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I woke up and stretched my legs as far as I could before they were stopped by the white wooden bars of the crib I was laying in. At 5'7" and 34 years old I was quite surprised I could fit in it well enough to sleep and that it could support my weight. In case I needed a reminder why I was in a crib at this age, my wet diaper underneath my footie pajamas covered in adorable alpacas and snapped up and down both of my legs and crotch kept me from forgetting. Oddly enough, I didn't hate it but it really wasn't my thing either. I knew how happy it made my husband seeing me completely dependent on him and he was lucky I loved him so much to agree to this. It wasn't the first time I wore a diaper for him and not even the first time I donned clothes more suited for a toddler, however, it was the first time I had slept in a diaper and in a crib, though I could see by the lack of light coming in from behind the curtains that I still quite a bit of sleeping to do tonight. Every time before tonight when we had played 'daddy/baby' I was diapered, bottle fed, and snuggled while sucking a pacifier and watching a movie. When the movie ended, so would the baby routine. My husband would lie me down and remove my diaper, clean my private area with baby wipes and gently slide my adult panties back on me and tell me over and over how much he loved me and how happy it made him that I would humor this side of him. It was nice to see him so happy. This week would be different. We rented a vacation home a few hours from our house that had an adorable toddler room for a girl around two. It was decorated perfectly with pink and very light blue elephants and butterflies with thick white carpeting and a large play mat with babyish unicorns all displaying a letter of the alphabet. A baby monitor was anchored to the wall above the crib ensuring the hippo and giraffe mobile did not block the view of the baby inside. A changing table fully stocked with changing supplies sat opposite the crib next to a white dresser painted with fun patterns of pink and polka-dots. The rocking chair in the corner near the window looked ever so inviting and I was sure was used many times to calm down a cranky or hungry baby. If it weren't for the adult sized but baby themed diapers that my husband placed next to the stack of toddler diapers you would have never guessed it was a room for an adult. I knew I had better get back to sleep but it was hard to get comfortable. The plastic mattress protector under me was loud and trying to lay on my side was uncomfortable as my diaper was very swollen between my thighs making the position awkward. Laying on my stomach felt better and if I could have fully stretched my legs I would have felt comfortable but that wasn't an option. As I stirred and repositioned myself trying to find that perfect spot I spotted the pacifier I was put to bed with and placed it in to my mouth. I found it surprising that it was the item I enjoyed most when being babied by my husband. Perhaps the soothing feeling it gave me was instinctual or maybe it was just enough to take my mind off other things, like a warm wet and slightly itchy diaper, but at any rate, it did the trick and I found a comfortable position laying down with my stomach on my upper thighs and my padded bottom slightly in the air. I was nervous to what the morning would bring but very excited to be changed into a fresh diaper.

Rebecca set her bag down upon the bed. Her bed now. At least, for the next semester. The choice to live on campus for her second year wasn't one easily made. Her parents had offered to let her stay in her old bedroom, and it wasn't that long a commute. But... she needed her freedom. There was a time in everyone's life when they needed to go out into the world to figure out for themselves who they are, and you didn't do that by living forever in your childhood bedroom. She couldn't be act like a kid forever. She sighed. Some might argue that last part for certain things. Despite what she wanted, some things wouldn't change. Other things, however, needed to change right now. She opened the bag and dug to the bottom. She felt around with her eyes closed until she landed on the familiar plastic feel. She pulled out the thick, white diaper and looked around her room. She could try going to the bathroom to change, but then she risked being seen. Changing here, however, meant finding a place to store a soaked diaper until she could take her trash out. She sighed, thanked god she managed to get an individual room and put a bag inside the sealing garbage can she had picked out specifically for this. She took hers off, wrapped it in an extra plastic bag, and shoved it in. She re-diapered herself and pulled her skirt down over it. She looked in the mirror and frowned. It wasn't too obvious but... her bottom definitely stuck out. She sashayed back and forth, and the sound of crinkling plastic came through. She told herself it was more obvious because she knew it was there, and realistically no one would be able to tell unless they were looking for it, but it was hard to convince herself. She opened her bag further and took out the bag of diapers. There were twenty of them, each thick, plastic, and unmistakable for what they were. At least they weren't the printed kind- she still remembered with horror when her parents presented her with a pink bunny covered diaper for a "fun change." She wrapped the bag in a blanket, shoved it in a suitcase, and looked around her room. Finally she hid it in her closet and sighed. The brand was far from what she would have wanted. She had considered just stocking up on the underwear like pull ups she wore at home, but even back then she rarely tried wearing them outside the house, or anywhere she'd be far from a bathroom. The next were a bit thicker but still paper backed and quiet. She'd wear them when she'd be out but knew she could change quickly. That had been harder to give up, but in the end it was also still wishful thinking. With hour long classes and even longer tests, not to mention walking all over the campus without a private bathroom, it was too much of a risk. On top of that, a leaking diaper in public was far worse then plastic underwear. So, here she was. She thought for a moment, then reached back into the bag and took a spare diaper out. She figured she should probably bring a spare around, just in case. The campus was large, and she couldn't always be sure to make it back in time. She then reached into her "regular" underwear drawer, took out a pair of briefs, and pulled them up her legs. It always made her feel more comfortable to have something extra in case her skirt ran up, and it helped keep the crinkle sound down. Someone knocked at the door. Before she could answer, a smoothed skin, perfectly formed face, flanked by long, bleached hair, poked inside. "Eeep!" Rebecca said. Thinking quickly, she let her skirt drop back down and threw her her blanket over her bed. "You a bit of a scaredy cat?" the head asked. It was Matilda, an annoying cheerleader who shared some of Rebecca's classes. "What are you hiding?" "None of your business!" Rebecca said. "I mean, nothing. What do you want?" "Just letting you know there is a party tonight," she said. "Oh, I uhhh..." it was tempting, but it was also a Wednesday night. "I really should study. I have a morning class." Matilda laughed. "Oh, the party is for cheerleaders only, silly. Just letting you know in case it got too loud." She slammed the door behind her as she left. Rebecca grumbled to herself. Of course there was no reason for her to mention it, she was sure the cheerleader just wanted her to know she wasn't invited. She packed and headed to class. The read-headed girl walked through the hallways. She kept telling herself the sound of her diaper crinkling was not as loud as it seemed. It was something she knew was true, but had still been a source of anxiety for years. Now, with the unfortunate choice of the extra thick diapers, and the close call, it was all she could think about. "Hello again Rebby!" Matilda said, coming beside her. Rebecca jumped, startled at her sudden appearance. "My your jumpy today Rebby. Or do you prefer Becca?" "I prefer Rebecca," she said. "Whatever you want Becca. Sorry about our little run in earlier, I hope I didn't sound like I was making fun of you." She was dressed in a tank top and short skirt, in direct contrast to Rebecca's sweater and long, plaid skirt. Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Not at all." "Its just, you know, only for cheerleaders. And their boyfriends. And some of their friends. And a few other people. But its ok, you got your own thing going. Love your long skirts and frumpy clothes! Its cute, like a schoolgirl, and I suppose you have to dress according to your build." "Wow, thanks. Yes, your tiny skirts just shout "maturity." A girl they were passing giggled. She had long black hair and short black dress, and hit her smile behind her hand. She winked at Rebecca as they passed. Matilda made a face as she was laughed at, then put on a fake smile and wrapped an arm around Rebecca stomach and pulled her in close. Rebecca kept walking but froze from the waist up. Where she was, Matilda's hand was dangerously close to her... She reached down and moved Matilda's arm away. "Sorry would you mind not doing that?" "Awww. I would mind not doing that, actually. I'm just trying to get close with my new friend." She put a hand around her waist again, this time lower. Rebecca looked at the arm nervously. She considered pushing it away again, but that would probably only encourage Matilda, and she didn't want to risk her trying again and ending up right smack in the wrong place. "I think that's close enough!" Rebecca said, wiping her hand away. Matilde smiled. "Wow! Feisty! You go girl!" she said, and smacked Rebecca on the bottom. There was a moment after the thud where neither spoke. Rebecca stared straight forward, and Matilda looked at her. "What was that?" Matilda asked. "What was what?" Rebecca said. "That sound." "Probably a bird." "No the thud." "Hit a tree." "Then there was a crinkling sound." "A plastic tree." "Awww that's a cute joke sweetie. Such a clever girl!" Rebecca pointed a finger at her. "Hey! Don't talk to me that..." She stopped as Matilda hooked a finger under her skirt and lifted. "HEY! Don't... Errr!" She said, pushing her skirt down. "Sorry, what was that little girl?" Matilda asked. She stepped a bit closer and put her hand back on Rebecca's skirt. She looked straight into her eyes and gave a mocking smile. "I gave you a compliment. What do you say, little girl?" "Ah..." Rebecca paused. It was only a second of contact, she wouldn't necessarily have seen anything. Then again, she might have already seen something from when she barged into her door and been suspicious. Rebecca shook her head. She was trying to think of a way out of it, but realistically she was beaten. Matilda had been teasing her before, but in an entirely different way. She must know. "Thank you for the compliment." "Good girl. Well have a good day! I'll see you in the afternoon class!" Matilda said, and ruffled Rebecca's hair, then hopped away in the other direction.

If you'd like to read this story in ebook form, you can download a free copy of the ebook here: https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/PottyDraining The Potty Draining Chart Cover art by FlashyFlesh Day 0 The Potty Draining Chart - Day 0 “And just…like…that!” Vanessa announced, turning on the lamp by the couch, “We are, officially, moved in!” The bulb shed off slightly pink-tinged light, though at the push of a button, the whole room could be changed in tone to any hue on the rainbow. “That’s great, V,” Nicole said, turning to stretch her back. “Really appreciate you plugging in the lamps while I moved the furniture.” Vanessa put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “Excuse me! Good interior design is what makes a house into a home. Sure, maybe you did more heavy lifting, but I provided that je ne sais quoi that we needed.” Truth be told, Nicole agreed–now that everything was done, with the last easy chair moved in and all of Vanessa’s decorations complete, their shared rental house did feel like a place where they belonged. The move in process had been a drag, starting a couple weeks earlier with mattresses flopped on the floor, working evenings and weekends to drive over what they could in Vanessa’s tiny car and trading beer for use of a friend’s truck on weekends for the big stuff. But now they were done. They could relax, and take the night off. Except… “One more thing,” Nicole said, sipping wine out of her favorite cup–an old novelty mug that read, ‘Don’t Worry, Pea Happy’ with a trio of cartoon peas in a pod printed on it. “The junk box.” “Right, right.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. While moving in, they’d been left with little bits of random crap–stuff that they didn’t quite want to throw away, but nor did they need it around. Christmas decorations that’d been stored under the bathroom sink, old cables and adapters that probably didn’t go to anything, a box of home movies from the previous tenant that Nicole felt bad getting rid of. They had set aside a cardboard box, slowly filling it with crap until it was full to bursting. “We can stick it in the attic for now.” Stepping up to her, Nicole poked a finger into Vanessa’s chest. “You can set it in the attic for now. I’m done lifting boxes for the day–heck, I’m just about ready for bed.” “Fiiine,” Vanessa groaned, more in play than in serious discomfort. Sidestepping the couch, she crouched, hefted the box, and carried it from the living room down the back hall–on the right of the hall was her room, on the left Nicole’s, and at the end, their bathroom. Above, though, dangled a rope for attic access. Fumbling with the box, propping it up on her knee so she wouldn’t have to set it down, Vanessa half-hopped to grab the string and pulled it down. She stepped back as a wooden staircase flopped towards her, snapping into place so fast it almost bonked her head. “Jeez,” she said. “Okay, note to self, springs on this are broken.” Scooting up the creaky stairs one step at a time, she made her way into the crawlspace, an area just high enough for her to stand if she was right in the middle and stooped just a touch. She set down the box, glancing around. Half a dozen cases were already up here. They hadn’t needed any attic storage yet, so this was all from the last resident–a lot of junk, probably, but still, a trove of things to dig through. “Huh. More stuff up here than I expected,” she said. “Hey Nicole! Someone left a bunch of garbage up here!” “Sounds like a problem for tomorrow!” Nicole yelled back. “I’m done moving boxes!” “Sure, sure,” Vanessa said, setting down the jumbled junk she’d carried up. Curiosity overtook her, and she opened up the first box she saw, digging through it. It looked like stuff from someone’s kid–at the top, a highschool yearbook, but as she pulled it out, she saw beneath it journals, and then a diary with a heart shaped lock, and then a handmade scrapbook. Digging further, she found an old dry-erase potty training chart. This box held the history of someone’s life, which could be interesting, but the potty training chart was what spread a smirk across Vanessa’s face. It had two weeks listed on it, one over the other, with three columns for each calendar day. One row had a bed, another had a clock face, and one with a star symbol next to it. The first two, for tracking nighttime and daytime accidents, were pretty obvious. The third, though, Vanessa couldn’t guess the purpose, beyond maybe just special rewards. That’s when they caught her eye–the markers stuck to the side of the board by a magnet. Smirking mischievously, Vanessa took the chart with her when she left the attic, hopping down the old fold-out stairs and closing it up behind her. She glanced down the hall–Nicole was on the couch, not paying attention, so Vanessa uncapped the black marker and wrote in the name box at the top, in big, flowy letters, surrounded by sparkles and hearts. Nicole Then, with an artistic, cutesy flourish, she doodled a rain cloud in the top column for Monday, the one for tracking any accidents from the previous night’s sleep. A wet bed indicator if ever there was one. Finally, using the adhesive strip on the back of the chart, she stuck it to Nicole’s bedroom door. “Oh, Nicole,” she said in her sing-songiest voice. “I added one more decoration!” Nicole looked up, curious and prepared for a dumb joke. Getting up, she walked over, glancing at the chart on her door. “What’s that?” “A potty training chart, so you can stop having accidents!” Vanessa snickered. “I found it upstairs and thought it’d help you!” Nicole rolled her eyes. “I don’t have accidents.” “Are you sure? The chart says you wet the bed,” Vanessa said, pointing to the rain cloud. “Yeah, it says that for tonight, which hasn’t even happened yet!” Nicole shook her head. Snickering, Vanessa quipped, “Well then, maybe take an umbrella to bed, because the forecast is for a wet one!” “Very funny, Vanessa.” Nicole opened her door, and though her expression was deadpan, Vanessa knew she didn’t mind the joke. “I’m going to bed, I’ve got work in the morning.” “Don’t let the bed bugs drown,” Vanessa replied. Nicole shut the door in her face, and before long, Vanessa went to be too. The next morning, though, Vanessa woke up to a shout from her across-the-hall neighbor. Nicole, screaming, “What the f**k?” ... I wrote this as a commission for one of my Patreon subscribers! It's a complete 17,000 word novella, which I'll be posting over the next month or so! If you'd like to support stories like this or get discounts on a commission of your own, you can find me here: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Boom. Glass and brick shoots out from the side of the Central City Research Institute, showering the surrounding yard with debris, hitting nearby skyscrapers and busting out further windows with the aftershock. Outside, civilians scream and run, scattering in all directions, fleeing in terror from the smoke that billows from the institute’s rapid unscheduled exit. A coiled metal hose shoots out, four claws at the end slamming down over the nearest fire hydrant. Water sprays, and is then consumed, pumping into the hose at an incredible pace. Another hose launches out and stabs into dirt, a point of leverage. From within, the creature releases a sloshy, sucking bellow, and drags itself out. Forty feet tall, with a dozen such hoses extending from its base, it’s made of steel and pristine white porcelain. Without legs or wheels, it can only drag itself forward with the hoses, leaving deep furrows in the ground behind it where its weight tears up dirt and pavement alike. Resembling nothing more than an enormous mechanized toilet, the creature rampages free out into the streets of Central City. Most people run. One man, tie flapping in the wind, is caught by the hoses. The mecha’s lid opens, and he’s thrown inside, screaming until it slams shut, flushes, and he’s lost beneath. Only two people aren’t fleeing. One–a girl named Kelly–has stopped, confused, staring at the other. She frowns, uncertain what she’s looking at. The other is a young woman, dressed in a business casual top and loose skirt, half-moon glasses hiding bright blue eyes. She’s crouched by the sidewalk, knees spread, face screwed up and cheeks puffed out as she pushes. Noticing she has an audience, she puffs and grunts, “Do you–mind?” “Um…” Kelly says, distracted as another flushing bellow echoes a hundred feet away. “What are you doing?” The crouching woman shoots her a glare. “Pooping myself, what does it look like?” Kelly stammers a moment longer, then her attention is stolen. A hundred feet away, the mecha seizes a car and flings it with no particular aim–it skips and skids over the pavement, bouncing off a parked bus, and careens straight towards her. She can only stare, a deer caught in the headlights, until– Wham! A blur of pink interjects itself between her and the car. The vehicle stops, bouncing off like the tide against rocks. Standing where the car just hit, wielding a baby rattle with a head as large as a basketball and shield reminiscent of a pacifier guard, stands the woman–her glasses are gone, and her hair has billowed out into long pigtails, but he recognizes her anyways. She’s suckling a pacifier that matches her shield, and her clothes have vanished, replaced by a pink top and a skirt barely four inches long, doing nothing to hide the drooping diaper between her legs. “Who are you?” Kelly asks. Her eyes glow as she responds, floating slowly up from the ground with every word. Though she has a pacifier in her mouth, it makes her voice no less clear. “With the might in my Moonbeam Rattle, and the power of my Baby’s Guard, I am Starlight Boom-Boom–Champion of Earth!” She drops back down, stretching out her arms. “You should run.” “Did you–are you–” Kelly stammers. “Why’d you poop your pants?” “I had to fight,” Starlight replies, simply, before turning and lunging at the mechanized toilet. Rotating, the monster points one of its many hoses at Starlight, blasting her with a jet of water powerful enough to cut through steel beams. Starlight raises her shield, deflecting the blow, but the force of the aqua jet throws her back into a nearby hot dog stand and she collapses through it. She stands up, bloodied but–no, wait. She stands up, covered in ketchup but ready to get back into the fight. Kelly stares. The street has cleared, but she can’t help but watch as the poopy-pampered superheroine goes to battle with the colossal commode. She slips under its next water jet, dodges around a swipe, and yells out a shrill battle cry: “Massive Rattle Blow!” She brings her toy down on its porcelain body, sending a spiderweb of cracks across its body before jumping up and grabbing the toilet tank cover. She flips it over and dives inside, seizing the unfortunate businessman who’s sodden but still breathing. Setting him off on the sidewalk, she runs back towards the fray. Uninterested in her, the toilet drags itself forward, seizing another fire hydrant and pumping water away from the city, into itself. As it does, the hydration seals the cracks that Starlight just opened, healing from the damage she inflicted. Starlight leaps at it again, but this time, the monster is ready–a hose arm lashes out, seizes her immediately, and pounds her into the ground repeatedly, flinging her back and forth like a ragdoll. Her rattle goes flying, and she’s ultimately tossed aside, slumping against a nearby wall. “Starlight!” Kelly calls, running towards the , but before she can make it ten steps, Starlight is standing again, knees wavering. Kelly hesitates, stride catching, wondering aloud, “What is she…doing…oh.” With a blrrttch that echoes across the open city street, Starlight Boom-Boom fulfills her namesake, her diaper expanding to the size of a swollen beach ball beneath her absurdly short miniskirt. The mass stains her padding a deep brown and it falls with a fwump, drooping to the tops of her knees, but something in the act seems to energize her. She stands taller, if bow-legged, and extends her hand. Kelly catches the shucka-shucka sound and ducks as the rattle whizzes over her head, flying into Starlight’s hand. Reinvigorated, the heroine charges at the mecha again, moving so fast that she leaves blurred air and a faint green puff of smell behind her. “Lightning Potty Strike!” Expecting the fight to turn, Kelly watches, but it seems futile–every blow that Starlight rains down, the monster seems able to effortlessly heal, soaking up water from the city’s many fire hydrants. It continues wailing at her, jets of icy water and flailing hoses trying to swipe at the heroine, but though its many attacks miss, it just doesn’t seem to care–it continues dragging itself across Main Street, moving with purpose, tossing cars and ripping up hydrants in its wake. So, Kelly does something the heroine can’t–she turns and runs towards the Central City Research Institute. The smoke has mostly cleared by the time she picks her way through the broken wall. Inside is chaos–shards of broken toilets are everywhere, and shelves of toilet paper, tissues, and even golf balls have been strewn aside, making the space a tripping hazard to navigate. Beneath one of those racks, a man coughs, reaching out weakly. “Help…” Kelly runs to him. She’s not imbued with any super strength, and loading up her panties won’t help her do any heroic feats, but with a bit of grunting she lifts the shelf. “What is that thing?” “Forgive us,” the scientist stammers, crawling out on hands and knees. His faint German accent seems faded by time in the US, but still comes through ever so slightly. “We…we knew not the forces with which we meddled.” “I don’t understand,” Kelly says. “Why did you make this… thing?” “We were blinded by ambition,” he whispers hoarsely, fumbling to pick up his glasses from the ground. “We desired only to create the world’s most advanced toilet, but we pushed the limits of morality and science alike. Our hubris was our downfall–we taught it to fix itself, and to flush, but never morality.” Fearing at his words, Kelly asks, “What is it? What is it?” He swallows. “It’s the Potty Monster.” Grabbing him by the shoulders, Kelly demands, “Do you know what it wants?” Eyes huge behind thick glass, he can only speak the answer in a whisper, “Water.” Kelly understands. “The treatment plant–it’s going for the treatment plant?” “You must stop it,” he says, nodding quickly. “If it gets there, it’ll be unstoppable!” Kelly turns, running out into the street to warn Starlight, but she’s met quickly with a streak of pink and brown, soaring through the air and crashing into the dirt next to her. Starlight stands up, wiping away drool from her chin and under her pacifier guard, mumbling, “Meaniehead caught me napping–won’t happen again.” “It’s trying to get to the water treatment plant!” Kelly warns. “It’s using water to heal,” Starlight adds. “I can’t let that happen!” “What are you going to do?” Starlight turns pink. “Um…Could you not watch for this part? There’s not much left in the tank, but…erm…” Kelly nods, politely averting her gaze, though she can’t avert her sense of smell or turn off her ears. Starlight’s grunts of effort are obvious, trying to get out every last bit of muck, and the blrrrch and blorts rumbling in her diaper are hardly subtle. When Kelly looks back, the abused garment is so full and heavy it’s well past her knees, and Starlight’s steps squelch like she’s waddling through waist deep mud, but her stride seems to only have gotten quicker. Lunging forward into the air, she dives at the Potty Monster once again, crossing a full city block in a single smelly bound. Huffing and puffing, Kelly runs to the side of the street, unable to keep up with the super. After half a block, she gives up, resting her hands on her knees. “Too… much… running.” Two blocks down, Starlight brings her rattle down, swiping away. Where she hits, porcelain cracks and chips, shards scattering into the street, but water surges out of those cracks and heals them as quickly as she can deal damage. And, though she’s stronger and more agile, Starlight is weighed down, dragging her swollen diaper behind her. She evades, blocks, and parries the hoses and claws lashing out at her, readying for an almighty attack. “Ultimate! Tantrum! Forever!” Discarding her shield, she takes the rattle in both hands, raises it, and prepares to bring it down, but the intelligence behind the Potty Monster gets wise–lashing out from behind her where she can’t quickly see or react, and instead of going for an arm or a leg it grabs her by the diaper. Starlight swallows. “Oh, no–” Wham! The Potty Monster flings her down, so hard it leaves a crater in the pavement. Before she can stand, it strikes her again, knocking her against a brick wall, then seizes her by the leg and flips its seat up. Swinging her rattle wildly, she tries to bat away the claw holding her, but it grabs her with half a dozen more, rips under her skirt, and with a loud, splorchy, fwump, her diaper falls off and lands inside the toilet. The seat slams shut, and with a floosh, Starlight’s power is flushed away. Her outfit bursts into light, and her weapons vanish. Now harmless, the woman is tossed aside, thrown into a row of hedges out in front of a cafe. She stands, staggering, trying to fight again, but her strength is gone, and even when she balls up her face and tries to push, nothing comes out. “Starlight!” Kelly calls, pedaling furiously on a borrowed bike to catch up to the . “Are you okay?” Starlight looks at her, terrified and helpless. “I can’t–it changed my diaper! I can’t fight!” Ditching the bike, Kelly runs up to her. “Can’t you go again? Just…go on yourself, like before?” Shaking her head, Starlight lifts her skirt to show that her stained panties have returned. “I’m…empty. Can’t keep going.” “Gotcha.” Kelly looks around. “Then…is there someone else? We can’t let the Potty Monster reach the treatment plant.” “There’s…” Starlight hesitates. “Er, there’s one way.” Kelly nods. “What? Do you need something?” Reaching into her blouse pocket, Starlight hands Kelly a chocolate bar wrapped in aluminum foil. “Eat this. The whole thing.” “Okay,” Kelly says, acting on impulse–there was no time to question. Chomping down on the bar, she chews and swallows. “What was that?” “Laxative,” Starlight explains, producing a small pacifier clip from her purse. “Clip this to your shirt.” “L–laxative?” Kelly says with a start, blinking. Starlight just shakes her head. “Hurry.” Kelly pins on the clip, nodding. “And?” “Congratulations, you’re a temporary member of the Boom Boom force,” Starlight explains. “Pick a name, and then…squat down.” “Oh,” Kelly says, realizing. She feels her tummy gurgle, the laxatives already working their way down in her system. “Um…name. Name… how about just ‘Mega’? That’s got a classic feel to it.” “Alright.” Starlight pats her on the head, in something between a gesture of affection and a knighting. “I pronounce you Mega Boom-Boom.” Blinking and shaking her head, Kelly starts to say, “Wait, I get the last name too? But–” Before she can finish her thought, the laxatives kick in, and she feels her panties suddenly swell with an impossible tidal wave of mush. And, in that same moment, she changes. Her hair doubles in length, braiding itself into pigtails, and her outfit vanishes–fabric transmuting in seconds from pants and a t-shirt to a billowy, heavily laced green dress that only comes down slightly further than Starlight’s skirt, white frills keeping the hem line poofy. And, of course, her panties changed too, thickening, becoming absorbent, becoming protective enough to deal with the sudden catastrophe between her legs. The expanding mess pours out of her, bloating her diaper until it’s at least as impressive as Starlight’s had been; a mud bath taped around her waist. Above all, though, she suddenly felt strong. Powerful, surging with adrenaline like she’d never experienced. “Do I get a weapon?” she asked, noting her empty hands. “Pick one,” Starlight says. “Name it, and it’ll come to you.” “Okay,” Kelly says, the mudslide into her diaper ceasing. Turning, she says, “I already know what I want.” With that, she dashes forward, kicking off the pavement so hard it left a pothole. Crossing a city block in a single bound, leaving a stink trail in her wake, Kelly–Mega Boom-Boom–soars at the back of the Potty Monster, hand outstretched. It was only a block away from the treatment plant now–too close. “My weapon is–” she calls out, grabbing the top of the tank, “A plunger! In her hands, a plastic and rubber tool as long as she is tall, with a plunging head two feet wide, appears. Suddenly full of terror, the Potty Monster shrieks, hoses lunging at Mega, but she bats them away, wielding the plunger like a polearm. One hose manages to whack her on the butt and she tumbles forward, landing on the seat, but with a thrust she sticks the plunger head to the toilet seat and–with a handhold to grab onto–she flips back into the air. And, coming to her as naturally as breathing, she identifies the names of her attacks in the same breath that she unleashes them. “Suction Love Strike!” she calls, using the leverage to pry the lid open, though the Potty Monster fights her. Whipping around and grabbing the open lid with a free hand, she keeps it open, raises her plunger, and thrusts it down into the Potty Monster’s open bowl. “You’ve gone far enough!” The monster shrieks and sloshes, water backing up suddenly as her plunger seals the hole, preventing any water flow. Its hoses try to spray her, but they fizzle out without pressure and hiss harmlessly at her, water trickling from the nozzles. “Mega Plunge Forever!” Squatting so low her diaper touches the rim, Mega Boom-Boom ensures her plunger isn’t going anywhere, then lunges up, driving her fist into the porcelain of the Potty Monster. It cracks thunderously, and this time, though it shrieks and tries to bat her away, nothing heals the wounds. Raising up her free hand, a hairbrush large enough to serve a pizza on appears, a secondary weapon for which only one move could be possible: “ONE THOUSAND SPANKS JUSTICE!” Bringing down the flat of the brush, she unleashes an infinity of lightning attacks. Blow after blow, raining down spanks against porcelain that can no longer repair itself. In desperation, the Potty Monster drags itself towards the water treatment plant entrance, but Mega stops it once and for all. Jumping up, she hits the handle, and with a floosh, water floods into the bowl, and with nowhere else to go, starts spilling over the top. Drained of its power and energy, the Potty Monster shrieks, shudders, and stops. With a final, almighty blow, Mega Boom-Boom leaps up, brings her messy, diapered butt down in a finisher move, and blasts the potty into porcelain powder. In the debris, all that’s left is a small terminal and an array of wiggling hoses, disconnected from the monster’s body. Mega picks up the terminal, turning it over in her hands. ‘Property of Central City Research Institute’, it read, written on the side in white marker. ‘Proprietary–if found, return to Doctor Stein Von Kindchen.’ She looks around. Overhead, news helicopters have their cameras directed at her, and from the surrounding buildings, civilians come out to see if the coast is clear. Diaper on full display, stained and smushy, Mega Boom-Boom blushes. From the side of the street, though, Starlight limps towards her. “You did it.” “I did,” Mega says. “My face–I don’t look any different, even if my clothes–” “Don’t worry,” Starlight promises, stepping up and squeezing her hand. “Nobody will recognize you. I can help you change, that’ll return you to normal.” Mega smiles, a bit of Kelly shining through. “Thanks.” Nodding to the terminal, Starlight asks, “Doctor Stein von Kindchen? Who’s that?” Looking down, Mega Boom-Boom crushes the terminal in her hands, destroying the research once and for all. “Just someone who needs to work on his Potty Training.” ... I hope you had fun with this creative indulgence in tropey, shlocky, stinky fun! If you want to support my writing and get early access, bonus content, and my gratitude, you can do so here! Or if you'd rather do SubscribeStar instead of Patreon - the services are the same, so it's down to platform preference - click here!

"So I'll have a venti mocha latte with oat milk, a shot of strawberry flavor, and extra whip cream. Also, a tall black coffee with one cream," the blond haired boy said, smiling at the short, brown haired barista that stood behind the counter. "Oh, and my name's Alex, and she's Kacey." The Starbucks was almost empty that day. It was a grey day, cool for the summer, and few wanted to brave the inevitable rain. However, the weather that kept people out made it perfect for hot drinks, and that drew latte addicts in like flies. This particular one, in the center of a book store, combined two of their rainy day loves. "Ok, who gets the coffee and who gets the strawberry chocolate milk thing?" the barista asked. "Ummm... I..." Kacey came beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. "He gets the strawberry drink. I get the coffee." "Ok!" The barista said, and left to make the drinks. "Did you have to say that?" Alex asked the red haired girl who was clinging to his shoulder. "Yep! If your going to order something like that, the world will know." "Alex! Happy almost-birthday!" "What?" Alex said. It was Bill, a friend of his from work. He was a tall man, broad shouldered, and wore a long rain coat. He had come in while they were waiting. "I said happy almost-birthday!" Alex cocked his head to the left. "How did you know it was almost my brithday?" "Uhhh..." he said. His eyes darted to Kacey, then back at Alex. "Facebook." Alex looked suprised. "Huh. I thought I had removed that from Facebook. How weird. He turned back to the counter, unaware of Kacey glaring at Bill. "So how you doing anyway Alex? Funny to run into you here," Bill said. "Well you know I..." He was interrupted by the appearance of the barisa. "Alright I have a venti strawberry mocha made with oat milk and extra whip cream for Alex." She handed him the drink. Alex blushed. "Uhhh I think you mean a coffee. Dark coffee. NO cream or sugar." "No it was definitely a venti strawberry mocha made with oat milk and extra whip cream." Alex shook his head and looked at Bill. "No it was definitely a coffee. Your strongest kind." The barista leaned onto the counter top. "Alright. I tell you what. I'll go get you that coffee, the strongest kind we have, with no sugar or milk, but I get to see you drink it. Right here in front of us, no leaving to throw it out when your gone, no coming back in for your sugary drink." Alex stared at her considering his options. Kacey snickered beside him. "Just give me the #($@-ing strawberry mocha." ... Kacey was laughing out loud as the walked in through their front door. "OOOO LOOK AT ME I"M ALEX! I ONLY DRINK THE STRONGEST COFFEE SINCE I"M BIG AND STRONG!" she said, doing her best to imitate her voice. "Unless no one is watching then I only want my warm choccy milk." Their home was a small suburban townhouse. It was older then most but still strong, and they had repainted the walls of the main floor in deep blues and dark colors, then furnished it with wood and and simple couches. A door in front of them lead to their stair well, and on the top floor the colors began to get brighter and more vibrant, and the furniture shifted from classy to comfy. The ground floor was the 'mature' floor they showed to visitors, the top was more for them. Alex was hanging his head as he sipped his drink. "Yeah yeah yeah," he said. "So, how did he know it was my birthday soon? I don't remember mentioning it to anyone at work." Kacey paused. "Ummmm well you know how these things are. Someone hears something then they tell another then it passes to two more, and suddenly everyone knows. Its common knowledge. Everyone knows each others birthdays." "What is your uncles birthday?" She looked to the side, thinking. "November 31st?" "That's not real. There are only thirty days in November," Alex said, while going over the rhyme in his head and counting on his fingers. "December first then." "Ahh, that makes sense." He stripped off his coat, and began to take off his shoes. He was going along with it, but seemed unconvinced. "Anyway, its a big birhday for you. Afterall it is your thi.." "Twenty-seventh? You are right, that is a big one," he replied. She folded her arms. "Twenty-seventh? I could have sworn we had that a few years ago." "Well you were mistaken. I'm turning 27." He looked up at Kacey, who was standing still."What are you doing?" he asked. "Why aren't you getting undressed?" "I need to go," she said quickly, looking out the door. Alex stood up and looked out. "What for?" "Uhhh... Coffee." "We just got coffee." "I mean, copy. I need to make copies of something for work." "Oh." Alex put his hand on his chin. "Can't you just do that with our printer here?" "No. They need to be better. You know, professionally done. Glossy and all that." "Ok, should I come to help?" "NO! I mean, no, its for work. You stay here and, ummm... video games." She pointed up the stairs, toward their bedroom where they kept their gaming systems. Alex turned to where she was pointing. "You are actually telling me to go upstairs and play video games? Why?" "Why not?" she asked. "Don't you want to play video games?" Alex paused and thought. "Yeah I do." "Good! Then go!" She turned around to leave, then paused and turned back. "Oh wait! Remember to wear headphones! Bye! Love you!" That being said, she turned and ran out the door before Alex could ask anything more. Alex waved. "Love you too." He watched her run to the car, quickly open the door and get in, then drive away. "That was odd, I wonder why she was acting that way? Why specify headphones?" He thought for a second, then shrugged. "Ah well. Video game time!" He walked up the stair well to their bedroom. It was painted blue, and with cabinets and shelves built around a large king sized bed. There was a TV screwed into the wall in front of the bed with their gaming systems underneath it, but Alex ignored it for a moment. Instead, he walked to a single white door that lead to their closet and opened it. He pushed aside their hanging shirts and dresses until he found what he was looking for. A large, brown plastic box with a sealed green lid, which he unlocked and opened. "There we go," he said, staring at the packages of diapers inside. ... "Ok, quick. We only have a few minutes," Kacey said to the gathered crowed. She knew most of them, and most of the ones she didn't she had at least seen in Alex's photos or facebook pages. There was Bill from Alex's work, who they had run into earlier, then Tim from his university days, then Sarah who he knew through her, and more. It was all their friends, gathered for one reason. "So the plan is to enter the house as quietly as possible, holding the packages and balloons. I'll text him to come down, and we will shout "Surprise" as he does. He'll probably be playing video games with his headphones, so it should work." "You don't think he'll notice a crowd of people entering his home?" Bill asked. Kacey scoffed. "Please. Fuck no. When he's playing video games that guy wouldn't noticed a crowed of rhinoceroses entering his home." They all laughed and agreed. "Well we shouldn't have any problems then," Bill said. "Of course not," Kacey replied. "Unless..." A thought came to her head. He was home alone, just relaxing and having fun... her eyes went wide. Would he? She had only been gone a few minutes, but he did just get home, and its not like he was rare. She went through scenarios in her head, trying to think of a way she could avoid it without warning him. She got out her phone and texted him. "I'll be home soon! Want to go to the movies? I figure we can have 'fun' times tonight after, if you are down for that ;)" she sent him. Hopefully he'd see it, decide to stay in normal clothes for the movie, and be willing to put off any 'other' things until later. She told herself it would work, and prayed she was right.

New story! It's been a while since we released anything, but this has been one of our favorites to write. We hope you all enjoy it! Special thanks to @Selpharia, who commissioned it. Full PDF and ePub versions are available on our Patreon! ------------------------------------------------------------ Enthralled By Sophie & Pudding *Commissioned by Selpharia 1.) A Woman in Red I pulled the skirt down and looked shyly around the club. This was so not my scene. But Meg told me ten times today that we needed to go out and do something fun. Why did people think loud music and flashing lights was fun? I went to the bar and ordered a shot of rum. I was only twenty years old, but this place didn't check my ID on the way in. Meg said that was because of my outfit: a pleated mini skirt, neon pink fishnet stockings, and a low cut crop top. Honestly, I never thought of my breasts as a worthwhile commodity: there wasn't much there. "You're trying so hard to fit in, it almost convinced me you wanted to be here." Her breath smelled like rum - bottom shelf, ordered by type and not brand, vaguely valued only for its alcoholic content. Mine by comparison smelled like peppermint lipgloss, and my skin caught the lights in an almost artificial way. "Dance with me?" "Oh, uh... I don't really dance." But the woman in front of me was... remarkably beautiful. Ivory skin with warm red hair. Painted lips. Tall - taller than me - and breasts that brought envy to the forefront of my mind. All of her was wrapped up in a tight black dress. She looked too fancy for a night club. "Once upon a time, every person who was the best at something had never done it before. Tonight, you dance." I took her by the hand, my nails tipped in pretty glossy color, with depth to the shades of purple that was almost impossible to look away from. I watched her fixation on my fingers as I held her hand, and spoke to her softly. "You can look at them all you like, while we dance." I wasn't a dancer. I never had been. I didn't have any rhythm and I couldn't time my movements. Let alone know what movements to perform. Wasn't I supposed to shake my ass on her crotch? But the woman was very old-fashioned. She took my hands in hers and moved back and forth, leaning into one side, then the other with a magical fluidity. My cheeks went pink. "I told you I wasn't very good," I muttered, watching her hands in mine. She wouldn't be able to hear me over the music. I heard her just fine, and I smiled at her like a parent smiles to a child's finger painting , and I whispered in her ear. "Watch my fingers, follow your heart, the rest comes easily." The music wasn't made for this kind of dancing, but once she did what she was told, the tarted up little strumpet wouldn't even hear the music anyway. The room fell away from us. It was just her and me, in the darkness. I could see her as clear as day. Gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous. I wasn't sure when the song ended or if we'd been through ten or twenty of them. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I looked up at Meg with starry eyes. "Oh... hi. Um. We were just... dancing..." I turned back to my date. I hadn't even caught her name... "I'll see you tomorrow night," I told her. I put my hand on her cheek and smiled at her. "Order a mint julep and I'll find you at the bar at 9:30 sharp." I didn't give her a chance to say no. She'd show up, she didn't have a choice, her answer didn't matter. Her eyes tracked my fingers as I pulled them away and slipped into the crowd. Meg watched her best friend and rolled her eyes. "Wow, what a fucking creeper.” "Yeah... totally..." Meg and I took a cab home. But no matter what I did that night, I couldn't stop thinking about that girl... * * * * * "You're going back to the club?" Meg couldn't believe it. It took her hours of begging, pleading, whining, moping, bribing, coercing, to get her best friend to leave the house last night. And that was a Friday! Today was a Saturday, and on Saturday nights, Pippy stayed up all night playing dumb video games. But here she was, picking through her closet. "You are NOT telling me it's about that girl." "What? No. Of course not." I didn't have club clothes. I'd worn Meg's yesterday, but my ego wouldn't let me ask to borrow something else, not after the fight I put up yesterday. "I liked dancing more than I thought. And I feel all wound up. I'm just stopping by for an hour or two and I'll be home in no time." "Alright. I just… you know what? Have a good time." Meg smiled weakly, looking at her best friend’s computer that wasn't even switched on, before shaking out her worries. What was the worst that could happen? A little social interaction would be good for Pippy. * * * * * "Right on time. Punctuality is such an attractive trait, isn't it?" I sipped from her drink, enough that she'd be able to taste me on the straw, and pressed the cup between her hands, clasping my fingers around hers. "Finish your drink, dearest. There's a long night ahead." The drink was strong; stronger still for the fact she'd be taking my essence between her lips with each sip. "So. Um. I didn't catch your name." I knew how alcohol worked. I knew every sip made her more beautiful. But damn, today it worked like a charm. I hadn't even finished my drink and I was thinking about taking her out of that tight red dress. A gorgeous, haunting red. She could make anything look good. "You didn't ask, so you couldn't have caught it." I explained to her with the littlest smile, a tugging at the corner of my lips. She was looking up at me with adoration and admiration, she was lost in the moment and lost in me. "I'm Bailey, and you're so pretty when you're so flush, blood warm beneath your cheeks." I ran my fingers over her cheek and smiled. I leaned into her hand on instinct. She took me by the wrist and pulled me - with no resistance - to the dance floor. I had never been with a woman before, though the thought had occurred to me. But even then as we danced, I was swimming in fantasies of her. Bailey. Even her name sounded gorgeous. Pippy was intoxicated, barely by the drink and entirely by me. She had to touch me, she had to feel me, she had to be close to me and hear the sound of my pulse. Her eyes chased my fingers - the fixation I'd given her only last night - and we danced with one of my hands on her hip and the other palm pressed to her cheek. I longed to taste her. I fumbled out of the club with my hand in hers, giggling. I only had one drink, but it felt like I'd had ten. The street spun beneath my feet. Everything amused me. But Bailey was always there, so close, so comforting... I cuddled up to her arm and pushed my cheek to hers. Oh, she was cold! "Sorry," I muttered. "I woulda given you a jacket if I brought one..." "We'll just have to share body heat, then, won't we?" I opened the back seat of the Bentley in the parking lot, the two rows facing each other limousine style, with a dark screen preventing any contact with the driver. Actually, the windows were so tinted it was hard to see if there even was a driver. I settled in and pulled her into my lap, like she weighed nothing more than a doll. She was delightful. I hoped she was delicious. The door closed and we were kissing. My lips on hers. Glossy. Cold. Passionate. I wrapped my arms around her neck and leaned into her, sitting sideways on her lap, like she were a stallion and I was her princess. Every kiss made me feel warmer, but each one only made her feel colder. Finally, a shiver ran down my spine and I broke our kiss. "Gosh, you don't wanna put the heat on or something...?" "You're so warm; why would I want a machine’s heat when I can have yours?” I didn't think I could wait much longer. I needed to have her. She blushed, and I directed her face with my fingers, I raised her neck up. It was time. She kissed my jawline, under my ear, tilting my head up at an angle. Her fingers made their way under my shirt, against my bare back, and into the waistband of my tight jeans. I was aroused. I was needy. I had never felt so intoxicated by anyone in my entire life, and I knew it was time. It had been so long... There was a lot that could have happened in that moment; I could’ve bled her dry, I could’ve left her dead. I could have left her empty, a bare shell. Or I could take this crimson beauty and make her mine, at the cost of something. Pippy needed so much to be loved, to have affection, guidance, I could feel it. She was going to make such a good thrall. She was so delicious, I knew it even before my teeth broke her skin. When they did, I wasn't disappointed. At first, there was nothing but pressure. It didn't hurt, but it was unlike anything I'd ever felt. Then, my body felt tingly and warm. Stars appeared at the edge of my vision. I felt my fingers slip off her shoulders. But as my body started to shut down, my arousal didn't fail me. I was so turned on, and as each second passed, there was less and less I could do about it... My fingers slid inside her jeans the same time my fangs slid into her neck. As I took her freedom, I knew what she was feeling: an obedient, sensual connection. I pressed my hand to the front of her panties; they would be at the ground zero for her first sign of change. I quivered and fell into Bailey, but she held me tight with her lips to my neck. Things started to feel hot. I couldn't move. I couldn't fight. The arousal had peaked. My body twitched and my mind was filled with a rush of endorphins. And then a warm stream started to fill my tight jeans, dribbling onto Bailey's lap. I had to hold her, I had to guide her face into my lap. And even though she covered my hand in her wetness, I kept my hand down her jeans and I played with her hair. Right now she was bonding; like a mosquito, I put in when I took out, and her body was assimilating that. Her brain was awash with it. Flooded with conflicted feelings, new information: she knew that she belonged to me now, on the most primal level. And right now it might have only been minor, right now it might have only been the most subtle inclination, but these feelings she was taking onboard now would get stronger any time I fed from her. This was her foundation. This was who she was now. I danced my pretty nails in front of her glossy eyes, caught her focus, and slipped my thumb between her lips. The car was moving now. I woke up on bench of the car, alone. My head was foggy. I'd had too much to drink, I reminded myself, but I only ever had that one glass. I shifted to sit up and felt an unfamiliar dampness. Had I spilled something? But when I sat upright, when I looked at the seat, it was undeniable. The wet leather. The huge dark patch between my legs, spread around to my hip, and down the pants... I pissed myself. My cheeks caught fire. Had anyone noticed? Had she noticed? Bailey. My mind raced. I looked around in a panic, but she was nowhere to be found. The door opened, as though there was a doorman outside the car, waiting to let her out. But nobody was there. Maybe he'd gotten back into the driver’s seat already. Outside the sun looked like it was threatening to come up, to crest the horizon, and there were the familiar sounds of the college apartments outside. Pippy knew she was near home. I ducked out of the Bentley and looked around the quiet early-morning street with confusion. Where had Bailey gone...? What had happened last night? But right in front of me, I could see my campus apartment. I took one more look around and hurried home. I had to change out of these pants before Meg saw me... I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. The marks on my neck were surreal. They reminded me of vampire bites, like from movies or books or something. Symmetrical, identical, side by side on my neck. Was it some fetish she had? I ran my fingers over the light bruises around the punctures and felt a tingling sensation in my fingertips. Butterflies filled my stomach. Warm, familiar, exotic. My cheeks turned pink and I shook the thoughts away. After a shower, dressed in fresh pajamas, I collapsed on my bed and fell instantly asleep.

‘Juvenile’. That’d been the word she’d used when we broke up. There’d been other words, too, of course–she was nothing if not a wordsmith, and she found many other creative nouns, verbs, and adjectives to describe what she thought of me. ‘Leering’, ‘Immature’, ‘Inattentive’, ‘Psychologically and pathologically unfaithful’. I probably should have seen the red flags a lot sooner. A coffee meetup with my sister had turned into an argument with her, because she’d mistaken it for cheating. A compliment directed towards a cashier had led to the silent treatment for most of a day. But, for all the jealousy and insecurity I’d put up with, she dumped me, and she called me juvenile. That’s the bit I couldn’t get out of my head–the sheer lack of self awareness. I couldn’t so much as breathe around another woman without getting into trouble. And sure–I was known to occasionally admire female beauty, I wouldn’t deny that, but I’d done nothing to deserve what she did to me. Because out of all that, the biggest red flag was that she claimed she knew how to curse people. I’d brushed off the comment, at the time–I’d known some witchy girls in college, it was just a turn of the phrase, right? Like ‘manifesting’ as another word for having a positive outlook. I didn’t expect–let me just tell you what happened. So we’d broken up. She’d dumped me, to be precise, in public, with lots of yelling. I’d been pretty upset about it, so I moped around at my apartment for a couple days. Nothing too strange so far. But then, when I finally dragged myself out of my apartment, planning on maybe getting some groceries, just getting some air–it happened. I was in line at the register. The cashier girl asked me how my day was, I told her it was getting better, and then–I swear to god, this has never happened to me since I was like a little kid, but I felt something hot rushing down my pants. I looked down, and then she snorted with laughter, and by the time I realized I was pissing myself I’d already started making a puddle. I want to be clear–I hadn’t felt any need to go before this point. None at all. It’d come completely out of the blue. One moment, I was talking to a pretty cashier, the next, puddle pants. So I did the reasonable thing–excused myself, carried my grocery bags in front of my waist on the walk home, wrote it off as a fluke. A fluke, right? No chance of that repeating. So the next day. I’m riding the bus to work, I notice this girl’s reading a book I’ve read before–a book I love, really. So I step forward, and I’m about to say hi, and then–wham. I feel it again. Now this time, I’m on a bus. I can’t just get off, I’m stuck there. And to make matters worse, I still need to get to work on time, so it’s not like I can just bail and go home. I got off a stop early, enormous wet stain down my pants, and had to run into a corner gas station and try to clean myself up in the bathroom. It half worked, but no amount of paper towels got things totally dry, and the lingering pee smell didn’t go away all day. I don’t know if anyone in the office noticed that morning; they certainly didn’t say anything, but I don’t know how you wouldn’t notice. But they definitely noticed at lunch. I was chatting up Sheila, the receptionist, and… Well, come on. You’ve figured out the pattern by now, haven’t you? Like five words in, my pants are soaked, everyone in the break room could absolutely see. I thought I was going to die. It’s one thing when it’s a bunch of strangers, but I’d just let loose in front of coworkers, people I’d known for years, and there’d been zero warning. Nada. Not a hint. And then I remembered my ex, warning me about her little ‘curse’. No other possibilities came to mind. I hadn’t accidentally swallowed a handful of diuretics or hit my head really hard or anything. It had to be whatever she’d done. So, while I was hiding in the work bathroom trying to figure out what to do, I texted her. No response. Of course. Nothing when I called, either. She’d blocked me on everything. I had no way to reach her. I took the rest of the day as a personal day, said I was making an appointment with my doctor. What was I supposed to do? Explain how I’d been cursed by a jealous ex? I tried getting in touch with some of her friends, the ‘spookier’ ones who’d seemed to know what she was talking about when she mentioned magic, but that didn’t get me anywhere. I tried Google, but that was a complete dead end. There really was no solution, but to deal with it, and that’s how I ended up at the pharmacy. Magic or no, I wasn’t stupid. I made sure to pee as soon as I arrived, so my bladder was totally empty. There wouldn’t be any embarrassing accidents at the diaper store, while I was actually buying the damned things. I circled the incontinence aisle twice, trying to be discreet, hoping nobody would see me. I had to spend a couple minutes looking over different packaging to figure out the sizing and which brand would work best for my…problem. Another consultation on the internet made it clear that most of the lighter options wouldn’t help, because they couldn’t handle a sudden flood of pee. While I wasn’t happy about having to pick one of the thickest options on sale, I felt glad that I hadn’t learned about the leakage problem through personal experience. Feeling a bolt of anxiety in the checkout line, I played a little deception to cover my tracks. Taking out my phone, I pretended to receive a phonecall, nodding along. “Hello, hi grandpa, yes I’m picking up your diapers now–I’ll bring them over in a minute!” There, that’d do it. Now everyone would know that these weren’t for me, I didn’t need diapers, and nobody around me would think I did. The cashier smirked as she got to my package, though she hid the expression quickly. She was cute–a couple years younger than me, and I could definitely see me and her together. I said hi, started to ask a question, and, well… It turned out, the curse didn’t care how recently I’d used the bathroom. My bladder spilled out into my pants anyways, a torrential flood that came from nowhere. What could I do? I turned pink, but I was actively in the middle of buying diapers–diapers that I’d just pretended weren’t for me. I paid, sheepishly apologized, and hurried to the single stall bathroom to try and clean myself up for the millionth time. After washing my jeans in the sink and drying them as best I could with paper towels, I turned my attention to the diapers. Clearly there was no putting this off. Sooner or later, I’d need to put them on. Ripping open the container, I turned one of the diapers over in my hands, examining it. I paused to peer at the instructions on the plastic package, then followed them as best I could while leaning against the wall. The diaper rustled poofily between my legs. I had to adjust the velcro-ish tapes a few times to get it where it felt snug without restricting motion, but that was barely a concern next to the bulk pressing my thighs apart. My jeans only sort-of fit over them. The wet denim stretched, but the bulge around the crotch was pronounced and plainly visible. Crud. I’d need to buy new clothes, too. It was a solution. Not a great one, but a solution. I dealt with the problem. New, looser jeans. I started bringing a backpack with me, so I could carry diaper changes. And pretty much every time I talked to a pretty girl, I’d flood my diaper and need to excuse myself to a bathroom. In the meantime, my quest for someone who could undo the curse continued, but to no avail. Nothing worked. I tried getting incense and some fancy candles, I tried ‘manifesting’ a reality where I wasn’t cursed, it all failed. Nobody I talked to could help. One, who seemed to know what was going on, simply refused. I hated it, but there wasn’t much I could do to solve the issue. I got used to it. Diaper changes were a part of my routine, something I just learned to handle. Occasionally, when I had to go and a bathroom would be inconvenient, I just used the diaper on purpose. A couple months passed. I’d learned to keep things discreet, and staying cooped up didn’t work for me–I needed socialization. My favorite club, a few blocks down from my apartment, felt like a comfortable place to go. I hadn’t been since the breakup, but my return had me hailed by friends who I knew from there. It was a good time. I had a couple drinks. I even started chatting up this girl, Ally, who I’d met a few years back. And sure, I soaked my diaper about as soon as the conversation started, but who cared? She didn’t notice. I was used to it. We got to talking. We’d made out a bunch a few months ago, back before the curse, and she still seemed interested–heck, I got the sense that she might be interested in more than just making out this time. I sent a complement her way. She replied in kind, suggesting she thought I looked good, and– And I learned that the curse was much, much worse than I thought. My body betrayed me. The slightly splorchy frrrr– that escaped me wasn’t too loud, but my expression couldn’t have been more of a betrayal. I mean, fuck me. I was paralyzed–what could I do? There I was, sitting at the bar, loading up my diaper like a dump truck. It swelled so much it made my pants sag, my face was so red it could have directed traffic, and though the diaper contained all the mush, it did ass all to hold in the smell. I stammered. I found a reason to excuse myself, and just ran out of the bar, waddling and squelching the whole way. Staying put and explaining myself wasn’t an option. The waddle home was humiliating. I was sure every stranger I passed could smell me, could see my pants sag from the overfull diaper I’d trapped myself in. And then my phone rang. It was her. I answered. “Why?” I demanded, stepping to the side of the sidewalk to speak to her. “I just know,” she explained. “Do you want it to end?” I nodded. Then I realized she couldn’t see me, and started to respond. But apparently she could see me, because she replied before I could say anything. “How many?” I knew the answer she wanted. I knew the consequences if I lied. “Three,” I conceded. Defeated. I’d lost. “Three times. Different girls.” “Three it is,” she said. “Once the time is up, you’ll get your control back.” “Just three days?” I asked, hope rising. No response. My stomach sank. “Weeks?” Nothing. “Years?” “Try not to forget your potty training,” she said. And then she hung up. ... 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Just curious what peoples preference is on thick diapers.

I have always had such a rush of feelings and emotions at the thought of being tied up in front of others, to be embarrassed in public. Seeing somebody bound in a movie, and everybody just acting as if it is normal, or as the object of attention has always given me shivers and chills. I would place myself in their helpless place, and feel the helplessness in my mind. If I knew a tie up scene was going to happen in a movie I would quickly get up to go do something and watch the scene from around the corner, because I just knew if I watched it where others could see me, they would surely see inside me and know I wanted that in my heart of hearts. Today’s trip was planned ahead of time, with my good friend Sama. Sama knew exactly how I felt and what kinds of things got me worked up, because we were best friends, and she too had kinky desires, but was far more daring than I. It was not often I got up the courage to do something daring in public., so when I did we tried to go all out. I first dressed for the occasion fully. Sama arrived at my apartment on a nice spring day with two bags of ‘equipment’. She handed me one and told me to put on everything that was in the bag. When I was done I was to come out and show her, then she would complete my getup. I took the bag into my room and poured out the contents onto the bed. I grabbed the first item and held it up, it was a thick babyish diaper, for adults. I undressed, lay down on the bed and taped it snugly around my waist. It fit amazingly, and the soft material, the way it crinkled, and felt puffy was enough to get my heart pumping. I put on the while bodysuit next, it fit comfortably and held everything in place. Next in the bag was a pair of pink plaid, and short overalls, something a toddler might wear, but in my size. I slipped them up my legs and over the diaper, the material hugging my body in a comforting and loving embrace. For my feet I put on lace trimmed ankle socks and slipped my feet in my black mary janes. I put my long black hair in two buns toward the back, letting my bangs hang over my forehead. Taking a look in the mirror the image of a gothic baby peered back at me, I was cute as hell. Taking a deep breath I made my way into the living room to show Sama her handiwork. She squee’d with excitement, clapping her hands and making baby noises at me. “Time to complete the look” she affirmed as she opened her other bag. “Close your eyes until I tell you that you can open them.” I closed my eyes and wondered what was coming next. I felt a belt go around my waist, being threaded through belt loops on the overalls. Next I felt a soft and thick material being slid over my right hand and it was closed around my wrist. “Try to use your hand to grab my fingers,” she instructed. I reached my fabric enclosed hand and tried to grasp hers, but the thick fabric rendered my grip nearly nonexistent and left me with nothing but a soft and useless grip. “Perfect” she stated, “now let me get your other hand taken care of.” In no time my left hand was also enclosed and helpless. From this point on I was completely dependent on her. “Now, no movement, no sound, I have a few more things to do. First, go ahead and slip your hands in your pockets” she said. I did as instructed and felt her do something at my wrists where the mittens strapped on. “Ok, now try to pull your hands out of your pockets,” she instructed. I tried to do this simple task but found I could not do so, the wrist part of the mittens was attached to the belt. Every tug on my wrists was useless and did nothing more than to pull the outfit more snug around me. “Holy cow” I said, I cannot move them at all, my arms are essentially useless. “Go look in the mirror and see,” she said. “I walked toward the bathroom and gazed at the baby in the mirror. To any observer I just looked like I had my hands in my pockets, nothing more. “This is so effective” I started to say when I saw her come up behind me and in seconds I had a large pacifier strapped on my head. I opened my mouth to speak but only mumbles came out. The gag was large and effective. I mpphed at her, I couldn't go out gagged, that was way too obvious. She just laughed at my attempts at talking and reminded me that I could just wear a mask over. Covid was essentially gone where I lived but some people still wore masks, so shortly I had a gator mask around my lower face, which hid the gag effectively. “Shall we?” she asked. She grabbed my keys, her purse, and locked the door as we left. She guided me down the hall and to the front door of my building. I peeked out the front door and it looked clear, nobody in sight. Sama took my arm in hers and guided me out. Once we were outside she said “oh shoot, I forgot something in your place, brb.” She quickly ran inside and closed the door, leaving me locked outside, tied up, and helpless. I tried to make noises at her but there was nothing I could do. An older couple walked by and said hi from the sidewalk, I just sheepishly nodded my head.

Jessica is 30 years old and has just discovered that world of adult babyhood but she has never used a diaper in public before. So one day as she is out running errands she decides to use her diaper while she is in the grocery store.

You stand alone in the cereal aisle of the grocery store pondering the health benefits of cocoa puffs versus cocoa crispies. The cacauphony of sunday afternoon shoppers in the background serve as tender white noise as the familiar pangs hit you. You bend down like your habit dictates and you relax whatever weak muscles stand in the way of your bodily functions. The warmth spreads across your crotch with the smile on your face. You sigh and arise to reassess the sugary dilemna. Just as you made a decision- WHAM! A loud thud reverberates throughout the once empty aisle as you turn to be greeted by a woman dressed in a green tank top and frayed dark blue jeans. She smiles at you before saying, "Sorry about that- sometimes I get too excited to pat a baby butt!" You blush, you've never seen this woman before in your life. "Why did you do that? That was so rude!" You uphold your stance. This was harassment. Assault of your butt at the very least. You could sue. You should sue! She leans over towards your ear, "Sorry- I just thought that the baby was too distracted by the feeling in their diapers to make a decision. or was I wrong?" She pulls back smirking, never breaking eye contact. You stand there stunned. Head empty, diaper full was supposed to be a bad meme. Yet here you are. Blushing, you respond, "How did you know? I mean, I feel like I'm being discreet" You are! Wearing a character shirt and baggy sweatpants, you are the definition of discreet. The FBI should recruit you for being able to hide in plain sight so well! Then you adjust yourself, hear the crinkle and blush. You and her share a knowing smile before she responds. "It also helps that you posted about coming here online. Don't worry im not a stalker or anything! I just walked by after reading that and connected the dots" You blush again, "Oh- so you uhh... You follow me on there? Thats crazy! So umm... you want an autograph or...?" She quickly says, "No- no I'm so sorry. I dont know what I wanted really. Just wanted to say hi I guess and maybe tease you a bit. But umm..oh.."she looks down. You follow her gaze to see that since you got up, a massive wet spot has cascaded down your thigh in two obvious lines. You blush all the more and move to be flat with the display, panicked. She sees your response and raises her hands towards you in a calm motion "Its okay" she says, "I brought some stuff with me in my car that I think can help out. Might be embarrassing for a bit- but not as embarrasaing or uncomfortable as... this" she gestures towards your whole self. "Go to the next section over at the pharmacy and wait for me in the family restroom there. Ill meet you there. Ill knock three times in a row so you know its me okay? Now hurry! I'll be right there!" She ran towards the stores entrance and you...did as she asked. Too stressed to do anything else. You panicked when you saw the family restroom was occupied. Though thankfully it was in an alcove that gave you a neccesary space to hide your shame as you waited. Moments later a woman exited holding her child's hand. "You did so good in there miranda! Soon you wont need those pull ups at all! You're getting to be such a big girl!" The woman announced excitedly. Thankfully they both left quickly paying you no heed as you managed to vulture the restroom from them. You waited anxiously for the woman to arrive as promised. Though the time was more likely just a few minutes it felt like an eternity. Feelings of stress, hopelessness, and abandonment riled through you as you paced in the restroom. Finally, three promised knocks! Without hesitation, you opened the door for the woman from earlier as she barged into the restroom. She locked the door behind her when you noticed what was strewn across her arm. A fresh horror set in as your face become redder than the ripest tomatoes in produce. It was a diaper bag. A very large, very obvious, diaper bag. It was pastel blue and decorated with winnie the pooh characters, wipes and powder could even be seen sticking out of the top of it. She turned around, took out a blanket and placed it on the floor, "lay down" she ordered. "What? But-" You interjectef. "No buts! Except for yours. On the ground. Understood? Or do you not want my help and feel up to walking out of here with everyone seeing you walk out of here in an obviously leaky diaper? This is the sunday crowd. You saw all those people right?" You nod silently, and relent. There was really no other option it would seem. So you laid down on the blanket. It was warm, and soft. A contrast to the cold tile in the rest of the family restroom. "...Okay I guess I can take your pants off for you" You move to do it for her, but by then your pants are already half removed and your leaky diaper is exposed. So there you are. In the family bathroom of a major grocery store, about to have your diapers changed by a complete stranger. The BABY pattern felt appropriate. You blush throughout the entire change. She even calls out seeing you start to get excited by the situation. But after some more teasing and fussing, youre in a clean diaper again. You stand up, only for recall your sweatpants are unwearable. "In ya go!" She cheerfully announced. You look to see that the woman already has a replacement lined up for you. Denim shortalls. While these arent absurdly babyish, they were far outside your normal comfort zone. You look at her, unsure. "What-did you bring something better? This is all ive got little one!" You blush and step inside of them. The woman disposes of your used diaper and you both step outside together. She goes to hold your hand, "Cant have you run away with my clothes now can I? Lets finish each others hopping and then we can get everything else figured out!" You blush and nod. Too embarrassed to think of putting up any argument. You both finish your shopping. At the end you go to her car to load her groceries. She hands you her reciept with her phone number on it, "You were very well behaved in there for me. Keep the clothes" You blush, say thanks and wave her goodbye. Later, you text her and her first response is, "Surprised that u didnt just ask me 2 buy u sum new pants or something from the clothing section. I guess you really are a baby- couldnt go 10 minutes w/o a diaper huh?" You blush and smile to yourself.

A couple years ago I bought an over-the-shoulder sling bag (specifically the one below) to use as a diaper bag. As someone who presents as male, this bag struck me as less conspicuous than something that looks like a purse, fanny pack, or a backpack. It holds one thick or two medium diapers in the main pocket and a packet of wipes, gloves, travel-sized powder, and a tube of cream in the outer pocket. It is not big enough to hold a used diaper, so that has to go in the trash no matter who else is in the restroom. It's mostly stayed in the trunk of my car. I like the idea of having it more than I actually need it, but this week for the first time I did need it (like, really needed it, as in no, I couldn't wait until I got home). I find it awkward to wear across my body and awkward to carry. It also has no weight to it, which makes it sort of awkward if worn over one shoulder. I could start carrying a laptop messenger bag, but at least the people who know me would wonder why I was carrying a laptop bag since I don't carry a laptop. I used to keep a diaper in a backpack I commuted with but I no longer commute (permanent remote worker now). So what do others use as a a diaper bag, especially men older than than 30? Links to webpages very much appreciated. Thank you!

This is a sequel to A Thanksgiving Special, available wherever the best diaper stories are found (like here) and to A Christmas Special (here). Read those first or dive on in! _______________________ Basic party etiquette is if there’s a line for the guest bathroom, you wait. You do NOT go upstairs to use the host’s bathroom. But what if you can’t wait? These are your thoughts as you stand in the upstairs bathroom, unsure of what to do and with your partner not answering your texts. She probably can’t hear her phone above the music and your friends and acquaintances ringing in the New Year, still four hours away. You jump when there’s a knock on the door. “Um, occupied,” you say back. “I know,” says the host, a slight edge in her voice reminding you that you’ve invaded her private space. “Is everything okay,” she asks because you’ve been in there a while. The upstairs bathroom is right at the top of the stairs. She must’ve seen you go in, and there’s a chance others are noticing this exchange. “Y-yes … Could you …” You hesitate, embarrassed already and reluctant to add to your embarrassment by being a grown adult asking for someone to go get your partner because you need help in the bathroom. But you don’t have a choice and ask. The emotional stress is becoming physical as you hear your host’s high heels tapping against the hardwood as she descends the stairs. It’s a long five-minute wait, or maybe not even one minute, until you hear two sets of heels returning before a knock on the door. Your partner’s voice has never sounded so good to you. “Are you okay,” she asks. She doesn’t need to ask who’s inside; no one else at the party would need her help in the bathroom. “Yes,” you answer with your voice quivering. You’re not the crying type, or at least you weren’t until recently; you’ve been trying so hard to convince yourself your newfound tendency to get teary is coinciding with your return to diapers on only by coincidence. Outside the bathroom, your partner is asking your host to go and get her bag from the guest room. You hear her saying she should be able to pick it out among all the others because it will be the biggest, and she asks as casually as she can, but with sharpness communicating it’s a minor emergency, if the two of you can use the master bathroom. You hear heels retreating again, and your partner whispers through the door, “Unlock the door, sweetie.” You do and she opens it just enough to peek her head around the corner. “C’mon, let’s go.” “I can’t,” you say with a mix of plaintiveness and frustration. “We’re just going down the hall to Jen’s bedroom. Quick.” She reaches out her hand for yours, and you let her lead you down the hall. It’s unfortunate the upstairs bath is at the top of the stairs leading up from the kitchen, where people tend to gather as they often do at parties. You do your best not to notice whether anyone below is watching as your partner leads across the landing before the two of you disappear from the party’s sight. “I’m sorry,” you say to your partner. “Hold on,” she says, “Almost there.” When the door closes behind you, you can’t hold it in anymore and start to cry hard while apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry,” you tell her, and you need her to know you’re sorry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” “Shhh,” she says while pressing your face to her shoulder, giving you a warm, dark place to let your tears free. “You don’t need to be sorry.” “I’m sorry.” “Shhh,” she says and rubs small circles on your back, “don’t be sorry. Never be sorry for this. It’s not your fault.” You feel her hand surreptitiously slide down past your waist to pat your bottom. “It’s not your fault.” That’s how Jen finds the two of you, your partnering trying to calm you down while you sob into her shirt and tell her, “I tried. I really tried!” “Shhh. I know you did. It’s okay. There, there.” She notices Jen, who quickly closes the door behind her, and continues patting your back. “This is why we talked about it being okay to stop trying. It just makes you so upset, honey.” “Is everything okay,” Jen mouths to your partner. You feel her nod in response, and ow cognizant you’re not alone together, you pick your head up and do your best to dry up your tears, sniffling hard and wiping at your eyes with your palms. “I’m sorry,” your partner says to Jen. “Thanks so much. We’ll be as quick as we can.” Rather than handing her the bag, she approaches and asks, “Need a hand?” You can’t believe your ears, which turn an impossibly deep shade of red as your partner declines, explaining, “Thanks, but you don’t want to do that. It’s a big change, if you know what I mean.” “I don’t mind.” You don’t even want to be there, making it unfathomable to you why Jen would even offer, let alone why she didn’t take the out your partner had politely offered her. Indeed, having implied what kind of accident you had, your partner was more polite to Jen than to your feelings. Not that it upsets you very much, aware as you are of the scent beginning to make itself known, taking away any chance to hide the nature of what you did in your diaper. No use getting upset over a moot point. “We’ll just be in each other’s way in the bathroom.” “It’s a big bathroom.” “But really?” your partner asks. “How long have the three of us been friends? Let me help. Call it being a good host,” she chuckles. “An exceptionally good host,” she adds. Your partner takes a deep breath she lets out in a sigh, and while you stand there anxiously unable to stop it, she accepts. You want to protest, to say no, to say this is private, to thank Jen and show her out of her own bedroom. But you know you don’t get a say. If you’d had a say on Thanksgiving, you’d still be wearing underpants … and you’d be facing a much larger and more embarrassing problem. Everything having to do with your diapers since Thanksgiving has only reinforced that you don’t get a say when it comes to your diapers. The point was driven home the day before when your partner sat you down to tell you she’d informed your friends of your problem and how you were handling it, again explaining it was better this way, not having to hide it or risk being discovered and sure that your friends would all embrace you and be understanding, would probably never even mention it. She’d been right about that with her family and with yours, but the frustration with your condition and the sense of powerless over it now had been building for longer than just the past month, and it came out then as you raised your voice and told her she had no right to do that. She spoke firmly without raising her voice in turn. “I have every right because you wouldn’t be handling it at all if I didn’t take charge,” she said pointedly, all the more embarrassing because you knew it was true. “And you do not raise your voice.” Like she didn’t ask when she put you in diapers or when she told her family, your family, and all your friends, she didn’t ask when she put you in a timeout to calm down. She was already calm; it was you who needed a moment to collect yourself and make peace with what was about to happen. After your spanking and the jig you danced coming off her lap with a red, stinging bottom, she let you cry on her shoulder as she alternated between rubbing and patting your butt. You received a loving lecture about raising your voice and how you must accept that you do need help and will receive it whether you want it or not. “You’re leaking right now,” she said, and you looked down at yourself to see she was right – you were dribbling on her jeans. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m trying to take the embarrassment away. You need help, and I’m going to give it you. Understand?” You do, which is why you don’t fuss when your partner takes your hand again and leads you into the bathroom with Jen in toe. “I’m sorry we need your bathroom for this. Just seems much better than using the hall one where others could see me disappearing behind the door and two of us coming out,” your partner explains. It’s comforting to know she really is concerned with your feelings and wants to spare you embarrassment, or at least all the embarrassment she can, and you remember the New Year’s Resolution the two of you had talked about that morning during your after-breakfast change, that you will try your hardest to trust her to help you with your problem. “I get it,” Jen says with a wink, though who it’s directed to isn’t clear. It’s somehow less embarrassing for you to stay silent and let everything happen to you, so you do while the two of them chat like nothing is out of the ordinary as you walk into her bathroom. “Could you get everything out while I get them undressed? Lift your foot for me.” You do and she takes off your shoe, followed by the other, narrating as she goes. “Learned the hard way it’s best just take pants all the way off for big changes, didn’t we hun?” “True no matter their age,” Jen says as she unfolds the very large changing mat your partner found on Etsy. Too big good for a shopping trip, but ideal for making sure makeshift changings rooms are left as clean as you find them on longer outings when you don’t have to to carry the diaper bag everywhere. You step out of your pants and cringe a little while your partner examines the inside to be sure they’re clean. “Turn around for me, honey.” You do, and she puts her hand on your bottom, patting it once and seeming to lift it for a moment before letting droop again, sizing up the task ahead of her. “Open your legs a little, sweetie,” Jen says from down on the floor. You do, preferring to think on the you’ve become ‘sweetie,’ ‘honey,’ and ‘sweetheart’ to so many in the past five weeks, in addition to ‘sport,’ ‘tiger,’ and ‘kiddo,’ rather than the sight you’re presenting or whom you’re presenting it to. “The onesie got a little,” Jen says, pointing to where your onesie disappears between your thighs. “Are you feeling okay,” your partner asks you. “Something not agree with your tummy?” You shake your head. Your tummy felt fine now. And you didn’t feel sick before. Just an urgent need followed by a minor pain as you tried the knob on the guest bathroom only to find it occupied. You’re not supposed to take your diaper off yourself, but you imagined your partner somehow wouldn’t mind under the circumstances and quick stepped toward the stairs, hoping no one noticed. You must’ve been discreet because your partner keeps such an attentive eye on you, but she didn’t see you duck around Jeremy as you sped through the kitchen and up the stairs. Only Jen noticed where you’d disappeared to, and you were grateful she had, if only because your partner didn’t respond to your text after you’d closed the door and finished what had begun happening in your pants as you awkwardly climbed the steps. “Ready,” Jen says. “Wait – are you sure you’re done?” A humiliating question, but you and your partner had learned that lesson the second week of you being back in diapers. “Trust me,” your partner gently scoffs as she reaches around to pat your bottom again, “definitely done. There’s a wet bag in there.” Jen turns back to the diaper bag while your partner takes her heels off and sets them aside next to Jen’s. She unbuttons your shirt, and Jen takes it from her to hang on the back of the door after making sure your shirttail was spared. You can’t help but note the disparity between two women dressed in their best and you naked except for your socks and a well-used diaper. Your partner kneels down to unsnap your onesie. “And gloves,” she adds as she stops herself, remembering your diaper wasn’t quit enough this time. “O! Here,” Jen says and hands her a pair. Mind if I …” “Help yourself, and actually, in the little pocket on the outside are some hair ties.” Jen gets out a second pair of gloves for herself, but only one hair ties that she hands to your partner. Jen’s happy to help, but she’s not going to put herself in a position, literally, in which she’d need to tie her hair back. Your partner takes the rubber band and puts her hair into a ponytail, and you feel a pang of regret, though not for what you’d done; you are already getting over that, because your partner is right and you can’t help it. No, your regret is for how hard your partner worked on her hair for the party. “Sorry,” you say. “I told you, sweetie, nothing to be sorry for.” “For your hair. You did such a nice job on it. Sorry about … It looked really good … You still look great tonight.” She smiles as though remembering in that instant why she loves you, which is why helping you with a loaded diaper isn’t a yucky chore but something she doesn’t mind and even does lovingly. She kisses you, and you awkwardly stand there as she kneels down again. “Turn for me,” she says and holds out a hand toward Jen for a wipe. You do, looking straight ahead as the less of awkward option than looking down at Jen. Your partner uses the wipe to get the hem of your onesie as clean as she can before turning you back around. She unsnaps it and wipes it a little more before saying, “Arms up.” She carefully rolls your onesie up as she stands, covering the dirty part with the clean part to be sure nothing else gets dirty as she takes it off you. Jen holds out her hand to take the onesie to put in the wet bag. After a moment’s assessment of the state of your diaper, your partner says, “Better if we take your plastic panties off with you laying down.” She kneels down again, and you carefully ease yourself onto the changing mat. “Careful,” Jen says anyway, though not sharply. A reminder, not a scolding. “We’ve come this far without a blowout. Don’t wanna fumble on the 1-yard line,” she chuckles. It’s a funny analogy, and you chuckle too despite everything. “Okay,” your partner says as she scoots closer to you. “Sorry you’re gonna see this, Jen.” “Hush. It’s not my first messy diaper change.” Your partner unsnaps your plastic panties, and you lift your hips to let her slide them out. “Just hold the bag open,” she says to Jen and drops them into the bag. Next comes the worst part, and you put your arms across your face as the tapes are torn and that feeling of humiliation returns. Jen leans down and places a kiss on your forehead. “It’s okay,” she promises you. If your eyes were open, you would see that neither of them changes their expression when your partner opens your diaper. It doesn’t bother them in the slightest, something that surprised your partner the very first few times she helped you clean up a messy accident, and she chalked up her unexpected fortitude to her feelings for you. Among those feelings was never pity, just an understanding sympathy. She’s never put it quite in these words, but to her, you are not a person to be pitied but to be loved, admired for your inner strength and perseverance and bravery because you don’t let your problem control your life, and to be cherished because you make her happier than anyone else ever has, the way she does for you. You hear her hum a tune she sometimes hums and that sounds much like one your mother sang you to sleep with many years ago. And you feel her wipe, and you respond to her hands as she gestures with a tap to open your legs to clean inside your thighs. “Okay,” she says, “Up we go.” You raise your ankles, and she helps you hold them up in her left hand while she cleans with her right. “I got that,” Jen says and takes hold of your ankles. “Thanks.” Bored, Jen keeps holding your ankles with one hand and gets a clean diaper out of the bag with the other. “These are so stinkin’ adorable. I can’t believe they make pampers for adults.” “They don’t. It just looks like an actual pampers. Isn’t it cute?” “I love this little lion. Where did you find these?” “Japan. Had to bend over backwards and ask a coworker there for a huge favor to get them, but I wanted these. We’re doing our best to be lighthearted about this, aren’t we,” she asks you rhetorically. “And you really are so sweet and adorable in them.” You blush from the compliment and know that it’s objectively true. ‘Cute,’ ‘sweet,’ and ‘adorable,’ more words almost never used to describe you until your partner put you back into diapers, and you don’t hate it even if you’ll never admit it. After another minute, your partner sighs, and Jen asks, “Everything okay?” “Yeah … just … this is just gonna take a while.” “Needs a bath?” “Can we,” your partner asks with apologetic eagerness. “I really wouldn’t ask, but …” “No no no, not a problem. Totally okay.” “Thanks. Just let me get a little more. A little higher.” Jen tilts your legs back a little further, raising your lower back off the changing pad, and your partner slides the dirty diaper out from under you, using a few more wipes to clean you up before moving the diaper out of the way. “Okay, down.” You lower your legs while your partner rolls the small pile of dirty wipes inside the diaper, sealing it tightly with its own tapes. She moves to put it into the wet bag, and Jen stops her. “I’ll take that to the trash.” “Really?” “Unless you need my help with the bath.” “No, but we can take it home.” “Don’t be silly. I’ll take it straight to the outside trash.” “Thanks. What do you say?” “Thank you,” you say, and you mean it. You didn’t need to be reminded to say it, but you don’t mind. “Really, thank you.” “Big time,” your partner adds. “You’re a great friend.” “Anytime. See you two back downstairs in a bit.” “Thanks,” you say. “but I don’t really wanna go back downstairs.” “You can come back down,” your partner says. “No one will tease you or even look at you funny. I promise. You don’t have to, but you can.” “And if anyone does give you a funny look, I’ll shove them right out the door,” Jen adds. She really is a good friend. “But that won’t happen. Everyone understands. None of our friends are those kind of people.” And she’s right, or none of you would be friends with them. Still, since your partner told everyone about your problem and the solution, they must have surmised by now why the three of you have disappeared for so long, and you’re embarrassed about it whether anyone says anything to you or not. You’d rather just go home. “I know, and thank you, really, but I think I’ll just get a Lyft.” “Wanna go home,” your partner asks. Jen is still kneeling above you. “Yeah,” you tell her. “Sorry.” “It’s okay. And you don’t need to call a Lyft. We’ll go together.” “I don’t want you to miss the party. It’s only nine o’clock.” “That’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m not gonna let you ring in the New Year alone,” your partner says. “You can stay up here if you want. I don’t mind.” “We can’t impose any more than we have,” your partner says with an apologetic scoff. “O, stop it.” “Well,” your partner asks you, “you wanna stay up here? You can come back down later if you feel up to it, or just hang out up here.” “Yeah, okay,” you agree. That’s a good compromise. You rather would just go home, but you don’t want her to miss the party, nor do you want her to start the New Year alone any more than you do yourself. “Thank you.” “You’ve said that enough. Let’s just assume it,” Jen says sunnily. “Need a change of pants,” she asks, addressing the question to your partner. “We never go anywhere without a spare,” your partner tells her. If your onesie was a little dirty, your pants must be too even if it wasn’t so easy to see. “And some jammies just in case.” Just in case of what, Jen wonders but doesn’t ask. No matter. No answer will make her think differently of you. “I’ll leave the remote on the bed. You can rent anything you want. I’ll bring you a snack and something to drink.” “You don’t have to do that,” your partner responds. “I’m the host,” Jen says and stands up, smoothing out her dress and reaching over to turn the tap on. “Here,” she adds and holds out a hand. Your partner hands her the dirty diaper you made, and Jen is surprised by its weight but doesn’t say anything. You try to put the thought of her carrying that thing through the kitchen where anyone, and probably more than a few someones, can see it out of your head. “See you in a bit,” your partner says. Jen leaves, and your partner helps you sit up and step into tub. She turns off the tap with just a few inches of warm water in the tub. “Lean against the back like at home,” she says even though you know the routine, a seemingly once-a-week affair since going back to diapers as once a week, give or take, you’ve needed a change wipes alone were not enough for. She stands, takes off her gloves and puts them in a ziploc bag. You watch as she takes off her little black dress and hangs it next to your shirt on the back of the door before rolling down her stockings and doing the same with them. In just her satin bra and panty set, she turns her attention back to you. When you’re clean and the water has been changed twice, she fills the tub almost to the top and tells you to lean back and relax while she runs a bar of soap from your neck to the soles of your feet once more. She chuckles. “What,” you ask. “You’re going into your jammies after we get a clean diaper on you. No way are you coming back downstairs, are you?” You frown and look down. “It’s okay. I’m not mad or anything. I just know when you look sleepy.” “Sorry I spoiled the evening.” She stops washing you and takes her chin in her hand to turn your face to hers. “Hey, you did not spoil the evening because the evening isn’t spoiled. We’re together, aren’t we?” “Yeah.” “Then I’m having a great time. Believe me?” You do, and you nod hurriedly as your eyes fill with tears again. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say as you let out a sob. “Don’t. Be. Sorry,” she says with her gentle firmness. “Not for crying. Not for your accidents. Not for needing diapers. Not for needing my help. Not because of the party. Don’t be sorry for any of it.” “Okay,” you say as the swell of emotion rises in your throat that do your best to choke back down as you try to let her words and kindness soothe you. She kisses you on your temple, wets a clean washcloth, and dabs at the few tears that escaped your eyes. “I love you,” she says and means it in every way. “I love you so much too.” “I know.” She reaches over and opens the drain. When you’re diapered and in your jammies, she sends you into the bedroom while she gets everything packed away and puts her dress and shoes back on. “Where are your stockings,” you ask when she joins you. “In the bag with your shirt and shoes. Maybe someone will notice and think you seduced me and that we’ve been up her getting’ busy this whole time.” You have a good laugh with her. “Are you okay with me going back downstairs?” “Yeah, really.” “Need anything,” she asks, nodding toward the plate of hors d’oeuvre and desserts Jen left on her nightstand for you next to a glass of water and your favorite cocktail. “No, thank you.” “Blanket,” she asks and starts to unfold the throw Jen keeps at the foot of her bed. “I can do it myself.” She smiles, chagrinned. “I know.” She turns back to you and kisses you on the forehead again. “I’ll be up to check on you.” “You don’t need to.” She makes a tight smile, an expression she often wears when you tell her something isn’t necessary right before she repeats herself in a gentle yes-but-we’re-doing-it-anyway tone. “I’ll be up to check on you. Text me if you need anything.” “‘Kay.” “And I’ll be back before the ball drops. You owe me a New Year’s kiss.” “Wake me up if I’m asleep. I don’t wanna miss it.” “Deal.” She kisses you on your forehead again. You’re asleep every time she, once with Jen, comes up to check on you. True to her word like she always is, she wakes you to share the perfect New Year’s kiss. Happy New Year and don’t forget to check out my 2022 bedwetting calendar for ABDLs, recreational bedwetters, and their caregviers for sale now on Lulu.com!