one more guy than there was here in the playroom. Still, he was careful to walk in such a way that avoided intersecting with any of the grownups who sharked about the halls. It was a long ingrained habit to avoid grownups when in a dirty diaper, perhaps the only (and perverse) part of potty training he’d truly internalized. He saw the man who’d detained and escorted the skipping girl away, now in the television room, pulling back every diaper waistband of those babies who sat and watched the morning cartoons. There were at least a dozen sitting there, watching what looked like Rick and Morty, and out of them the grownup had already picked out two of the babies and separated them off to stand by the wall. Andrew made sure not to make too much eye contact, and restricted his waddle as much as he could to make his passing as discreet as possible. As Andrew continued, he peeked into the different alcoves of the playroom, which were organized around the central hallway like stores in an indoor mall. The potty area was the most deserted of all, though one woman had her diaper around her ankles and was perched atop one of the plastic bowls. She watched him as he walked by, Andrew thought the grownup standing beside her would follow her gaze. Andrew deliberately avoided eye-contact, and even if the grownup had looked at him, the grownup had not left her post beside the baby on the potty. The emptiest room of them all was the market room, where babies would come around lunchtime, after potty classes and morning chores and before afternoon chores, to sell their homemade crafts and clothes for babybucks. It could get very crowded on weekend mornings, when the lack of any potty classes meant far more babies had free time to roam about the campus. And babies with free time tend to shop. Or suck dick. He’d trade his best pacifier for some head right about now. He didn’t even need a guy to do it back. He was dirty and wouldn’t want it anyway. It would be better if it was a one-way-street. “Hey you, come over here,” said a voice, and Andrew felt a shot of dread. He spun around to see a grownup walking fast…but not to him. Instead, this grownup had spotted the two babies on the tricycles, who had taken liberty of the empty market room to pedal in circles as fast as they could. The grownup had decided they were going too fast. Andrew hurried away before the grownup’s attention was on him. “Hey, Andrew, come over here,” said a voice. This time, it was a different voice. Andrew turned this time, almost jumping. He was sure a grownup was coming to unbutton his onesie and take him out to the changing room. Yet when he turned he saw Erik. He was sitting on one of the beanbags, in a part of the playroom that could be mistaken for a new age office, or a trendy college library. In fact, it was just a general multi-purpose room. Lots of babies played Magic: The Gathering here. Nurserton residents from the smallest babies to the domliest grownups would gather and play DnD. A long time Nursery girl named Albany, who hadn’t pottied a single time since well before Andrew had shown up at Nurserton, was ironically one of the most popular and skilled DMs, despite the fact that she ran her playgroup of grownups and other bigger kids while wearing nothing more than her enormous Big Squidges and her bright pink body-harness with a leash. Cabinets of boardgames lined the walls. Sometimes there would be huge craft nights, or a Jenga tournament. To support all of this, the space was filled with tables of different shapes, some of which were made of polished wood, and others that were made of milky white plastic. Some of the chairs were swivel chairs, some of them were so ergonomic they looked uncomfortable. Some were just big beanbags, like the orange one that Erik sat on. He pointed to the one next to him. “Come sit,” he said. Andrew didn’t think twice about sitting down in the beanbag, despite the mess in his diaper. He’d done it many times before and so had everyone else. This was Daycare, after all. And Erik was doing very poorly this month on his stars, and the talk at the table during breakfast with the other boys included a referendum on how anyone could only manage three trips, while Erik had sat on his stool eating his pancakes and blushing. Andrew hadn’t said a word, and found himself unwilling to join in on the tease-pile directed at Erik. It would have been hypocritical for a boy who’d had plenty of three-star months in his past in the Nursery, and wasn’t a whole lot better himself even now. “Where have you been?” Erik asked, after Andrew sat. “Just over down there, by the arts and crafts.” “By yourself?” “Yeah. I didn’t know where everyone went.” After the breakfast bell signaled to everyone that potty classes and chores were due to start, Andrew had discarded his plates and empty tray, and turned to see all of his guy friends gone. Aron, Erik, Sean, and all the others. Disappeared into the matrix of the huge building that they called both Daycare and home. Erik smiled. He was a small guy, and young, only in his early twenties. He visited the Daycare barber often, and always kept the sides of his head well faded and the tuft on top well gelled. “Well I know where Sean and I went.” Andrew turned his head. “Sean? He has PT, doesn’t he?” “He does.” Erik craned his neck in the beanbag, and gestured at babyjail. Andrew turned to look, and sure enough, there was tall and lanky Sean, leaning back against the wall with a pacifier in his mouth. “Don’t look too long. You don’t want a grownup to come over here even more than I don’t.” Andrew blushed. He hadn’t even noticed that Erik was dirty. Maybe he wasn’t, maybe he was just super wet. “You should have seen how much trouble he’s in. I think he’s been skipping left and right.” “I hadn’t heard that.” “Me neither. I mean, he’s got what, fifteen stars?” “Something like that. He’s been on a real toppy kick since Aron got the cage.” “I hadn’t realized,” Andrew said, further surprised. Erik bounced a bit in his beanbag. “I mean, everyone tops us, so how would you notice?” Erik grinned at Andrew. Andrew hadn’t meant that, he’d meant that he hadn’t even noticed who was playing with who. He was always a dummy when it came to these sort of things. He hadn’t realized that Erik had been dating Geoff until weeks after it started. He hadn’t realized Aron had been hitting on him until a few days after Aron had started, and then only because Aron had literally put his hand on his inner thigh in the cafeteria. He was just a dumb baby about these things. It’s not like the boys he ate his meals with in Daycare were subtle about anything. In love with cock, but with his diapers too full to ever do anything about it. “But yeah, he’s been up my ass too. He’s going to owe my BF big time.” Erik laughed and took a swig from his baby bottle, which looked to hold water. “And when Aron’s out, he’ll have to deal with some payback too.” “How much does he owe your boyfriend?” Andrew said. Referring to Aron. Erik raised his eyebrows at Andrew. “Is that Mr. Stinky’s way of asking how busy my butt has been? Or are you jealous? And if you’re jealous, jealous of who?” Andrew declined to answer, and picked at a fuzzball on his onesie. He was obviously jealous of how much attention Erik got. “It’s okay, I’m a slut too,” Erik said. “Sean is so funny. He came downstairs with a condom and lube in his pocket. He knew I’d say yes.” Even though sex at Nurserton was always punished for those in the Preschool and below, ample supplies were available in the dorm halls and even in the playroom. Grownups never paid attention to any babies grabbing them, should they see, and made it a rule to never keep an eye to where a baby went after grabbing a condom or bottle of lubricant. It was an unwritten rule; a gentleman’s arrangement between bigs and littles. All part of the big game of cat and mouse that babies and grownups played at Nurserton. Who would there be to spank if nobody was putting their dick in things? Yes, there were more ways to have sex than that, but that’s the only way Andrew ever thought of it, so that’s what he thought of. “Don’t you have to say yes?” Andrew said, referring to Geoff’s rule for all his boyfriends. Erik shrugged. “No. But yes. I have to because as I said, I’m a slut. It’s more like that. When someone wants to get it on, I just wanna go. Geoff or not. It’s just an obsession. I’m sure you know. It’s like you must feel when you gotta poop.” Andrew waved him off. “I’m at seven stars and you’re not even clean right now.” “How often are you clean after someone mounts you, buddy?” Erik grinned, and Andrew realized this was a reference to what he and Sean had done together in the plushie forest. “And besides, this isn’t my prove-it month. You’re going to the Nursery,” he said, referring to the fact that if Andrew didn’t get his ten stars this month, he’d be packing his things for the Nursery once again. The rule of two months. The trend rule. Ten stars in a month was the bar in Daycare, and if you fell below that for too long, you were sent back to the Nursery. The converse was also true…get more than ten stars in two consecutive months when you’re in the Nursery, and you’d be filling a bin with your belongings for a new life in Daycare. Consecutive months. Trends. One terrible month wasn’t going to sink you unless you made it a habit. One great month in the Nursery wasn’t going to elevate you unless you could keep the momentum going. It’d taken Andrew a while to string two consecutive 10-star months in the Nursery. It wasn’t incontinence that held him back. Habit was part of it, the same impulses that made him lift and mess this very diaper were reflexes that were hard to untrain. He had to always remind himself why he was potty training, and that became harder when he no longer was sure about his goal. Often, during those months in the Nursery, he wasn’t. Why go to the Daycare when he already had friends here? Or he would think he’d fallen in love with some boy, and a 10-star month would get thrown away for months until he or that boy had moved on. Once he had a really good streak of potty training going, a good six weeks better than he’d ever done, and gotten cold feet. Would anyone in Daycare even like me, or am I just a snotty stinker? He’d chickened out at eight stars multiple times, as his diapers became fuller and fuller as dread of a lonely life in the Daycare loomed. I’m just not big enough, he’d tell himself. Eventually, he’d gotten the courage to actually use the potty enough… and now, in just two months of Daycare, he was risking a quick fall, right back down to the Nursery. Three more stars could save him. Turn his seven into ten, and his May score of only six would melt away into irrelevance. Turn his seven into ten and he’d proved it, he could hang with the big kids here. Turn his seven into ten and he could still sit with Sean and Aron and Erik at breakfast. Turn his seven into ten and he wouldn’t have to try so hard to find a place to suck some dick in the big Nursery room where nobody at all was anything close to a top, save the grownups who watched everything. Turn his seven into ten and he wouldn’t have to prove anything until August. A successful June would protect him in July too. Consecutive months! He could avoid the potty all July, and he’d still have a home address in Daycare. His friends would tease him, and his roommate Angela would tell everyone about how dreadfully baby her roommate was. But he’d stay here. Suddenly, he felt jealous of the woman he’d seen sitting on the potty as he’d walked through the playroom. If only he’d been a bit more thoughtful. He’d worked so hard to get here. All it took was a potty trip of any kind to get a star. One successful squat on a plastic bowl, and he’d have a star added by an excited grownup. There wasn’t a limit for how many he could get a day…he could have a potty bonanza and drink tons of water and get all ten done in a day if he wanted. If he really wanted… “I still have three potty classes,” Andrew said. “Before the end of June. And I’m at seven, I remind you.” “And when’s the last time you pottied outside of class?” Andrew had a quick answer for this. “You have to, in the Nursery. You only have eight classes a month. Eight classes to get ten stars.” And he wasn’t lying. Indeed, many agreed that the hardest thing to do in all of Nurserton was to potty one’s way out of the Nursery. It was even harder, many thought, than doing the twenty stars required in two consecutive months to go from the Daycare to the Preschool. All the more reason to not wind up there again. “I know,” Erik said. “You’ve told everyone a dozen times. But you’re as fucked in a potty sense as Sean will be in a real sense, when Geoff has some free time to leave the Preschool and his big important chores. Yet you’ve had twelve classes and only got seven stars out of them, and you seem to be proud of it.” Erik said this as if there was no irony with what he was about to do at all. Erik propped himself up on his bean bag to finish the job. Apparently, his post-sex evacuation had not been sufficient. Exhaling, he glanced at the big causeway of the playroom and examined the comings and goings of babies and grownups. “I can’t believe we’ve made it this long,” he said, referring to the fact that no grownup had come over, undone their onesies, and sent them to the big changing table. Andrew thought of the girl in the frills. She was probably out and playing by now, unless the changing room was as crowded as it could get. He thought of that crowd. The grownups were still doing work, and it was just coincidence that they, a pair of poopy boys, hadn’t been caught yet. When they were caught, they were going to be stuck waiting for a free changing table for a while. “Sean is gonna be out of babyjail before we’re off the tables.” Erik rubbed his temples. “Yeah there’s probably a long line.” He turned his head to Andrew. “You said you were jealous of Sean. Wanna go hide together?” Andrew felt a pang of adrenaline. “But we’re both…” “You’re a nursery boy, don’t tell me that it bothers you.” “It doesn’t bother you?” Andrew said, blushing. Erik grinned. “We’ll just cuddle…and stuff. It’s not like my ass can take another right now anyway, even if it was yours.” “You’ve never had mine!” Andrew squirmed. “You pop enough stiffies on the changing table for me to have an idea, baby.” Erik then slid off his beanbag and tapped Andrew on his crotch. “At least you’re big enough for me to tell when I touch you there.” Andrew could say nothing in reply. It’d been true, and it’d been true since looking to see Sean sitting bored in babyjail. Hell, he’d pretty much been hard non-stop since sitting on the plastic bench of the picnic table. He wasn’t just waddling due to what was in the back of his diaper. Erick squatted in front of him, and pressed his hand into his diaper. It was very blatant, and certainly enough to earn both of them a talking to if a grownup saw. The boys of Daycare were not known for their subtlety. But the vast anonymity of the grand playroom protected them. There were too many babies yelling a bit too loud, there were too many tricycles spinning a bit too fast, and there was too much smoke coming from the little kitchen that was set up. Even when it felt empty, the Daycare playroom was still very populated. Finally, Andrew stammered an answer. “Will I have to pay Geoff’s tushy tax?” he said, his cock getting somehow even harder as he said it. “At the top of his list,” Erik said. “He loves Nursery boys the most.” He blushed again. He wanted to tell Erik that no, he wasn’t a Nursery boy. He was just behind the pack. He was saving his pottying for the last minute. He was making it interesting. He wasn’t going to throw away all the arduous potty training he’d gone through in the Nursery for only two stinky months in Daycare. Not this time, at least. Andrew wondered if Erik even remembered when Andrew had been promoted to the Daycare the last time. It was over a year ago. He barely remembered Erik then. He hadn’t found these boys back then. Sean wasn’t even living at Nurserton back then. But the others had, and they had been no more subtle than they were today. Still, Andrew had flunked himself back to Daycare before even noticing. He couldn’t throw it away again. But it was cute to think of it. It was cute to be teased by Erik. Erik, ever the sub, ever the little bottom boy who was already on this morning’s second go-around in the plushie forest, still thought of him as a helpless baby. Andrew’s diaper bulged in both directions. They raced across the playroom, headed to the plushie forest. They went to the belly of Tiburon the whale, waddling boldly forward in their dirty diapers. Both were prepared to be called back, singled out by a grownup to see if they were worthy of a trip to the changing room, but somehow, it never happened. Tiburon’s belly kept them safe, and there they cuddled and talked softly so that nobody walking through the plushie forest would know they were stinking up the inside of the big plushie whale. They laid on top of each other. Andrew enjoyed the feeling of their bloated diapers rubbing against the other. They took turns being the big spoon and the little spoon. It was all a big tease. They were both too dirty to do anything else. But it was exciting enough to be so naughty, to have dodged so many grownups and diaper checks to wind up here, together. It wasn’t fellatio, and as far as Andrew could tell, neither of them came. But it was something. It was better than the plastic bench, and it was better than the changing room. It was better than the Nursery. He was sure it was. They remained there until another baby crawled through the mouth of Tiburon for their own personal quiet time, saw them, and scuttled back out to tell on them. Knowing that they were compromised, Andrew and Erik crawled out of the mouth, only to meet the feet of a grownup as they exited. After both promising that they weren’t up to funny business, they were hauled off for much needed changes. Funnily enough, the baby that had crawled through Tiburon just to crawl back to selfishly bust them, a red-headed Daycare baby named Suzy, hadn’t calculated that she too would be checked, and was taken to the changing room with them.
  13. Has anyone ever worn a diaper to school when they was in school, if so what kind and did you get cought? Yes I were attends and I never got cought or never could wet my diaper in class either.
  14. After being disappointed with the lack of ABDL fantasy-adventure stories I decided to create my own. It’s just a silly little thing, but hopefully a bit of fun for those who carry on reading. This is a prelude to the story, so just setting some stuff up here, which may or may not come into play in the future... I dunno, we'll see, might not get that far lol. Either way, the prelude doesn't really have much in the way of ABDL content, purely world-building and story. Hopefully it's still entertaining. I'm uploading chapter 1 as a separate story. This is a re-upload. After some useful comments, I've decided to just upload all the stories in a single topic, which will be updated, and that should make everything easier to follow. Episode 2 will be out in a few weeks (as of 18/12/2021). Law of the Diaper - Prelude - Embos stood at the edge of the water. It crashed far beneath her, obeying only the wind. She had been waiting for her older siblings from across the ocean for a whole hour now, standing in a harsh storm that battered and bruised the cliff face below. Liefyr, her closest brother, had gone to get the others ready. So, she stood alone. The wind howled between her ears and tugged at her hair, and threatened, occasionally, to push her into the waters below. But she was the God of Craft. Embos wore boots of Caerson Steel, strong against the wind, and light to walk in. Each of her sibling gods on this side of the world had given their peoples a gift. Hers was Caerson, a metal both bountiful and useful. Embos hated waiting like this. She needed to do something, to be somewhere, though she didn’t know what on either account. Being the eldest of her siblings, at least of those that left Panthos, Embos felt a great responsibility to the others. A responsibility to nurture and raise. Despite being closer to Liefyr, in age she was similar to her older sibling Vafyr. And that made things complicated. Damn you Vaf, she thought, thinking of the young god. Why had he stayed with the others? Vaf was the weakest of their lot, and certainly wouldn’t be treated as their peer. With Embos and the others, he would be an equal, and great guide for the people here. Her head boiled again with anger, it had been more and more recently. Anger at the war, anger at her elder siblings, anger that she had little power by herself, and anger all she had to rely on were the youngest of gods. No, not anger. Disappointment. Instantly, she felt a pang of shame within her. They are just as valuable, just as powerful in their way. She had to admit, she was surprised at how seriously they were taking it. Normally Pelyr, the youngest of them and the God of Play, convinced Ranos and Liefyr to flunk this sort of thing. Maybe it was because Pelyr would never be able to play again if they failed, that he was taking it so seriously now. Whatever the case, Embos hoped it would last. Another great gust of wind barrelled across the grass, threatening to push Embos into the sea below. Waves crashed against the shore, the ocean’s white teeth foaming against jagged cliffs below. Dull beats, like someone playing the drums, echoed into the sky. The storm whistled around her ears, singing across the ocean. It was a tune she recognised. Looking up, Embos saw her older brother, Vafyr, silhouetted in the ocean mist. He walked on the air itself, using the wind as a path to the safety of the cliff. Around him, the grey mist somehow blushed a bright blue, as if he walked in a halo of sky. It was as if he was the colour of the world. Then again, Embos supposed, I guess he is. Within moments he was stepping onto the rock as if it were still the air, floating across newly budding grass. “Vaf!” Embos couldn’t help but let relief and no small amount of joy flood into her voice. Of all the people they could have sent, this was perhaps the best possible outcome. “Hello sister.” he said calmly, a broad smile across his face betraying any stoicism he might have masked himself with. “They thought you wouldn’t hurt me, so I was sent in place of a messenger.” Vafyr walked to Embos, he was more relaxed than she remembered. “Why would I hurt a messenger? Why would any of us--” “Em, please, I don’t think you’d hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. But that’s not how they think, is it?” Vafyr said as they walked down the shallow incline that led to the village below. Embos saw an opening. Now was the time. Now, after so many years, it was the perfect opportunity to ask. “Then why are you still--” but before Embos could finish, Vafyr cut her off. “I’m sorry, but I cannot say. I have my reasons, and hopefully you will find out soon.” “But I want to know now!” said Embos. She only realised how childish that must have sounded after she’d said it. However, Vaf didn’t seem to mind. He smiled broadly again, a glint in his eye. “Em,” he said, stopping and gently putting his hands on her shoulders. He was a foot taller than she was, towering over her. “I promise, now is not the time, but you will find out.” and that was all he said. Embos knew that was the end of it, she wouldn’t get anything else out of him. Time to move on. They continued their descent to the village. “So, why did you want to speak to us?” Embos asked, “I suppose it would be too much to ask for your loyalty?” The wind picked up again as Vafyr smiled, but the cold never came. Vafyr was too warm for that. “Unfortunately not.” he said, and then he went suddenly serious, his smile fading into what was almost a grimace. “The others want to make a deal with you.” Embos couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. “You’re kidding. After all of this?” she said though a deep, slightly hysterical laughter. “After all you’ve put us through, now you want to make a deal?!” This was utterly ridiculous. Her older siblings never, never, made deals with those who were below them. And now they wanted to make a deal with not only ‘lesser gods’ but the enemy? “Now, I know what you are thinking-” Vafyr started to say, but Embos, finally managing to get control of herself, cut him off before he could do any more damage. “No, I’m sorry but no. You expect me to trust them after what they’ve done, not just to us, but the people of this world? This is stupid!” she said, and carried on walking towards the village. Vafyr stopped her, grasping her arm tightly, and suddenly this wasn’t so funny. Embos’ smiling face twisted into a scowl. “If you don’t trust them,” he said, looking deeply, so very deeply, into her, “Trust me.” They held a deep stare for a moment, before Embos broke away. What did he want? What was his plan? Their plan? He was serious, and Vafyr was rarely serious. “What aren’t you telling me Vaf?” He was holding something back, Embos knew it. There was something in his eyes, something curious, something important. He sighed, seeming resigned. “This is big Em. This is bigger than all of us. We came to a decision the other day, that this is the only way we’ll win this war.” He looked almost scared. Embos hadn’t seen him like this before. “What war?” “The only war that matters. There is … something coming.” Vafyr’s eyes glowed with a fearful anticipation. Whatever he was talking about, whatever was coming, was inevitable. The storm picked up again, blowing wind through the hills that edged the cliff face. It rippled across the grass, sending waves of darkness across the landscape. Trees, dotted here and there, swayed and danced about to the tune of the wind. Far above, clouds sped past. They swirled into each-other and ran towards dry land. Tiny droplets of rain hit skin, like pins-and-needles prickling across Embos’ body. Everything moved, everything was dynamic, everything had so much potential. For the first time, she realised how delicate it all was. While blades of grass flickered in the weather, one could simply halt each one with their thumb and forefinger. What would happen if all of this, this beautiful chaos, just … stopped? Embos realised she had been staring into space for a while. Vafyr had let go of her. She looked to her brother, searching for … something, some sort of solace, some sort of answer. Should she let him speak? Let the traitor influence their minds? If Vaf was lying they could lose their lands, their people, and their way of life to the gods across the water. But if he was telling the truth… “Em!” an energetic voice shouted from below. The two siblings atop the cliff whipped their heads around to look. It was Pelyr, their youngest sibling. Far below, the village people were out about behind him, interested to see what was going on. They all wore brightly coloured clothes, some in dungarees, some in onesies. Pelyr, spotting Embos, called again. “Em, c’mon, the others are back!” They could lose everything. If Vaf was right, everything would just stop. Embos raised her arm, shooting him a thumbs-up. Then, turning, she began again down the cliff. Vafyr stayed behind. “Sister …” he said, and Embos turned again. “Come on.” She said, “We have much to discuss.” Law of the Diaper - Episode 1 - FOST Fost waddled across the marsh. It was a miserable day, clouds had blocked the warm sun, leaving a thick grey gloom beneath. The marsh itself didn’t help much to quell the air of dullness that hung here either. It was slimy, squishy underfoot, and stank. And that wasn’t the only thing that stank. Fost fiddled with the leak guard of his diaper, attempting to make it more comfortable around his leg. It didn't do much. The diaper was just getting too full to ignore, he’d have to find that village as quick as possible, lest a rash set in. What’s worse, is that he was beginning to feel a little full in the bladder, and he didn’t suspect the diaper could hold another heavy wetting. “Damn.” he said to himself, stepping onto a raised patch of ground that was elevated comfortably out of the mud. Mud. The evil stuff came right up his leg, threatening to cling to his onesie. Not that much further, he thought to himself, then I can have a warm bath and a change. To make the rest of the journey easier on himself, he reached for his pacifier. It was attached to his neck with some old twine. It was nice, calming, and placated him enough to continue, at least for now. Now that his mind was clearer, Fost thought back to that old woman, and the conversation they had had a few days prior. What was it she wanted again? Ah, yes, that book on Strange Dymatagy. Apparently it was a rare thing that contained many more words than it did pictures. Fost scrunched his nose at the thought -- how strange. Books with many words were by no means rare, but they were usually owned by Mommies or Daddies, not another Little like himself. Though the woman was ancient, she was definitely a Little. It could only be a thick diaper between her legs that gave her that waddle, and besides, everyone knew that Littles were the only ones who could do proper Dymatagy. What a strange woman she had been. Living alone in the middle of nowhere, reading books not meant for her eyes. Oh well, thought Fost somewhat bitterly, a job’s a job. He was beginning to run low on funds besides much else, not that he had much to begin with. Besides, the village blacksmith here was apparently quite well known, and he needed a new sword as desperately as he needed a new diaper. After this, he’d be out of money. Hopefully the old woman’s job would set him up for after all of this. Before long, he had reached the bottom of a particularly high hill that had prevented him from seeing over the horizon. Salty mud and matted clumps of grass dotted the eleven foot tall mound, made worse by the recent rains. Fost looked at the hill and sighed heavily. Then, taking a large step, he pushed himself up and onto the mound, grunting loudly. Beneath his bare feet, the mud squelched and bubbled, rising through his toes. Another step, onto the steep slope. He placed his foot down and -- sloop. He slipped in the mud, falling backwards onto his polka-dot cloak and down into the mud below, pacifier flying out his mouth. Getting slowly to his feet again, Fost surveyed himself. He had a streak of brown mud down his favourite cloak. What’s worse, his onesie was now speckled with the stuff. Great, he thought, it’s going to be one of those days. He stepped forward again, making sure to be extra careful where he stood. One step up. His toes gripped into the mud. Two steps. He pulled his weight up. Three. Sloop. He slipped back down, falling onto his hands and knees. He tried again. One step. He gripped a tuft of grass, hard. Two steps. He yanked himself up. Three -- swooppllhh. Fost hit the mud with a loud splat. “aaaaAAAAHHH!” he shouted angrily. For the third time, he found himself at the bottom of that damned mound. Why was it so hard to climb a silly little hill? He used to be a soldier! A warrior! And now he was beaten by a little mud. “This is absurd!” he said through labored, angry breaths. It was. He brought his hand to the pacifier around his neck, intending to calm himself again. It was gone. No. No. It couldn’t be gone. Anger turned to panic, as he pressed his hand against his chest, hoping, desperately hoping, that it was just down his onesie. When he couldn’t find it there, he dived into the mud. It had to be here. It had to be here. Fost splashed and flailed in the muck, splattering the thick mess everywhere. He scooped through thick lumps of it, diving deep into the thick ooze to try and retrieve the pacifier. But he couldn’t find it. Panic turned to fear. His heart beat wildly in his chest, and his eyes felt heavy, watery. It was getting hard to see. On the very edge of tears, Fost just stood there, unable to move, unable to think. What would happen if he lost it? That one reminder? No. No. Fost was on the edge of storm, a raging tornado in his chest. He closed his eyes, feeling the tempest gather within him. It was energy. It was power. Without a thought for the consequences, he dived into the eye of the storm, summoning it to his will. The rage and the panic and the fear swirled around him, and when he opened his eyes again, a bright white glow consumed them all. He clapped his hands to the sky, feeling the energy inside him burst out and cascade across the air. Ignoring the resulting cramp in his stomach, Fost opened his hands as if pushing a great force outwards. As he commanded so the mud obeyed, and like a great gust of wind, a circle of force was drawn around Fost, clearing the mud. The pacifier, blue and starry, lay on the ground, helpless against the mud that had consumed it. Fost smiled when he saw it. It was safe now. He bent down, delicately picking it up. The twine had snapped. Of course it had. No longer raging, the storm died down, and without thinking, Fost dropped his area of force. His face strained for a moment, and the cramp in his abdomen grew. Automatically, he pushed, and a thick mass of his own mud entered his already full diaper. He sighed deeply, content. Now that nothing was holding it back, the mud that surrounded him swept back to fill the emptiness, and within a moment, he was standing in it again. It was okay. It was okay. The pacifier was nestled between Fost’s cupped palms, sitting against the warmth of his skin. One hand closed tightly, ever so tightly, around the pacifier, and he used his other to swing his travel-sack off from beneath his cloak. It was small, only containing some food, some coin and a couple of books, but all had escaped the mud. With grace only seen in a parent caring for a child, he placed the pacifier into the bag, safe with the last of his money. Then, swinging his bag on his back again, he looked back to the slope... ...And refused to climb again. He quickly found a small stone and picked it up. With all his might, with all his effort, he imagined throwing the stone as far as he could, as hard as he could, over the hill. Then, closing his eyes, he dropped the stone. The storm of potential blew inside him again. It was much less this time, more of a strong gust of wind really. But it was enough, and with one great push, he leapt over the hill in a single bound. Well, just over half the hill. He only just passed the summit, before hitting mud, and falling on his bottom with a splat. Underneath him, the poopy diaper squished and pushed a little of his mess out of its confines. He felt the damp of fresh pee as he had another accident, a consequence of the magic. He slid down the other side of the hill, and landed at the bottom with a small splat, feet first. Fost was breathing heavily again. Even using basic Dymatagy usually took a lot out of him. He was muddy, tired, and now in dire need of a change. But, looking up, he saw what he had come for. Perched on a small island in the middle of this gods-forsaken flat, was a little village. Smoke puffed gently from a couple of chimneys, and small wattle and daub cottages stood proudly above the mud. So, brushing off as much of it as he could, he waddled towards the small settlement, trying to ignore his very full pants, and the pee dribbling down his leg. LARIA “Do you think they’ll be back?” Laria asked. She was sat on a porcelain potty, pull-up at her feet. The blacksmith wasn’t that busy at the moment, it rarely was these days. Her business partner, Krisp, slouched behind the wooden counter, where normally the bearded man stood proud. He had just been staring aimlessly at the door for about ten minutes now and, if she was honest, Laria was starting to get a little bit worried. “K?” she asked the man, stretching her head round. He didn’t answer. “Krisp!” she said loudly, and the man jumped slightly. “Sorry,” he said in that deep baritone of his. It always calmed her to hear his voice, it sounded like waves crashing along the beach. The man, normally red-faced, had somehow managed to go an even deeper shade of scarlet, “I’m fine, I was just--” “Dude, it’s fine.” Laria said, sighing, “I know what you were thinking.” There was a moment of reflective silence between them. The shop was always empty. Except for them. Laria almost thought Krisp would fade back into his daydream, but before long he spoke up again. “You making progress?” he asked, looking over to where Laria was perched on the potty, just next to the counter. “No, false alarm I think.” she said. “You’ll get the hang of it. Should have seen me trying a few years back, it was a nightmare. Pee went everywhere.” Krisp said, clearly trying to make Laria laugh. It didn’t really work. She looked down longingly. All this was so hard. Although most people on the Dullen Isles wore pull-ups well into their second decade, they were expected to be fully potty-trained within ten or so years of coming of age at 20. Most were trained years before that. At 28, Laria was starting to get worried. All her friends in Trully, her village, were completely out of their pull-ups. Although, Mossa, from down the road, still wore them for the occasional accident. Laria on the other hand, still used the underwear as her primary method of going to the toilet. To make matters worse, she had to admit that she actually enjoyed doing it sometimes. Not only were they convenient during long days at the forge, where one hardly had the time for potty breaks, but it also felt good to let loose where you stood, to feel the warmth growing around the pseudo-diaper. In Luin, the southern kingdom that ruled over Dullen, they used their diapers without a care in the world. People around here weren't usually friendly to southern visitors, but Laria found herself remarkably jealous of them instead. Although there were new, mandatory changing spaces in every shop, just as there was a potty, Laria would always be treated with an air of suspicion if she took up that lifestyle. Even more since Dullen was now a vassal of the more powerful kingdom, and resentment was skyrocketing. Mind you, they’d always be better than those barbarian pants-wetters in the West -- people who soiled their pants with no protection, no discretion. No matter what, Luin and Dullen would always unite against their wrath, even as reluctant allies. Eventually, Laria gave up trying to go pee in the potty, resigned to the fact that she would probably end up messing her pull-up later anyway. She raised herself off the potty, grabbed her pull-up and tugged on her trousers over the top. The potty, as always, stayed where it was beside the counter, in case a visitor needed it. Then, she moved to the back of the shop to where the fun stuff happened. The forge. “You didn’t answer my question.” Laria said to Krisp as she left him at the counter. The smithy itself was quite bare on the inside, with a few cabinets scattered about the front room displaying swords, knives, and other sharp objects. The bigger ones -- halberds and the like -- sat comfortably on the wall. Behind the counter was a door that led to the smithy itself, where most of the work was done. “I didn’t hear your question.” Krisp answered loudly, shouting across the smithy floor. “Liar!” she shouted amusedly back, moving into the smithy proper. “I don’t know what you mean!” Krisp said. Laria smiled, hearing the grin in his voice. Thick wafts of woodchip smoke from the fire, and a perpetual heat, hit Laria as she entered the forge. The back of the shop was much larger, messier and all around a much more interesting place to work. Beside a small wooden stool, a few swords were lined up, ready for polishing and then, hopefully, sale. Laria liked it back here. She liked the energy of the place, heated by the fire, always crackling; she enjoyed creating, crafting, and making something from something else; and she loved the feeling it gave her while doing it, almost like she was a sorcerer, doing magical things that no one else could. In a way, that was true. That’s what made potty breaks even more gruelling. The damned thing tore her away from her work, her beautiful work. It was the same feeling of uselessness she felt while on the counter, just waiting for customers that didn’t exist. So, Laria sat down on the small wooden bench, her pull-up padding her bottom on the hard wood, and got to work. While she rubbed oil along the slender blade of a newly forged longsword, she looked towards the door. Boy, Krisp really doesn’t want to answer that question she thought, smiling to herself. “Krisp, are you going to answer or not?” “Do you really want an answer?” he asked. It was a tough topic to talk about in his defence, but they needed to be prepared, and this was the beginning of that laborious process. “Yes, I want your opinion. Do you really think they’ll be back?” Although Laria was looking at the sword, careful of where her hands were, she was sure to keep her ears towards the door. It would be nice to just focus on the sword, but she knew she couldn’t until the question was answered. She was beginning to feel a little full ‘down there’ again as well, now that her pee-fright had gone. But before Laria could put much thought into it, Krisp spoke up again. “Honestly ... yes.” he said sullenly “I think they’ll--” He switched his voice abruptly, the slightly worn baritone sparking into a lighter greeting. “Welcome! How can I…” Krisps greeting petered out, and all Laria could hear were mumbles from the door. A customer! Finally, something was going up in this godsforsaken town. She went back to her work, only to be called out again a few moments later. “L, grab that Caerson arming sword we made a few months back.” Laria frowned and got reluctantly up. She moved towards a rack where she and Krisp kept the finished weapons, and grabbed the small arming sword. Then, she carefully made her way out front, to see what all of this was about. They never got visitors, especially ones asking for something so expensive. If she was to be distracted from her work, at least it was for a sale. The customer stood on the opposite side of the counter, chatting idly to Krisp as they waited. He was a young man, dwarfed by gargantuan Krisp, but taller than Laria. He leant on the counter, messy blonde hair straggled across his face. It was curly, unruly stuff, splattered with mud. In fact, now that Laria looked, the man was covered head to toe in the stuff. Clearly a Little from the onesie and multicoloured polka-dot cloak, the man looked rather unhappy in his current state. “Here you go sir.” she said, passing the sword to the man. He took it, looking somewhat unsure, and then looked it up and down. Only as she stood there for a moment, watching the customer, did Laria notice the smell. It was that all too familiar stench of a messy diaper, a very messy diaper. Now she looked, the loaded thing bulked between his legs, forcing them slightly apart. Although it was probably rude to stare, Laria couldn’t take her eyes off the thing. What does it feel like? To have so much weight down there? In fact, she only stopped staring when Krisp nudged her, and she snapped sharply out of her daydream. Rather luckily, the customer was still inspecting the sword. It was quite funny watching him. The poor fellow clearly didn’t know what he was looking for, either that or he was distracted. Maybe it was the diaper… “My partner here can give you a run-down if you’d like a good sir?” Krisp said, putting the man out of his misery. “Yes,” the customer answered, sounding relieved, “That would be great.” and he handed the sword to Laria. As she smiled, taking the blade from the customer, she couldn’t help notice that her bladder seemed considerably fuller than it had before. Oh well, can’t stop now, she thought, besides, I’ll probably just freeze back up if I try the potty again. Laria balanced the sword on the tips of her fingers, showing the customer where the blade’s centre of gravity was. She looked towards the man, who proceeded to nod gently. Then, moving with the grace of the wind, she threw the sword in the air, and caught it by the hilt. Krisp chuckled, seeing the customer waddle back slightly in surprise. She swung the sword around a little, getting a feel for it. “Arming swords are usually side-arms.” she said, slicing through the air. This felt good, a blade in her arms. It had been so long since they’d had any customers, she’d almost forgotten how freeing it felt to wield a sword rather than craft one. I’ll have to take this up again! “Did you want one this size?” she said calmly, hiding the energy, the potential, deep inside her chest. “Yes. Something easy to travel with, light and agile. I... I used to have a similar weapon in the army.” the customer said, the last bit subdued somewhat. He glanced to the ground as he said it. Was he ashamed? Embarrassed? Surely he should know how to wield a sword if that were the case? Laria thought it best not to press him. She stopped her routine, and gently handed back the sword. He took it. “This should suit your needs quite well then.” said Laria. She glanced down at the man’s full diaper for a moment, but when she raised her eyes, she caught the customer’s gaze. His pale skin went suddenly red. It was almost as if he hadn’t even realised his diaper was that full until now, and was suddenly self-conscious. How couldn’t you realise when you’d messed yourself? Laria thought back to all the times she’d had an accident, and the bulge that stuck out of her pants. She remembered the earthy smell, the way it forced you to waddle along. Were Littles that oblivious? Krisp interrupted her train of thought, as per. “Is there anything else we can do for you?” he asked. For a moment, Laria didn’t know if it were possible for the man to blush more, but somehow he managed. “You … errr… you don’t know where I could change around here? I have my own supplies...” Krisp giggled slightly, but thankfully it seemed the man had gone as red as he could go. Now it was Laria’s turn to interrupt Krisp. “Yes, of course. This way Sir …” “Fost. Just, Fost.” “Okay Master Fost, this way please.” and she led him to the changing room out the back. FOST “Just back here.” the woman who ran the blacksmiths said. Fost waddled behind her as best he could, trying not to leak over their floor. Although he could handle the odd wet, or even messy, diaper, it had been two days now. He needed this so badly. It was clammy around his legs, the mess was dry and peeling, clinging to his skin like a crustacean. He followed the woman through the back of the shop and into the forge. A hazy fog of fire-smoke floated through the air ahead. “Through there,” the woman said, pointing at a door to Fost’s side. “Just go ahead and get started.” the woman continued, walking toward the forge’s fire, “I’ll just heat some water for you.” She didn’t bring her head up as she spoke, focusing intently on the fire and water instead. Fost nodded, though the woman didn’t see, and waddled into the small side-room. It was pretty standard as far as changing rooms went, though compared to the rest of the shop, it looked relatively new. The wooden walls were cleaner than the rest of the smithy, and a newly clay-tiled floor lay comfortably under a wooden table. It was the length of a man, and a leather cushion lay at the other end. It all looked barely used. Climbing onto the table was a little bit of a struggle. Fost didn’t particularly want to leak, these people were doing him a courtesy after all, and getting excrement everywhere would be extremely disrespectful. That was perhaps the one thing this strange place and his own homeland had in common -- it was always, always, impolite to make a mess when making messies. Of course it happened occasionally, accidentally. But only those barbarians in the south would be so disgusting as to do so deliberately. When Fost managed to get onto the table, he lay down, getting comfortable. Then, with practiced hands, he unbuttoned his onesie, and tore off the tapes of his diaper, which now rested on his upper waist. Presently, the woman entered with the water. Steam drifted off the surface, gently curling and swaying in the light breeze of the closing door. The woman placed the bowl down onto the tiles below, along with some small towels she carried. She drew another bucket out from under the table, and placed it at her feet. Then suddenly, she wrinkled her nose, apparently hit by the stinky onslaught of smells for the first time, especially now that the Diaper was open. Fost felt his face go hot, flushing. “I’m so sorry Miss.” he said out of sheer embarrassment. Normally in Luin, whenever changes happened, it wasn’t seen as a big deal. Everyone was used to it, and it was even enjoyable. Mommies and Daddies made their Little feel at ease, treating it, rightly so, as something that was perfectly natural. Clearly, here in the Dullen Isles, people weren’t so used to hiding their reactions. The woman seemed to blush a little as well. “It’s fine Sir … sorry I forgot your name.” “Fost.” he said, thankful for the change of subject. He relaxed a little at that. “I’m Laria,” the woman said. Laria. She was slightly shorter than Fost, though the height of the table seemed almost perfect for her. Dark skin glistening with the sweat of the forge, Laria wiped her forehead. She moved her already rolled sleeves up her arm a little, and bent down to soak one of the rags in the warm water. Then, she got back up, brushed some of her black, curling hair out of the way, and opened the front of the diaper. Even by Little standards, Fost had to admit it was horrid. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t had a blowout, especially considering the dirty thing had been leaking for a good hour now. Lara scrunched up her nose again, and this time even Fost was forced to follow suit. “I am so sorry.” he said, his ears, cheeks, and neck burning in shame. “No no!” Laria said, somewhat less calmly than he was hoping to hear, “It happens to everyone.” Not around here though, thought Fost shamefully. She began to wipe him down, taking the wet cloth and squeezing the dirty water into the empty bucket. It felt amazing. After all he had been through over the past few days, to have the icky mess finally coming off him was utterly blissful. He felt light down there, clean, and fresh. He felt like the steam rising from hot water. He felt like the cool currents of the ocean. He felt like a gust of wind in the sky. Fost enjoyed this transcendent experience for a few moments, enjoying the peace, enjoying the silence. He looked to Laria, she was completely consumed in the work, focused and stone-eyed. It was an admirable trait, the likes of which Fost hadn’t seen in a very long time. Although she looked a little uncomfortable, maybe even slightly distracted at times, she continued working diligently. Only for a moment did she break her glance -- catching Fost in the act of looking, then swiftly returning to her task. Fost looked down quickly, not keen to make an awkward situation of it. “So,” Laria said eventually, still intent on her work, “What brings you so far north?” She said it almost absent-mindedly, but there was a quiet chorus of intrigue that rose from behind. Should he tell the truth? Should he say why he was here? He couldn’t see it causing much harm. It was just a book after-all. Besides, he concluded, maybe she can help. “Oh, I’m looking for a book.” said Fost, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “For a client down south.” “Oh Really? What does it look like? Maybe I can point you the right way.” Laria asked. Fost took a moment to answer. Not because he didn’t want to tell her, but rather because he didn’t know what to tell her. He couldn’t recall the woman mentioning what it looked like, other than it’s contents and… “It has a symbol on the front, I think. A sword on a shield, engraved into the cover.” he said, satisfied at the little victory over his memory. Laria, who was in the middle of her final wipes, stopped suddenly. She seemed to squint slightly, as if trying to remember something. Then, shaking her head, she went back to work. “Sorry, I can’t remember seeing anything like that.” she said. Eventually, she finished cleaning Fost down, his sparkly clean bare bottom on the cold table. Laria shuffled through Fost’s bag and found a clean diaper from the stash he left Bermont with, they were well stocked in the Capital. “Okay, bottom up.” Laria said, hoisting Fost’s legs upwards and laying out the white padding underneath. Fost noticed something different about her now. Whilst she was still focused on the task at hand, it was becoming clearer and clearer that she was struggling to maintain composure. The blacksmith was starting to wiggle a little, moving from side to side, almost as if… “You okay?” Fost asked as Laria did the tapes of his diaper up. “Yeah, I’m … I’m fine.” she said unconvincingly. Fost had seen that struggle before. It was common in these parts, where people weren’t so relaxed about just going in their diaper -- Laria was doing a pee-pee dance. “If you need to go, you should just go.” he said, as calmly as possible. “You do wear some sort of protection around here don’t you?” Laria looked up, seeming somewhat startled. Then, she nodded quickly. “Well I - ahhh - I should really be going in the potty.” She was really moving now that she didn’t have to hide it, blushing slightly as she gave into the full pee-pee dance. With a hand pressed between her legs, Laria wiggled up and down, stepping quickly from foot to foot. She was starting to go even redder too, though Fost didn’t know if it was from the strain or embarrassment. He should do something. Help somehow. “Would you like me to go and get the potty for y-” “No!” She almost shouted, before Fost could finish asking. “No, it’s … it’s fine…” Laria’s struggle seemed to hit a limit, and suddenly she stopped. “It’s fine, ahhhhhh.” as she spoke, her legs seemed to go weak, and a relieved smile crept onto her face. Fost couldn’t help but smile amusedly as well. She lent slightly forward, breathing heavily, for about two minutes, completely in her own world. Silence filled the room, so much so that Fost could hear the gentle trickle of a quickly filling pull-up. “You … err … you done?” he asked. Laria, clearly remembering she wasn’t alone, snapped her head up and shot up straight. “Heh, erm, sorry about that.” she said, blushing slightly. Fost had to suppress a giggle. It was strange to hear someone apologise for something that happened all the time in the south. “It’s fine, I’m used to it.” he said. Laria looked down to inspect the damage, and her long hair fell in front of her face. “Would you like a change or…?” Fost trailed off, watching Laria to see what she’d say. “Um…” “Oh, sorry, is that not … do you not do that here? In the south we generally swap and stuff but --” Fost spoke quickly, muttering that last bit. Laria interjected before he had a chance to finish. “No, we … we do that here too, for those of us who are still… y’know.” she said. “Oh, cool … that wasn’t … I’m sorry if it was out of line …” “Not at all!” she said, moving her head quickly up, and stepping forward slightly. “It’s fine, I would have asked the same thing.” “Okay, sorry if I …” “No, you don’t need to say sorry …” “Did you … did you errr … you still want me too-” “Yes!” she said quickly, a smile flickering on her face, “Errr, yes … yes please.” Fost’s face was scorching with embarrassment, and it was clear Laria was as well. Fost jumped down and went to find the supplies that Laria kept around, while she jumped onto the table. Then, soaking some clean rags, Fost got to work. Changing a pull-up was much the same as changing a diaper, though the garment was considerably less bulky. Laria had completely soaked through hers, and Fost was, for the second time today, surprised no-one leaked. “Y’know,” he said, taking the heavy pull-up and placing it beside the waste bucket, “You’d make a good Little with how much you soaked this thing.” “And you’d make a good Islander with that quick potty suggestion earlier!” Laria said, eliciting an embarrassed chuckle from Fost. Now that things were a little more comfortable, Laria seemed to open up a bit, and as Fost wiped her down, they talked a little about weapons. “You won’t find many larger ones around here,” Laria said, “They’re bought up quickly and used for war. At steep discounts too…” “I guessed as much, that’s the way things have always been in Luin. Always at war, always ‘acquiring’ weapons. Most non-army folk don’t get a word in.” “Yeah. Although, if you don’t mind me asking, you’re only looking for a book. Why do you need a sword?” Laria asked as Fost did the tapes of her pull-up. “Better safe than sorry, right? Bandits and all sorts on the road.” “Not around here. That’s one of the few good bits about --” DONG. DONG. DONG. A large bell rang through the village outside. Laria snapped up. “Oh no.” she said, and walked out of the room without bothering to put on her pants. Fost watched her go, slightly confused for a moment, and then decided that it would be best to follow her. What in the name of the gods is happening now? He cursed silently. Outside, people were gathering around a bell that stood in the middle of the village. Like Laria, a few of the younger folk were out here with their pull-ups on full show. Fost started to worry a little. This couldn’t be good whatever it was, and he was in a foreign town with foreign people. All around, people in the crowd glared at him. He pushed through the crowd and eventually found Laria, standing at the front. “Laria,” he asked, “what’s going on?” but he didn’t have to wait for an answer. Opposite the small crowd was a group of soldiers on horseback. Like Fost, they all wore bright cloaks, onesies, and each had a distinct diaper-bulge. There were at least thirty of them at the back, all wearing similar clothes to Fost, though with added armour plates here-and-there. Three of the newcomers stood proud and tall at the front. The one in the centre sucked on a pacifier haughtily, looking so utterly regal that he probably thought he shat gold. On his right was a woman, thin faced, and paler than ice. On his left was a man, hooded -- a cloak of deep twilight-blue. Fost felt something strange, like the gears of possibility shifted within him. But then something else caught his eye. Strapped to the hooded man’s waist was a book. A book with a shield and sword engraved on the front. END OF EPISODE 1
  15. I’m too shy to wear in public, but if I were to on the airplane seems like a great spot to stay padded. It’s frustrating when you have a window seat and need everyone to move so you can go pee. Have you flown while being padded?
  16. This story will contain girls wearing and wetting diapers. This story contains no messing or age regression. I just don't like those, if that's what you're into that's fine but you won't find it here. It will also contain somewhat lesbian themes. They might get furthered if I continue this. This story has characters that have colorful hair as their natural hair color. Blues, greens, anything. This isn't dye it's just a personal thing I like. Other than that, this story is realistic fiction. However it IS fiction. Some of these stories are based off of events that MAY have happened in MY life, but they are purely fiction. Please note that this is the first like... story I've ever written. I'm doing my best. It might be really corny. Critiques are fine but please be nice Syntax, punctuation, capitalization, spelling and grammar may not be perfect. Hopefully you can survive it. If people like it enough I'll continue it. That said, here you go. This is a story about a girl named Ashley. She is 18 and is a Senior in High school. She is a bed wetter. It was a cloudy cool Thursday morning in October. Ashley's parents typically helped her with her morning routine, however this morning her parents were both out on business trips. This was the first she was on her own in the morning this school year. Ashley woke up in her bed. She immediately felt the lack of cold damp sheets around her crotch. "Hey, I didn't wet through!". She gleefully stated to herself. She pulled her blanket off of her and sneaked her left hand under her blue pajama shorts and to her dismay, her diaper was wet. This wasn't unusual as Ashley rarely had a fully dry night. "At least it's still warm." "So close!" she muttered. Ashley jumped out of bed and looked in the mirror in her room. "I'm 5 foot 5 and I'm beautiful, why do I still wet the bed?" "I have beautiful B cup breasts, and hips and my ass is even better, and yet my bladder just doesn't work at night." Ashley had a weird habit of talking to herself when she's alone. "I even have beautiful blue hair." Her clocked suddenly struck 7 o' clock. "Oh no, I've overslept" "The bus comes in 5 minutes!" Her High School, Frozen River High, starts right at 7:30 am and ends at 2:25 pm. Ashley's bus comes at 7:05 am Ashley quickly yanked her pajamas shorts and shirt off and slipped on her favorite blue denim miniskirt reaching to just above her mid thigh and a cute lavender short sleeve crop top that reaches to just above her cute innie belly button. This school was pretty relaxed dress code wise. As long as your butt cheeks aren't visible and your breasts are covered, it doesn't seem to matter. "Gotta go gotta go gotta go!" she frantically spoke as she ran down the stairs. "Don't have time for breakfast, I'll survive though." Ashley said to herself. Ashley quickly found her phone, backpack and slipped on a cute pair of blue tennis shoes. Ashley quickly ran to the door and thought I feel like I'm forgetting something important. Ashley felted around her shoulders with her right hand and moved over her chest. "My BRA!, she yelled". Ashley quickly ran upstairs quickly slipped on a bra and ran downstairs, picked her backpack back up and sprinted out the door. Unfortunately for Ashley, she also forgot that she never changed out of her wet diaper. Too panicked to notice the quiet and gentle but definitely noticeable crinkling sound that accompanied her every step. The bus was approaching her bus stop, if Ashley ran she could make it. Panting hard she made it, and saw her best friend Emma. Emma was 5 foot 5 and quite thicc. She had C cup breasts a big ass thicc thighs, and gorgeous long crimson hair. She was wearing a white short sleeve shirt and beautiful crimson leggings matching her beautiful hair. "Hey, you made it!" Emma yelled. Ashley got in line after Emma and they both entered the bus and sat down together in the second row. "Hey Emma, did you finish science homework?" This lead Emma to hair her head at the remembrance of the homework she forgot. Emma had extreme ADHD and was very forgetful. She had an IEP (Individualized Education Plan) to help her but she still took her mistakes hard. "God why can't I remember anything?" Emma grunted. Ashley reached over and hugged Emma. This made Emma blush as she secretly had a crush on Ashley and not even Ashley knew. Ashley said "hey, you know you're doing your best." Emma replied "If I truly was trying, I wouldn't forget every single day I have homework." Ashley looked Emma in the eye and said, "you remembered your math assignment yesterday! That's a victory!" Emma looked down and just said "Yeah, just once, I can never keep a streak going." Ashley hugged Emma again and Emma blushed again. "That's never stopped you before, just keep going. I'm with you every step of the way." Emma replied "I don't deserve you" Ashley quickly hugged Emma again and said "I'm here whether you want me or not." Emma gave up fairly quickly and just said "I' have no idea what I'd do without you." Ashley quickly said "I'd be nothing without you either!" Emma blushed even more hearing this. Ashley saw the blush and asked "Are you alright? Your face is red." Emma quietly replied "Um.. your outfit.. is really cute." Ashley smiled and looked down at her skirt and suddenly it hit her like thunder. I never took off my diaper... Ashley suddenly realized in her head. Emma noticed Ashley suddenly looking very pale and asked "Is something wrong, Ashley?" Ashley raised her head up and said "It's nothing." Ashley started pondering what she was going to do about this. She leaned forward and saw her palish white but wet diaper under her skirt from an angle. Her skirt was long enough to fully cover her diaper while she was sitting, but just barely. She would have to always sit with her knees together. The bus finally reached her school. Ashley and Emma got up and exited the bus. Ashley was silently panicked. She could clearly hear the gentle *crinkle* *crinkle* *crinkle* *crinkle* of her diaper with every step she took. While Ashley's miniskirt did fully shield it from view, even if just barely, it did nothing to hide the crinkling coming from the diaper in between her legs. Of course, the crinkles were noticeable to anybody who was listening for them, they weren't that loud. However to Ashley, it was like thunder. How did I not hear these crinkles before I got on the bus? Ashley thought. She walked into school, step by step. *Crinkle* *Crinkle* *Crinkle* It was going to be a long day. To be continued....
  17. From the album: ME in Goodnites

    Haven't shaved my legs in ages! Feels so good!
  18. https://omorashi.cam/archives/pvideo/omorashi-814
  19. out there.....easy going and gay 66 senior who is very comfy with being a DL and happily wears and uses......looking for same type of chap or even younger who is comfy with being with an older gay DL. Diapered friendship would be nice and if anything develops from there, well, you just never know.....
  20. When people wee & poo I notice sometimes a cascade of pee comes 1st followed by the poop. At other times their pee doesn't start until they relax after pushing out their 1st poop. It's something which amuses me. I'm fascinated to know which happens 1st for you when you go & what the determining factors might be?
  21. Let it... flow (Nothing to do with Frozen) I was looking at some old photographs the other day and one of them was of my dad holding me outside our terraced (and somewhat dilapidated) old house. The caption, obviously written by my father, read - 9 month old Popsi and me taking the morning air. Apparently, my nickname as a baby was Popsi and, from the image at least, my sex indeterminate, which I suppose is OK for a baby, as it really doesn’t matter. As it was, I was dressed in a grey looking smock but my large white nappy was clearly visible resting on dad’s arm. I was giggling about something, and dad was smiling, so it must have been a fun occasion for all concerned but the thing was, I never remembered ever being called Popsi. Now you may be wondering why I’m telling you about this. In fact, I have no idea why I’m sharing this little titbit of my life except as a reminder of the things you forget or aren’t aware of. I’m sure I was called Popsi (by my parents at least) for quite some time although as far as I know, I’ve never had a nickname at school or throughout my adult life. So, although that early part of my life has been forgotten, there is one thing I do remember because in one way or another it continues to this day. * Like I remember, I must have been about six years old and having a bath on my own. I was enjoying playing with my little plastic boats and suddenly I needed a pee. Of course I was already in the bath so it seemed silly to get out and then pee in a different ‘bowl’ of water so I just relaxed and let it flow. I was completely transfixed by the small yellow plume that emerged from my little ‘pidge’ and found that it was something I ended up doing every time I had a bath. Quite simply it was fun and felt good to do. The problem was, even though my potty training had lasted until I was four and I hadn’t wet the bed for over two years, I suddenly started again. These days I can see a link between the two incidents but at the time, well I was only a kid and it never occurred to me. The warmth of the bath and the warmth of my bed both perhaps working on my brain to give me a similar feeling of relaxation; the two experiences were becoming one and the same. However, the connection between the two wasn’t made because no one knew I peed in the bath, all mum saw was that one morning I woke up to a soaked bed. That was followed by further wet bedding and jammies so after a week of such accidents, mum said that I had to return to nappies until I was “over it”. To say I wasn’t happy about this announcement was a bit of an understatement as I threw a tantrum and became very angry. The very idea of being returned to a ‘baby’ had me screaming the house down in protest, which didn’t help my case. Now mum had never been a fan of disposables, I’m not sure if that was a result of worrying about the environment or because of the expense, either way, she never had them in the house. As babies we were always put in thick cloth nappies covered in a rather milky white pair of rubber or plastic pants. I have to say they seemed to do the job remarkably efficiently and mum never seemed bothered about colour or fashion. She is also a no nonsense type of woman. She’s very loving but once her mind is set on a course of action nothing is going to change it. I think dad liked that spark in mum and that’s why he married her (also my oldest brother was on the way). So, once she’d decided on what needed to be done to protect my bed and bedding, her damp little son was going to be well-wrapped at night whether I liked it or not and, as I said, I did not. Besides, I had two older brothers and they would just take the piss (so to speak). They did - as soon as they saw the plastic under-sheet being fastened over my mattress. I was now fair game being referred to as the ‘baby of the family’ and spoken to as if I was still a toddler. My brothers didn’t tire of ‘diddum’s this’ and ‘diddum’s that’ or be constantly checking my padded night time nappy and telling me it was time all babies should be in bed… at 6.30 or earlier. Anyway, it wasn’t something you could talk to a six year old about so my parents just assumed I was being lazy, which may have been part of it, or that I’d probably grow out of my bed-wetting problem soon enough. In the meantime, nappies were the most obvious solution. On that first night mum put me in them I was furious but had no option, both mum and dad said it was for my own good and that the sooner I stopped wetting the bed the sooner I could return to my normal PJs. That initial night was hell, I couldn’t get used to them. They were hot, bulky, uncomfortable and sweaty, which made me squirm around in bed until they were so loose they ‘accidently’ wriggled off. This was a bad move on my part as in the morning my bed was soaked but not the nappy so it was obvious to mum that I hadn’t been wearing it. I got a couple of quick swats to my bare bottom for both lying to her about how it came off and for wetting once again. The following night she pinned me in, added plastic pants over them and made sure I was under no illusions that if everything wasn’t exactly as she had left it (I.e. me in my protection) I’d be feeling more than the little ‘taps’ I’d received as punishment earlier. She had also made it very clear that I wasn’t to take it off, only she and dad were allowed to do that, so I was to stay in my nappy until told otherwise. It was still a damned uncomfortable night but I dare not wriggle free of them this time. My crinkly plastic pants and under-sheet adding to my awkwardness but in the end sleep did visit and so did the pee fairy because in the morning my nappy was soaked. Thankfully, as mum saw it, everything else was dry so her precautions had been a huge success. It felt really awful sitting at the breakfast table with my brother’s giggling at my bloated nappy and plastic pants. Mum said she’d change me when it was time for school. This really worried me because I thought she meant I’d have to wear a nappy to class but in the end she didn’t mean that at all and I went to school in my normal undies … and uniform. What a relief. I didn’t have accidents during the day it was only when I was asleep or in the bath… but then the ones in the bath weren’t accidents… I really liked the feeling and watching the almost invisible pale yellow trails disappear into the rest of the water. I also discovered that if I peed near the surface, and my boats were somewhere near the flow, I could get the current to make them sail in a particular direction. I got pretty good at keeping a load of pee for when I was scheduled for a bath so I could spend more time on this incredible discovery. However, protection at night became a regular feature of my bedtime and eventually my brothers got used to seeing me being wrapped in terry cloth and fitted into rubber pants before I went to bed I shared a room with my two brothers, Leo, the eldest was nine and Gary who was eight shared a big double bed, whilst mine was a small single bed pushed up against the far wall. When all three of us were up or in the room at the same time, like when getting ready for school, it was a very cramped space. With draws, a wardrobe and of course the beds, we had no room for play, it was strictly a place for sleep and changing. This meant that when mum changed me into my night time protection, this was dealt with on my bed and became a bit of a ritual before my brothers needed to get ready. Otherwise there simply wouldn’t have been the room for us all to be changing at the same time and the bathroom was quite small, so there wasn’t much space in there either. We coped but it had to be done to mother’s precision organisation. She liked to apply the various oils and powders and though I resented being put into nappies, that resentment was getting less and less every time. The thing was I was enjoying peeing in my nappy. On more than one occasion I’d woken up and could quite easily have made it to the toilet in time but enjoyed the warm surge. My nappy, like the bath, became the place to let it flow. Mum was slightly annoyed that her washing line was once again filled with my flapping nappies and rubber pants; she thought she was over all that, but as the alternative was fluttering bed sheets and jammies, she let it go. My night time toilet arrangements became quite a topic of conversation between mum and the neighbours who commiserated with her on my immature return to nappies. As far as I knew, and certainly mum never led me to believe otherwise, I was the only six year-old on the estate still needing night time protection. Mum made sure if I was staying up to watch TV or we were doing something else, she always wanted to make sure I was in my protection well before bedtime. She dreaded that I might nod off when not in protection and shame myself by leaving a pool of pee that someone else might notice. I couldn’t understand this as I never arrived home from school in wet pants so why she thought I couldn’t be trusted I wasn’t so sure. Although I suspected it was just the normal amount of gossiping and conclusions drawn that went on between ‘concerned’ neighbours. If mum or dad were going to be busy, on more than one occasion I’d arrive home from school or from playing out and I’d be taken upstairs and made ready for an early night. So, quite often I’d be in my nappy for ages before actual bedtime. So seeing me totter around the house wearing just a t-shirt and nappy was not unusual. I’d try and disguise my padding by choosing a brightly coloured t-shirt, which to me at least, drew attention away from the bulky material between my legs. However, the urge to fill it then was strong, but I was sure that if they knew I could’ve made it to the bathroom and yet didn’t, then I would be in a great deal of trouble. If they thought it was accidental, and I did it in my sleep, that was acceptable. Sometimes I’d have an early night just so I could pee in my nappy as soon as I got into bed. The feeling was wonderful and I’d often fall asleep almost immediately after the event. Mum once or twice checked me when she came to bed and, finding me wet would change me into a clean and dry one only for that to be soaked by morning. There was no doubt I was peeing in my nappy more and more and both Leo and Gary started to complain about the overpowering odour of these ‘mishaps’. As I didn’t seem to be in the process of stopping (and there was nowhere else for me to sleep) her solution was thicker nappies, thicker soak pads and very robust rubber pants. Mum claimed that nothing would get out of this fortified prison and all my changes were to be performed in the bathroom from then on. It was far more cramped and uncomfortable but I couldn’t complain (although I did a little bit). Mum was giving me more and more responsibility for my own changes. I was left to put it on myself, after suitable instruction and supervision from her, and I got quite adept at pinning myself into multiple folds of soft white (now slightly yellowing) fabric. The doctor I went to see told dad there was nothing wrong with me and after giving him the third degree about how I was punished, and satisfying himself I wasn’t being abused, said that I’d probably grow out of it pretty soon. Dad was annoyed that the doctor assumed it was his fault I wet and as a result, I was constantly under dad’s scrutiny and encouraged to improve my night time toilet habits. I did try. I hated that dad was so upset with the disgusting insinuation he was abusing me, so I did get dry for a week or so. Eventually, the strain of staying dry gave way to the pleasure of being wet so nothing changed. Although the outcome of all this was, because of his inquisition dad refused to let me see a doctor again regarding my nightly ‘accidents’. Even when I reached my seventh, eighth and ninth birthdays I was still wearing my night time armour (as I’d jokingly come to call it) but that changed when dad got promoted and transferred to a different town. A change of house, school and friends suddenly had me more interested in that than my wet habits and miraculously (as mum and dad called it) I suddenly found I was dry and the toilet was not an alien place for me to visit at night. Pretty soon, after almost three years I was back to proper nightwear and a dry bed. From then on I hardly ever thought about my ‘golden flow’ and certainly didn’t miss the thick nappy. # Here I’m going to do a potted history of my life then until now, simply because what happened during these years from when I stopped has no bearing on what I want to tell you about (well I don’t think so). I had been working since I left school at eighteen though I never went to college, but found myself at a new firm that had ambition and a workforce that functioned very well together. I was one of their go-getters and the firm was in the right place at the right time for the technical facilities it offered. It was a great place to be and we all did fairly well sharing in the company’s successes. At twenty-one I inherited money that my grandparents had put in trust for me. It was quite a considerable amount and enabled me to put the deposit down on a place of my own. By twenty-four I was married to a nice girl but my sex drive, which had never been prolific, eventually drove her into the arms of another man (a workmate) and I was divorced by the time I reached twenty-seven. During in all that time, I never thought about nappies or wetting and those two thoughts have only just recently surfaced, and that has taken me to a place I wished I’d found earlier. Let me explain. # It’s several months since my divorce and I now live alone. Recently I was taking a shower - don’t get me wrong, I’d taken many showers since the decree absolute, it was just this one was sort of a turning point. It was early morning and as I let the warm jets pulsate against my head and back I let my night time bladder build-up go in the cubicle. Now I’m sure I’d done this more times than I remembered but on this occasion something actually happened. As the stream of bright yellow pee joined the river of warm water I watched in wonder and my mind was immediately transferred back to the moment when I was six and peed in the bath for the very first time. Then it was pale yellow and in volume hardly much at all but now I witnessed a yellow torrent mixing and mingling with a clear water flow and disappear in a swirl down the plughole. It was magical. It brought back that instant over twenty years earlier, when a shiver of excitement, wonder and sheer pleasure led to that most joyful of discoveries - peeing was fun… and not only in the bath. I’d been in a little bit of self despair because I felt useless and it wasn’t just because of the break up. The divorce hadn’t hit me hard because I more or less knew it was coming from the moment I married Penny. We were more friends than lovers and we’d let ourselves fall into the trap that friends could be lovers. Alas, after just a few short, frustrated years (for Penny) it was over. Since then my self-imposed depression meant I wasn’t the bundle of fun I used to be and quite a few of my ‘friends’ took the opportunity to let our friendship slide. I can’t blame them I wasn’t much company but it was all a mask for something… though at the time I hadn’t realised what that might be. However, a stream of pee and a delightful memory had had the most amazing effect and I bounced into work a new man. For the first time in absolutely ages I felt happy. There was energy to my attitude and a zing in my step. I was, to put it mildly, amazingly focused on ME. Not in a depressed state of mind, not self-destructive, not in a negative way at all. In fact, I was all the things I used to be before I got tangled up in growing up. It was surprising how liberated I felt. I could do my job, I could function around others, and the divorce I realised meant a great weight of a lifetime of responsibility had been lifted from my shoulders. THANK YOU GOD… or whoever is in charge of such things. Now, as I live on my own, I saw no reason not to indulge once again in a physical reminisce and went out to purchase a bag of Abena Abri-Form M4 disposables and a couple of pairs of thick shiny plastic pants (they were in packs of two). This was an incredible, life-changing decision. From now on, when not at work (and occasionally when I was, though not as thickly) nappies, disposables and plastic pants would be my underwear of choice. I have once again begun to appreciate that soft rustling sound of a slick pair of vinyl pants, the bulk between my legs, the smooth rounded front to my genital area and wondered why had I let these feelings go? Powder, lotion and a return of baby pins that help make my fabric nappies fit tightly and look so special was like finding old and much missed friends. Now I was older peeing in the bath had more force. I watched the few suds being swept into the current and being destroyed, much to my juvenile enjoyment. I began to drink more liquid in the hope that my bloated bladder made the length of pee last much longer. I now try to hold off from going to the toilet wanting to keep it for my bath time ritual… or later. When bed time comes I just let nature take its course and I find filling my disposable immensely satisfying. I don’t want my complete childhood back but there are things I do that make me giggle like the little kid I once was. The little kid who peed in the bath and enjoyed the sensation of letting go… and letting it flow… a newly warm wet nappy is a thing of immense pleasure. ##################################################
  22. Omg... I love how they feel but wish i could have found actual diapers. Now how do i convince my brain its okay to pee?
  23. This is some sighting stories about my sister in law. I shall not mention her real name but let's call her Emma. she did have a lot of wettings and then a lot of diapers. Well, I'l tell you bit about her. She is in her twentys, slim with blonde hair and blue eyes. She looks very cute and acts cute and even childish at times. Now saying that she is pretty damn smart. Anyway, my brother met her when she was 19 and he was 21. Two young party animals partying together. Now her diaper sightings started at the age of 20 when she got pregnant. Now having a baby can cause incontinence which in her case did happen but she enjoyed it a lot. I'm pretty sure she did anyway. She carried on being incontinence couple years after having the child but I think she decided that after a couple big leaks and her child getting to the age where he would notice she decided to keep it in the room type of activity. Can't blame her Well I'l start off with the first story Hikes are the devil for the bladder One time we all went on a hike. She was wearing a blue jean miniskirt and converse and a white tank top. During the hike, Emma kept whining about needing a pee super badly. I and my bro kept teasing her making sounds of water and talking about waterfalls and lakes. She was begging us to stop or she gonna pee herself. Her mum just told her to go in the bush which she responded to !I'm a girl Ishe can't do that" We eventually got down to a river where she was really desperate and she and her boyfriend lagged behind a little and I remember looking back to her to see her standing there with pee running down her legs. And she was fine after that. An occasion like that happened again sometime and she just said she going to find a spot. She was hardly hiding because i remember seeing her standing behind a tree with pee running down her legs... Who hasnt been desperate in a car I remember sitting behind her in the car of her boyfriends (My bro) and she was whining about needing a pee and in the end it went all quiet and she admitted to having a little accident. After a while, you could see little dampness on the back of the seat. Accidents happen next to the toilet I guess? We were all chilling in the front room talking about stuff and after a while, everyone went into the kitchen, I stayed in the living room and Emma went to the bathroom. She was wearing a wooly jumper, tight black jeans and black leather boots. Her jeans were really tight. She was awhile in the toilet. After sometime she came out into the living room and bent over feeling her thighs. I was watching her do all of this. I could see her thighs were wet. I asked her if she ok and she jumped back up saying she's fine and went into the kitchen to her BF and they left likes minutes later. While she was leaving i could see her bum was wet. I assume she was desperate as she liked holding on to last minute and went to the bathroom to end up struggling to pull her jeans down and maybe pressed on her bladder or her bladder gave up and she started peeing and stood there not sure what to do and sat there on the toilet peeing through her clothes. Shopping trip My bro asked if I wanted to go shopping with him and Emma. I was down, let's do it. So they pick me up and I walked out to their car and its about an hour drive to the mall. Emma was wearing Thick black leggings, Dark grey tank top and Vans shoes and a diaper on. So maybe half hour into the trip she moans about needing a pee, My bro teases her a little saying "You shouldn't have drunk all that water" because she was drinking bottles of water on the trip. Like alot. And also saying "Just go then" with her responding "No, i want to hold it a bit". About ten minutes after that she moans again and comes out with "Oh no", Opens her legs widely and I could see in the mirror that she was stroking her crotch with her hand. She sighed in relief and whispered to my Bro "I'm peeing" He started to get a boner I also did... He came out with "We need to potty train you little baby" She giggled saying "Please don't I like these" She clearly sat there in a diaper peeing in her diaper. She sighed a bit more in relief and than sat normally with her legs together and whispered "I'm still peeing" When we arrived I let her go in front and I could 100% make out a diaper shaped bum. It was pretty hidden but you could tell. If you were looking for it. So we all go to a little restairant to eat some food and we all end up having a coffee. She went pretty quiet and after like 5 mins she looks at my Bro with a somewhat worried looked and whispered to him "I peed again but my diaper leaked little bit" So we finish eating our food and drinks and go to the bathrooms and she asks "how bad the damage" My bro says "you cant even notice it". So She went into the disabled toilets to change her child's diaper and to change her diapers. She comes out and looks at my bro saying all Fresh! So we go to all the stores and look around and I and my bro went into the apple store She went into another shop and after a while she came into the apple store and listened in on the conversation with the salesman. She stood there and sighed in relief and her hand holding her diaper crotch like she peeing. She did walk around little and I did watch her feel you bum and pull up leggins up which made the diaper more obvious. After that, we end up on the high street and chilled out on a bench. I manage to get a decent look at her diaper crotch as she was sitting and it did look diapered. I think she whispered "I'm peeing" to my bro and a cheeky grin. Well after that not much happened on Emma and it was the end of the day. So we went to the toilets and Emma changed her child's diaper and her diaper. Came out and we went to the car. There was some traffic like a lot of traffic on the way home. So a one hour trip turned into two hours. About the one mark, she moaned to my bro needing the toilet and he says "just go" and she comes out with "No the toilet! Like number 2" About 15 minutes after that she sits up and groans and she sat that pooping her diaper. Music was loud but you could hear the hissing and crackling of her poop coming into her diaper. She relaxes a bit and a red face and the car smelled of poop but not a bad smell. Like a smell of a used diaper. Well she sat into her diaper with a smile on her face. "It's not that I don't like pooping my diaper it's just that its a pain to clean plus we were supposed to be going to your parent's house" He droped my off at my house and they leave without coming in with is weird because they normally come on in. Bit on the bum! One time she came over to my house cause my bro was suppose to be here but was working late. She arrived wearing her blue flowery romper, white vans. Anyway, we sat in the front room talking about shit like recent parties and lazing around. Also offering her a drink. Can a beer it was So After a while of just chatting she sits up and goes "Ow" Then jumps up and runs to my mums room saying "Ow ow ow ow" alot and ran into my mums room So I walk past my mums room to see the door closed so I push it open very slowly and I see her standing their stripped down to her diaper. A blue diaper. It looked wet. Well she took the diaper off and then bent over in the mirror to check her bum out. I think something bit her on her bum... Well, she puts her wet diaper back on and admires herself in the mirror as she sighs in relief feeling her diaper getting wet as she stands their peeing. Then she takes it off and rolls it up and puts it in her bag. Then puts a new fresh same type diaper on and pulls her rompers back up. So I quickly left and sat there on my phone in the front room. She sat back down and said something bit her. Then we were chilling and I manage to get couple of peeps of her diaper up her rompers legs. And her crotch looked diapered and her bum. Then my bro came home and they both went off to his room to do whatever. I went to the bathroom to conduct some Human science research... Diaper Leakage! One time she came over wearing black people went their own ways. I was reading a book and I watch her sort something out in her bag. She was standing next to the sofa so i managed to get a nice view of her bum that looked diapered. She went into the next room and stood next to the table talking to my mum when I hear her panic like "Oh no! OMG!" My mum quickly handed her a towel saying "Aww quick here a towel" Then I asked if everything is ok. She said its fine. So i listen in to Emma saying "I can't help it I have no control" (This was in the same year as her pregnancy) Mum "I understand" and she goes and stand in the arch to the front room and doesn't let anyone in. Emma says she got another pair exactly the same. She changed and mops up her mess and changes her diaper putting her spare trousers on. When I assume she took her trousers off My mum said "gosh darling, That's too full, no wonder you leaked, Be careful not to get a rash" Emma responded "Yer I forget sometimes, I have like the worst control ever and it justs comes out, It happened in public one time and I managed to get my BF to pick me up" Mum told her if she need be picked up by her feel free to call. My mum told her to "give me the diaper i'l put it in the bin". Later that evening I searched the bin to find a while folded up adult diaper. Tena diaper then I did some more human science research. I didnt keep the diaper nor did I let the diaper touch my penis. Goodness knows what she has. And I didnt see the point in keeping the diaper cause whats the point. I know with proof she wears. A DIAPERED XMAS Emma came over with my bro (Her BF) to spend Christmas with us. Now i'm going to get sraight to the story. She was wearing Black leggings with a yellow wooly jumper. With covered the majority of her bum. From time to time when she was leaning over you could get a nice glimpse of her bum. It was a little bulky but then like it was and was not bulky if that makes sense. You could tell she was wearing a fresh diaper. Cause a fresh diaper under like two pairs of leggings can look a lot like a bum. And if the diaper is a nice fit and taped up properly. Any way I store that in my wank bank and get on with my day. I keep trying to get other little glimpses. Now she does have bladder control and she did use the bathroom like 6 times which is a lot. Normally she goes once but whatever. Maybe she been drinking a lot or maybe she getting a weak bladder again! Anyway the day comes to an end and the only sighting I get was her diapered bum. However before they left she went to the toilet one more time and after her toiler session when she was standing in the living room. I was on the floor wrestling with the kids I look up to her and her jumper was slightly raised and Only like the parting of the jumper was raise and I could see a white diaper cloth waistline. I carry on playing while taking more looks and it's obvious that it was diaper waistline like a Tena cloth Diaper like for example the Tena Medium slip plus. That kind of diaper. I didn't see any tapes but i know my diapers and that was the waistline of a diaper. Who knows why she wore cause she definitely didnt wet it so maybe she wore it for comfort or maybe she was wearing it for a surprise for her BF later that night. The next day I had the house to myself so i tried on one of my tena diapers and but some trousers over it and took a look in the mirror to almost see exactly the same thing. Same material and everything. Those are the best storys I have of Emma. All the others are pretty standard. I'm gonna write weekly about sightings I've had cause I really have won the Lotto on Diaper sightings with proof. It's gonna be a different girl each week but that gives you more variety to read. I promise you now that these are not fake Well I hope you enjoyed these stories and my sister and I'l be writing weekly Enjoy!
  24. So yea, im new and I love diapers. I Like wearing them and going in them to an extent, but I love seeing girls go in their diapers. I think it is the hottest thing in this world. just wanted to throw that out there lol, but anyway, im 21 and a dude and im down for pretty much just about anything.
  25. Hi guys! I'm new here as of today, iv always been into wetting and sometimes messing myself in private and have always loved watching girls wet and mess either in their panties or diapers; honestly it doesn't make a different to me. iv always kept this part of my life hidden because im embarrassed of the possible repercussions; however im now ready to branch out and meet other people in the community. Basically I am a 21 year old guy living in the US who is a junior in college that secretly hopes to see women wet themselves, but is always disappointed, so I just go home and sneak into one of my hidden diapers.
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