Search the Community

Hey everyone! For today, I'm posting a story that I actually had in progress for a little while. I got inspiration from this story through some other stories on this forum. While it's not any of the Diaper Dimension stories, it does draw inspiration from one of the authors that I follow. This story is set in Potomac, Maryland and my attempt at writing a story where the main characters have to deal with a strict mother who's very big on discipline. There is some element of mystery involved. Like always, I am welcome to any feedback that you may have on the story! Here's the summary. Enjoy the story! Sixteen-year-old Gabrielle Rivers has a mother that is an award-winning scientist. Having never met her father in her entire life, Gabrielle looks for answers when her mother attends an awards banquet one evening. Searching for the whereabouts of her father is the least of Gabrielle’s worries, as her nighttime bedwetting has started up once again. Gabrielle’s quest to find the truth is not made any easier when she has to deal with her almost three-year-old sister Abigail, who is still in diapers. Gabrielle can’t help but notice that there is something very strange about her sister. Her mother just says that Abigail has a strong sense of imagination, but after Gabrielle finds out everything, she is not quite sure that her mother is being truthful. And even worse, Gabrielle’s mother finds Gabrielle reading forbidden documents in her bedroom. She takes Gabrielle into the kitchen and prepares a glass of milk for her. Gabrielle drinks the milk, but after a few hours, she doesn’t feel very well, and her world changes forever. Now trapped and full of the truth, Gabrielle can neither walk nor crawl and is unable to speak. Will she ever escape? Is she trapped with her mother forever? Chapter 1: Just an Accident My mother can only be what I describe to be the worst excuse for a human being. It doesn’t matter that she graduated high school at the age of 12 and has four PhD’s. She’s a cold, cruel, heartless bitch. And if you have ever met her and have even the slightest idea of what she has done to me, you would totally agree with me. And that is just what I am about to tell you. This is my survival story of how I was ruthlessly abused by my mother and how by some miracle I was able to escape. I want you to know about this as no human being should ever receive the level of cruelty that my mother gave to me. The whole world needs to know about this. All of her scientific awards can burn for all I care. She has caused enough harm to me and my family. What is that cruelty? You will hear every detail in due time. To give my story any justice, I will start from the very beginning. My name is Gabrielle Rogers, but you can call me Gabby. Everyone else does. But during the time of this story, I was known as Gabrielle Rivers, since that was my mother’s last name. I lived in a 25,000 square foot mansion in Maryland, with my mother and younger sister Abigail (everyone calls her Abby). From my mother’s stories, she always bragged about how she got her father’s mansion. The Rivers family was very wealthy, but none of my great uncles had any children. My grandfather did, but he didn’t have any sons. All he had was my mother. So, my mother boasted, all of the estate went to her. The money, the mansion…everything. The mansion is so big that it is divided into two separate wings: the west wing and the east wing. Each wing has its own staircase, with a grand staircase in the middle, separating the two wings. The mansion sits on 20 acres of land and because of my mother’s insane inheritance, all of the grounds are maintained on a regular basis. The enormous yard is mowed. During the summer, both the pool and hot tub are regularly treated with chlorine. All of the shrubs get trimmed. And the mini apple orchard gets tended to on a regular basis. And in the backyard, a beautiful garden gets tended to on a regular basis. A team of maids clean the entire house once a week and another cleaning service washes the windows once a month. And I forgot to mention that there is a guest house sitting on either side of the mansion. One for the east wing and one for the west wing. Each one is around 2,000 square feet and neither of these houses count towards the 25,000 square feet of the main estate. A large fountain sits in the front around the winding driveway that leads out to the front gate: the only way to enter Rivers Estate as the entire property is surrounded by fencing and there is a security guard on duty 24 hours a day. So yeah. That’s my mother’s Barbie dream home that she inherited. One important thing worth noting is that the entire east wing of the estate is off limits. I learned this lesson the hard way when I was just five years old. I was about to touch the doorknob, which led to the east wing. When my mother saw this, she directed me to pull my pants down and expose my behind to her. “Gabby, that place is totally off limits! Bad girl!!! Bad!!” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Don’t you EVER let mommy catch you trying to enter the east wing again!” After a few hits from her paddle, I resolved to never try entering the east wing again. I really didn’t understand what the harm was in going there. What was my mother trying to hide? I sulked, and slowly paced away from the forbidden door that I could never touch. A knock on the door snapped me right out of my unintended nap. A copy of The Lord of the Rings sat fanned face down on my king-sized bed. “Gabby dear? Gabby!” “Wha…” I said, rubbing a little bit of sleep out of my eyes. The door opened, and my mother entered in her usual work attire: a white lab coat with a long black skirt. Her skin was smooth and her complexion was perfect. She walked over to my bed and gave me her usual smirk. This was the kind of thing that she did when she wanted me to do something that she didn’t want to do. “Gabrielle, my dear?” My mother said in her sweetest tone. “Could you be a dear and go change Abby’s diaper?” I turned my face and rolled my eyes. “Another one?” I could tell by the look of my mother’s face that the diaper that I was about to change was going to be a messy one. I let out a quiet sigh. “Okay. Where is the little stinker?” “She is watching TV in her bedroom. Now hurry, dear. You don’t want her to get a rash…” Don’t want her to get a rash…I mocked my mother in my head. I resumed my role as fulltime babysitter and left my bedroom to change my little sister’s diaper. It is now June and Abby (or Little Abby as I like to call her) is about to turn three in August. I would’ve thought that my mother would’ve wanted to potty train Abby a year ago, but she has made zero initiative to even begin. No pull-ups training pants. No plastic big girl potties in the house. No potty-training journals or reward stickers. No books or videos about learning how to use the potty like a big girl. Nothing. For goodness sake, mom. Abby will be turning four in another year. No preschool is going to take a four-year-old girl that is still wearing diapers. I have argued this with my mother before and I get the same response. “Oh. Abby’s a special little girl and she will grow at her own pace.” Well, Abby doesn’t look like she’s interested in the potty because you have never showed her one. Great job at being a wonderful example… I walked down the hallway and enter the doorway on my left. Abby was sucking on her pink pacifier and sitting in her bedroom on the white carpeted floor dressed in a white romper dress. The babyish kind with three snappable buttons at the crotch area which made it easy for diaper changes. The TV was a 42-inch Ultra High-Definition TV that hung on the wall in her spacious room. As I glanced at Abby’s loaded diaper, I let out a deep sigh. Sure enough, I could see the damage that had already been done. The poopy mess was spread out of her diaper and dripping out of the openings in her legs. It even got onto parts of her romper and her legs. Regardless of this, Abby stared at the screen blankly, as if she were mesmerized by the kids’ channel that she was watching. It was another episode of Bluey, and I just couldn’t stand it. But the program that was playing was the least of my worries. Abby’s diaper was my number one priority, regardless of how much I couldn’t stand the program. Seriously, mom. Why couldn’t you have changed her? I pinched my nose and dragged Abby away from the UHD TV. I lifted her by her waist being very careful not to get any of the poopy mess onto my fingertips. Even though Abby was almost three years old, she had the build of an 18-month-old, as my mother had to take Abby to the pediatrician last week to treat an ear infection. I had to come along, as I had diaper duty for my younger sister 24/7. The only exceptions are the diapers that my mother changes in the morning and right before she goes to bed. During the day, I change every one of Abby’s diapers. This yucky and stinky one is no better… I hoisted Little Abby up and rotated her, now supporting her by her neck and back in both hands. I then laid her down on the diaper changer in her room that sat next to her crib that was covered in pink pastels. As I laid her down and approached the mess, Abby turned her face and glanced in the distance. “Bah-tah empty!” she yelled. I nodded, as I tried to figure out what would be the best way that I could unsnap Abby’s romper without getting poop all over my hands. Knowing that this was pretty much impossible, I reached down toward the snappable crotch buttons. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! All three buttons were off, and I had a little bit of poop smeared on my fingers. I carefully lifted the flap of the poop-stained white romper which revealed the yellowed and brown stained diaper. I took a couple of baby wipes and wiped off my fingers before peeling back the tapes of her diaper… And…Oh. My. Gosh. The horrible stench was even worse with the diaper now opened up. It filled my nostrils and I almost gagged. There was so much poop in that diaper that I couldn’t believe it. But Abby looked like she was staring into space. She gave me a face that any child would give you after waking up from a bad dream. She glanced at the empty bottle. “Thaw-sty Gaw-bee! Thaw-sty!” I nodded, as I began wiping her with baby wipes, which only ended up smearing the poop on her after a couple wipes. “Yes Abby. I’ll get you something to drink after I change you.” After about ten wipes, I had Abby stand up while I carefully wiped her behind. After about half of the bag of baby wipes, I had all of Abby wiped clean. I took the soiled diaper that was filled with the used wipes, and I rolled up the diaper into a ball and secured it closed with the two tapes. I threw it in the diaper genie before I could even throw up on the floor in disgust. As I began to rub the Aquaphor cream on all the red areas that I saw on Abby, she turned her face toward the empty baby bottle again and once again gave me the worried look. “Mo Mak! No foamwah! No foamwah Gaw-bee!” I sighed, as this was a normal thing that Abby did whenever she wanted more milk to drink in her bottle. I gave her a puzzled look as I pulled out another diaper: A Size 3 Pampers Swaddlers Diaper. Abby never moved around too much so my mother always got these diapers for her. I opened up the diaper and I powdered the core. “Abby, the milk that we give you does not have any baby formula in it. What is this about formula?” I laid Abby in the center of the diaper, and I folded up the front waistband between her legs. I took the tapes from the back waistband, and I pulled them both snugly towards the landing zone in the center of the diaper. Abby’s bellybutton peaked out just above the waistband of the diaper. I heard the crinkled rustling as she sat up and pointed at the empty bottle again. “No foamwah!” she cried. “No foamwah! I smaw! No foamwah! I smaw!” I sighed, feeling very frustrated at Abby’s lack of speech development. Having just taken child development at my private school, I understand that the kind of speech that I am hearing from Abby should be from a baby half of Abby’s age. At her current age, Abby should know more than 300 words and should be able to form short sentences. I frowned again as I tried to calm the worried face on my sister. “Abby, there is no baby formula in the milk. How about I get you some and show you.” Before I could even snap the romper back up, I sighed when I saw the poop stain. “This needs to be washed.” I removed Abby’s soiled white romper dress and threw it into the dirty clothes hamper. I sat Abby on the floor and got out another matching purple romper dress from her closet. I put it on her. I then snapped the three crotch buttons to secure the romper over her diaper and was about to pick her up when I felt a very strong need to pee. I glanced at Abby and pointed back at the TV. “Can you watch some more TV, Abby? Big sis needs to use the bathroom.” Abby gave me a blank nod and walked back over to the TV. She slouched onto the floor and continued watching more Bluey. Meanwhile, I did the potty dance and I hurried into the bathroom adjacent to Abby’s bedroom. I closed the door, undid the button on my skinny jeans, and pulled them down with my panties. I sat down on the toilet and let out a sigh of relief as I peed for the next 30 seconds. My mother is making a big mistake in keeping my little sister in diapers. She hasn’t even made a single effort to potty train Abby, and it has almost been a year since her second birthday. She turns three in just two months. And considering just how messy that diaper was, I would really like to stop changing my little sister’s diapers already. I heard the buzz coming from my pants pocket. I knew that it either had to be Gina or Renee. They wanted to know what the summer plans were now that we were all done with our private school until it resumed in September for our junior year. I tapped away on my cellphone, providing a quick response for my two friends on the group text: “We will talk about it tonight when I go to bed.” I texted, providing a plain smiley face emoji. My timing couldn’t be any more perfect than when I heard a few firm taps on the door. “Gabby?” It was my mother. Knowing her, there was no keeping her waiting. I finished up, quickly wiping myself with toilet paper and pulling my panties and skinny jeans before flushing. I washed my hands for 20 seconds, quietly playing “If you’re happy and you know it” in my head before drying them. I scurried out of the bathroom, almost running directly into my mother. I staggered backwards, almost losing my balance. My mother looked at me sternly. She did not look pleased. “Gabby dear,” she addressed me in her smooth, velvety softspoken voice. “We do not run in this house. Tell me, dear. What is the hurry? You’re a big girl. You know the rules.” “No running…” I softly mumbled with my face to the floor. My mother gently pushed my chin up so that my eyes were locked with hers. “Speak up, Gabby. I cannot hear you. And stand up straight and look at me when you’re talking. Remember. Posture dear. Posture…” I nodded as my chin was still locked in my mother’s grip. I knew that she wouldn’t let me go until I reminded her of the proper manners that I already knew. “No…Run…Ning…” I clearly said, enunciating every syllable. My mother released my chin suddenly. I almost fell down, but I quickly regained my balance. “Now Gabby, I know that you are perfectly capable of behaving like a young lady. Please show me that you remember your manners. I have sent you to one of the best private boarding and day schools. Please lead by example and make me proud.” I nodded. I do have to admit that attending The Madeira School was pretty nice. With it being an all-girl school, there was nothing to distract me or my friends from our studies. Grades were certainly not an issue with me as I have been getting nothing but solid A’s. A-minuses were totally out of the question, as I have received a beating from my mother for getting one before on a test. My mother turned around and glanced at Abby. She sniffed the room, which pretty much mostly had the smell of baby powder at this point. There was still a hint of the poopy smell, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as earlier. “I see that you have changed Abby. Good girl.” Yes. My mother’s praise sounded like the kind of praise you would give to a dog, but at 15, I was used to it at this point. That reminded me of something very important. I turn 16 in another month…I looked at my mother and glanced at her face. For someone in her late forties, she looked almost 20 years younger than that. If nobody knew my mother, she would pass for someone almost turning 30. I have pressed my mother before on her youthful appearance and she always provided me with the same answer in just one word: “Genetics.” If genetics gives her that appearance, then I hope that I can look like her when I’m almost 50 someday. I glanced at my mother, who was still looking at me. I knew that she would not be around me unless she wanted something. My mother gave me an expectant look, as if I was expected to know what she was thinking. “Gabby, have you done all of your chores today?” I sighed. I knew that stretching the truth was not an option, so I came clean. “No mother. I only have a few m—” My mother cut me off midsentence. “Gabby, you need to finish every last chore. Your courses are done for the summer and all you have for the fall is just one summer project required for every Madeira student. I expect you to have every last chore done before dinner. Do I make myself clear, young lady?” I nodded, making sure that my posture was correct this time. Abby was now standing up, holding an empty baby bottle in her hands. She looked at my mother with pleading eyes. “Mo mak mah-mee!” she said, shaking the bottle. “Mo mak!” My mother shook her head in disapproval and snatched the baby bottle from my little sister. “No no…” she said in a sing-song voice. “What is the magic word, Abby?” “Pease…” Abby said, giving her a flat smile. I sighed and looked at my mother. “Mother, I just changed Abby. She’s going to need to be changed again when you give her more milk. Shouldn’t we be potty training her?” My mother shook her head to and fro and gave my sister a soft pat on the diaper. “Abby is not ready for toilet training yet. When she’s ready, she’ll let mommy know. Won’t you Abbycadabry?” I gave a groan of frustration in my mind. I hated it whenever my mom used a cute nickname to address my little sister. And that nickname had me cringing the most. My little sister gave a gentle nod and glanced up at the empty bottle that my mother was still holding. “You want some milkies, Abby?” My mother said in a soft coo. “Here. We’re going to get some milkies. In the meantime, how about I get you your pacie?” Abby again generated a weak smile. My mother grabbed her purple pacifier that was sitting on a felt beanbag chair. She slid it into Abby’s mouth and Abby began to mindlessly suck on it. She then hoisted Abby in one arm while holding her empty bottle in the other. “I’m going to refill Abby’s bottle and feed her.” My mother explained. “After that, I am putting her in the playpen and I’m going upstairs to run some more experiments, finish an article for a scientific journal, and finish publishing a textbook for one of Harvard Med School’s latest courses. I will want you to have all of your chores done when I return. Am I clear, Gabby?” I nodded, keeping careful eye contact with my mother. “Yes mother…” My mother exited the room with Abby, leaving me to my chores. I glanced at the chore list, making careful note of the chores that I have already done today. Fortunately, I have already done most of the chores before taking a break with my Lord of the Rings book. All that I needed to do to finish my chores included the following tasks: pick up my clothes and other odds and ends in my room, vacuum my bedroom, and clean the bathroom. That included every surface, all of the toilet, the bathtub, and the glass shower. (Yes. My bedroom has a pretty big bathroom with both a bathtub and separate shower, and I was responsible for cleaning every square inch.) I spent the next hour and a half completing my last three chores. I picked up all my clothes, making sure that they were all thrown into the dirty clothes hamper. I got the vacuum out of the utility closet down the hall and vacuumed every square inch. The floor of my room looked spotless as usual, as I was expected to vacuum my room every week. For the bathroom, I opened a closet inside it to get out all of the cleaning supplies. I scrubbed every square inch of the tile floor in the bathroom. I carefully wiped down the counter space. There was barely any toothpaste residue and soap residue as I also was expected to clean the bathroom weekly. The mirror by the sink also didn’t look too bad. Just a couple specks of food residue from flinging food particles off my teeth while I was flossing. As for the chores, this was something that I have never questioned my mother on as the maids get all the rest of the house clean, except for my room and bathroom. I took the glass cleaner and sprayed the mirror. I carefully wiped everything off with a paper towel. The mirror now looked spotless. I inserted a disinfectant tablet into the toilet wand and began scrubbing the weeks’ worth of dried waste off of the inside of the toilet. After getting the inside of the bowl spotless, I sprayed down the outside of the bowl and the rest of the toilet with a cleaning solution, rinsed it with some wet paper towels, and dried it off with a few more paper towels. Right after I flushed the clean toilet, my chores were all complete. No sooner did I finish than when my mother was entering my bathroom with Abby. She was still mindlessly sucking away on her pacifier. I still could not believe just how much my mother was babying Abby, but I dared not question it this time. For some strange reason, my mother believed that Abby could just tell her when she wanted to act like a big girl. My mother was supposed to be encouraging the big girl behavior, instead of discouraging it with a fresh bottle, her pacifier, and the diapers that she still wears both day and night. As a result, my sister was developmentally delayed. She spoke more like an 18-month-old than an almost 3-year-old. She didn’t even use a sippy cup. My poor little sister was just pampered and spoiled, and my mother never did anything about it. But why? Why keep my little sister from developing into a big girl? My mother grabbed the chore list from me and carefully glanced at every check mark. Now it wasn’t enough for her to just see the checks. She had to examine every area that corresponded to the completed task before I would be in the clear. After she checked all the chores and areas, she gave me a nod of approval. “You finished all of your chores, Gabby. Good girl…” I bit my lip. I’m pretty sure that if I were a dog, my mother would have given me a treat. My mother then looked at her smart watch and glanced at me again. “Now let’s have some dinner. I’ll meet you down there.” I took my cell phone out of my pocket and glanced at the time. 5:48 PM. I knew the next important rule of the Rivers Estate: Dinner was to be served at 6:00 PM. If I were late, even a minute late, I would not be having dinner that evening. Dinner was typically prepared by a private chef that my mother hired, and she would not hesitate to order the chef to take the covered plate of food away from me if I was late for dinner. This was both wasteful and unfair, but they were the official Rivers Estate rules that my mother made up. I promptly made my way downstairs and to the dining room, where three covered plates already sat. Two of the plates sat in the corner of a large dining room table fit for 20 people. The third smaller plate sat on a highchair next to the end seat, which belonged to my mother. I sat in the other seat perpendicular to her. I took my seat and waited for mom to arrive carrying Abby. She sat Abby in the highchair and lifted up the cover on the plate. The chef announced the dinner we would be having tonight, giving a detailed description of each entrée and the way that he prepared it. Abby’s dinner was three chicken nuggets, carefully cut into smaller pieces so that my mother could feed them to her. There was also a small portion of crinkle cut fries and a French apple tart. The tart was carefully cut into a very small piece just for Abby. But Abby wouldn’t be feeding herself. My mother would be feeding every last piece of the tart to Abby. For crying out loud, mom. I have not seen Abby feed herself once. Don’t you ever want to see Abby become a big girl? But again, I didn’t dare question my mother’s rather unusual parenting style. At this rate, Abby will still not be ready to attend school next year… Both mine and my mother’s dinner were the following entrées: A chicken Caesar salad. A deluxe Kobe Beef Cheeseburger served on freshly made onion buns. It had a delicious tangy ginger mayonnaise with greenhouse grown tomatoes, fresh romaine lettuce, and red onions. It also had freshly chopped portabella mushrooms and applewood smoked bacon drizzled with a sweet barbecue sauce and Dijon mustard. The same crinkle cut fries were there, only our portions were larger and were cooked in truffle oil and sprinkled with freshly grated parmesan cheese. The dipping sauce included tangy ginger mayonnaise. The dessert included a French apple tart, which was a full piece, instead of the tiny toddler-sized piece that Abby got. I ate my food and my mother ate hers after she finished feeding Abby. After we were both done, my mother finished feeding Abby her bottle, with still no sippy cup in sight. I drank my glass of milk, making sure that I finished every last drop. We didn’t need to clear the table, as that responsibility belonged to the chef. But I did have the responsibility to ask my mother to be excused. I knew how much trouble I would be in if I forgot to do this. So, I glanced up at my mother. “Mother,” I addressed, making careful eye contact with her. “May I please be excused from the table?” My mother glanced at my plate to ensure that every last morsel of food was consumed. She gave me a nod of approval. “You can be excused, Gabby. Please get ready for bed. After that, you are free to do evening activities. Bedtime is at 10:00.” I nodded and took this as my signal to get ready for bed so I could talk to my friends. I walked, not ran back up the stairs to my bedroom. I undressed myself and brushed my teeth, flossed, and used mouthwash. I then took a shower and dried off. I put on my bra with a pink nightgown and pulled the cell phone out of my pants pocket. I threw myself onto the king-sized bed, unfortunately landing right on top of my Lord of the Rings book. I sighed and picked up the still open book, carefully sitting it on the floor beneath my bed. I texted Gina and Renee in the group text. They both video called me and I merged the two calls, giving us a three-way conversation. “Hey.” I said as I laid on my bed, taking casual sips of water from my water bottle. “What’s up?” “The sky,” Gina said as a joke. “Are you finally free from your chores and sister duties?” I nodded. “For tonight I am. What do you all plan on doing?” “Can we go to the mall?” Renee offered as a suggestion. I sighed. “None of us can drive yet, so who would take us?” Renee smiled. “My mom could take both of us. And we could have a sleepover afterwards!” Gina sighed. “How about a pool party at my house? We got a very nice pool and I plan on inviting a lot of people…” “Will you invite any of the guys from Landon?” Renee teased Gina. “I know that you have a crush on one of them…” Gina’s face blushed. “Yes, that’s true. Us girls at Madeira don’t get a lot of opportunities to meet guys…” “That’s because Madeira wants us to study books, not boys,” I said with a smile. “That reminds me. Have any of you started on the summer project yet?” Both girls nodded. “Have you started, Gabby?” Gina asked me. “The project requires that you research your family tree and provide a 20-page essay describing your family members and what they mean to you. I’m almost finished with my project. My dad was very helpful in filling in all of the details.” Renee nodded. “My dad helped me too, but I don’t think I’ll be able to finish my project until July. Just before your birthday, Gabs…” Gina looked at me quizzically. “What about you, Gabby? Has your dad been helping you? Wait…Didn’t you tell us that you don’t have a dad?” I gave her a sad nod. “I have no idea where my dad is.” I told her. “I never met him in my life. When I was born, all I saw was my mother…” “Have you asked your mom about him?” Renee asked me. “I don’t mean to prod…” “It’s okay,” I told her. “I have asked my mother a number of times and she always tells me that she divorced him before I was even born. There’s no information that I can find on him anywhere…” I sighed. “My family tree will be missing my father…I’m going to fail the project…” “See if you can find something,” Gina said, trying to encourage me. I sighed. “I know that my mother does all of her research for Harvard. The problem is that I’m not allowed in her private laboratory or bedroom. Even if she kept any keepsake from my father, I wouldn’t be able to see it. Thanks for the encouragement though…” “Well, I’m getting tired.” Gina said, yawning. “I would like to do the pool party this Friday.” “And we can go to the mall on Saturday.” Renee added. “After that, we can have a sleepover at my house! We can discuss the details tomorrow. All I can say is get ready to stay up late…” I nodded. “It was nice catching up with you all. Good night!” “Good night!” both girls shouted. I glanced at my cell phone. The time was 7:38 PM. I didn’t want to go to bed right away, so I read a little more of my Lord of the Rings book. It was a little after 8:00, so I decided to play Super Mario Odyssey on the Nintendo Switch. I got a few more moons in the Metro Kingdom before I shut off my Switch and called it a night. The time was now 8:53 PM. It was just an hour before I had to go to bed. I charged my cell phone and turned off the lights. I got into my king-sized bed and pulled the covers over me, since the central air was on full blast, and I was freezing. I adjusted my pillow and laid on my side. Moments later, I fell asleep. That night, I had a horrible nightmare. It started with me discovering that my water bottle was empty. I left my room with it and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. I filled my water bottle with more ice and water. That’s when I was hit with a very strong urge to pee. I stood and squirmed as I began to do the potty dance. Fortunately, I was still able to maintain control of my bladder. I took my water bottle up the stairs and noticed the stairs becoming longer and longer with each step. My abdomen ached with the urge to pee again, and I ran up the infinite staircase. Eventually, I somehow reached the top. I then started to run down the hallway, trying to do everything to fight the urge to pee. The hallway started to become longer like the staircase. I made a sprint through the hallway, the endless hallway seeming to go on forever. I noticed the hallway doors to the left and right disappearing before my eyes, but I saw one door in front of me. I ran towards the door, but the hallway seemed to keep stretching forward with each step. Finally, the hallway stopped stretching and I reached for the knob of the door… But it was too late. I felt a wet patch of pee forming on my nightgown before it dripped down the legs to form a puddle. I didn’t make it to the bathroom. I pissed myself. And even worse, I pulled down my nightgown and glanced at my panties. Only it wasn’t my panties. Instead, it was one of my sister’s diapers. I glanced at the shade of yellow that filled the entire crotch area of the diaper. The diaper was entirely soaked and leaking. I then began to cry… I woke up feeling very wet. I got out of bed and lifted up the covers, feeling the pee-soaked night gown stick to my skin. I glanced at the fitted sheet and mattress to see a large wet patch of pee in the center of the bed. I could not believe my eyes. “No no no no no no!” I cried in disbelief. I was both embarrassed and mortified. This was the first time that I pissed myself since I was five years old. That’s when I heard a knock on the door. My heart sank. I am so dead…My heart raced as the knob turned and the door opened. My mother stood there and immediately began to take in her surroundings before a look of shock came over her face. She looked at me with her mouth wide open. “Gabby…” she said in a tone that indicated that I was clearly guilty and in a lot of trouble. “You wet the bed! You peed all over yourself and…” she did not finish her sentence. Instead, she angerly pointed in the direction of the bathroom. “Just go and get a shower. I’ll get someone to clean this up…” My mother got out her cellphone while I walked towards the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of my cell phone before I entered the bathroom to clean up. 9:14 AM. I hurriedly took off my pee-soaked nightgown, bra, and panties and took a shower. When I was finished, I wrapped myself in a towel and exited the bathroom. My mother was still standing in my room, waiting for one of our maids to go and take care of my soaked bedding. Trying to help the situation, I fully explained my dream to my mother. She gave me a stern look and gazed into my eyes. “So, you tried to use the bathroom in your dream?” She pointed to the soaked bedding. “That was just an accident, Gabby. Don’t let it happen again.” To make matters worse, my mother went and brought Abby into the room. She showed Abby the scene of my accident and pointed at me. “You see your sister there, Abby? Gabby had an accident. Now big girls aren’t supposed to have accidents. So, I will give her the benefit of the doubt for this one. But if it happens three more times, mommy is going to take away Gabby’s underwear, and she’s going to wear Pull Ups.” She then turned her face towards me and raised her voice. “Do I make myself clear, Gabby?” I nodded. But my mother wasn’t done. She looked at me and pointed in the direction of the bed. “Stand over there.” She then looked back at my baby sister. “You see Gabby there? Gabby is a naughty girl, and mommy’s going to teach her a lesson.” She walked over to me and firmly grabbed my neck, making me drop my bath towel. I was now standing completely naked in front of my mother and sister. She then pressed my face into the pee-soaked bedding. I closed my mouth so I wouldn’t get any piss in it. I started to lift my face up, but she pushed my face even harder into the soaked bedding. “Don’t move!” A few seconds later, I felt a sting of pain on my behind. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! My mother screamed at the top of her lungs, beating me hard with each syllable. “You! Will! Not! Wet! The! Bed! Any! More!” My eyes filled with tears, and they began to drip onto the soaked bedding that my face was pressed into. My mother then pulled me by the hair off of the bedding and then turned my face towards hers. “Gabby, you have three strikes,” she warned. “Three strikes and you lose your big girl privileges. Don’t you dare disappoint me.” She left the room with my sister, who looked just as numb as the other day. Seriously. I have never seen my sister truly happy before. What is wrong with her? I looked at the soaked bedding. What is wrong with me? I haven’t wet the bed since I was five and now a maid has to clean this up. I thought about the accident and how much of a fluke it was. My mother was right. It was just an accident. And the sharp pain that I felt from her beating reminded me of it. But I only had three strikes. Three strikes until I was in Pull Ups. I haven’t worn Pull Ups since I was three years old. That accident that I had at five was also a fluke, so there wasn’t any Pull Ups or diapers that she had me wear. Just three strikes. But with this bedwetting being only a fluke, I don’t expect to use any of them. I just hoped that I was right.

Sarah's mom is a strict disciplinarian, with rules for anything and everything. When the 14-year-old girl begins to wet her pants again, will she be able to avoid getting caught in the web of all her mother's rules? Her mother is currently attempting to potty train Sarah's 3-year-old sister, Emilia, and it's been a disaster so far. Her mother has instituted a strict regimen of potty-training rules for Emilia, and as Sarah begins to experience an ever-increasing amount of daytime and bedwetting accidents, she must navigate school, sleepovers, cheerleading practices, and a new friendship while attempting to keep her condition a secret. --- Note: I initially wrote this story under the MinnesotaWriter username, which I have since updated to AB_DeLane to be consistent with my pen name on Amazon and the other sites I post stories on. Links to all of my stories are available at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com Chapter 1: Crime and Punishment Christmas was my mother’s favorite time of the year. Can’t say the same for myself. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I liked Christmas as much as any other kid. Racing down the stairs at the crack of dawn to get the first glimpse of the surprises beneath the tree. Decorating cookies. And candy canes. I absolutely loved candy canes. But Mom took it to the extreme. And by extreme, I mean that I’d just stepped off the bus to the sight of her at the top of a ladder stringing lights across the front of the house. It was the first week of October. I did my best to keep a straight face despite the giggles coming from my friends Desi and Samantha. They knew the drill, but it didn’t make the situation any less funny to them. At least this year, Mom was not putting up Christmas-themed Halloween decorations. Skeleton Santa, anybody? Yeah, no thanks. I try not to make eye contact with Mom. I swear she was always trying to come up with new ways to embarrass me. She had on the absolute worst Christmas sweater, which was saying a lot because she’s got a closet full of them. It was unusually chilly for a fall day in New Mexico, and any excuse to wear a sweater was a good one for her. Walking quietly up the driveway, I nearly reached the front door - Christmas wreath on it and all - without catching her eye. Like I’d ever gotten away with that. “Sarah,” Mom yelled. “Make sure to check up on your sister before you start your homework. It’s been about thirty minutes.” “Sure thing, Mom,” I reply, followed by a sigh that was too small for her to notice. I might be turning fifteen soon, but any noticeable back-talk or back-anything meant risking some hard swats to my bottom. Having been an only child for the first eleven years of my existence, I was so thrilled when Emilia was born three-and-a-half years ago. I had helped decorate Emilia’s nursery, picking out all the colors and accessories. I even arrived at the hospital all proud with by big sister shirt on. That thrill had lasted all of three weeks until I graduated from adoring older sister to unpaid babysitter. And don’t tell me it builds character. I’d heard that cliché more than enough. I opened the door to the sound of “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas” serenading through the house, followed by the pitter-patter of bare feet scrambling across the wood floor. “You’re home! You’re home,” Emilia yelled as she rushed around the corner and gave me a hug around my waist. I mean, of course, I’m home. Not like Mom usually let me go anywhere else after school was out. Fourteen might be old enough to babysit my sister, but Mom didn’t think it was old enough to do things like sleepovers. Emilia was dressed in a pink Minnie Mouse t-shirt with a matching pink Minnie Mouse pull-up. If you were wondering what Mom had asked me to check, let’s just say my latest responsibility was being conscripted into the great potty-training war. This was our third attempt. Unfortunately, Mom hadn’t found my jokes about “World War Pee” to be particularly funny. We had made two heroic attempts at potty-training already: once when Emilia had turned two and again after her third birthday. We tried every tactic we could think of. Stickers, charts, rewards, special “big-girl” panties, potty-training toilets in every room of the house. There was a week where we had let Emilia just run around naked. That was such a mess. Mom had even half-joked about having me wear pull-ups to model good potty-training behavior for Emilia. I’m so glad she didn’t go through with that. This time around, though, we needed to succeed. There weren’t any other options. Emilia would be kicked out of her preschool if she wasn’t toilet trained by her fourth birthday. Mom threw a fuss with the daycare, but I don’t blame them. Who wants to be changing a four-year-old’s dirty diaper? I sure as heck didn't. Our most recent strategy was for Emilia to be wearing a special potty-training watch that went off every thirty minutes to remind her to go to the toilet. We’ve given up on those plastic potty-chairs - such a pain to clear up after - and had instead settled for a toddler seat that could be quickly placed on the toilet in our lone bathroom. “Guess what? Guess What?” Emilia clamored while giggling. “I’ve been dry all day.” I’m a bit skeptical of that statement. Emilia isn’t very good at noticing her accidents. What was that phrase Mr. Higgins had taught us from that president recently in history class? Oh yeah, “Trust, but verify.” Emilia smelled good, at least, so she hasn’t done a number two. That was a relief. The last thing I needed right now was a poopy pull-up to change. I checked the front of her pull-up as well, and the wetness indicators were, surprisingly enough, all still unchanged. Guess she was dry after all. At home, Mom never let Emilia wear anything to cover her pull-up. She wanted to always be able to know right away whether it was dry, wet, or messy. Beep, beep, beep, beep. Well, Mom was right about the timer needing to go off. “Come on, kiddo, it’s time to get you on the potty,” I said, grabbing Emilia by the hand. This was followed by her usual, drawn-out protestations: “I don’t have to go. I don’t. I don’t have to. I... I don’t.” Then she stomped her feet and started to pout. Emilia wouldn’t have dared to do that with Mom, but I’m the good cop after all. On other days, I might have attempted to gently cajole her into cooperation. Today I wasn’t having any of it. I grabbed her under the armpits with both hands and hauled her off to the bathroom with her whining all the way. A few minutes later, it turned out that she had needed to pee after all. With the potty-training out of the way - for half-an-hour at least - I raced off to the kitchen to get an after-school snack. A few minutes of looking through the cupboards, fridge, and pantry left me feeling less hungry. There isn’t junk food of any type in sight. Mom had been on a health binge recently. I settle for a bag of veggie chips instead. I take a look at my own watch. Thankfully, it didn’t come with a timer telling me when I had to go to the bathroom. But I had to start doing homework at 4:30 p.m. That’s another one of Mom’s rules. So that gave me just about twenty minutes or so to relax. I wasn’t the only one getting a break. Mom was in the living room as well, showing Emilia how to put together a simple puzzle - of Minnie Mouse no less, cause that was my sister’s thing right now. I had barely been on the couch for just a couple seconds when Mom interrupted me. “Did you wash your hands before you started eating, young lady?” she asked. Mom had certain ways of saying things. Young lady means she knows full well what the truthful answer was. Any attempt to fib your way out of the situation would be futile. “I’ll do it right now,” I replied. I didn’t want to outright admit how close I had come to breaking one of her rules. “Remember, twenty seconds,” Mom yelled after I had already headed off to the bathroom sink. When I came back to the living room, I wanted to take over the TV. There had to be something entertaining on. But I knew better than to interrupt what Mom was watching - home videos of our previous Christmas mornings. Look, most families videotape their Christmas mornings, and then that’s the end of it. They might upload it to YouTube or let the tapes collect dust in a cardboard box in the basement. But my mom, she loves to go back and watch them. It gets her in the Christmas spirit. I grabbed a library book instead and picked up from where I had left my last bookmark. “Why is Sarah wearing a pull-up?” Emilia interjected suddenly. I was confused at first. I mean, I had panties on, after all. Then it dawned on me. Bless young children and their questions. I looked up from my book to the video playing on the TV. The slightly grainy footage must have been about six years old. But there I was, clear as day, opening presents next to the Christmas tree while wearing no clothing other than a pull-up adorned with a colorful assortment of flowers and butterflies. The pull-up was sagging between my legs and clearly soaked. I looked at the screen awkwardly for a few more seconds as felt my face go flush red before turning back to intently looking at my book. Yes, I used to be a bedwetter, and my mom had ample evidence of it for all posterity. That was not something I liked being reminded about and was certainly not a subject I cared for my blabbermouth of a sister to be aware of. OK, this was too embarrassing. I hopped off the couch, tossed my empty bowl into the sink, and walked toward my bedroom. Getting an early start on homework was better than watching videos of myself in pull-ups. By my room, I really meant our room. Cause three people in a two-bedroom house means someone ends up sharing. Which was why I’m stuck in a room with my little sister. Sharing a room with a baby, or for that matter, a toddler that isn’t toilet trained, sucks. There was always that lingering, hard to describe diaper smell that seems to persist despite the mighty powers of the Febreze can I keep in the top drawer of my dresser. I opened my backpack and pulled out the new book we were studying in my AP Literature class, “Crime and Punishment.” Earlier today, I had struggled not to laugh when Mrs. Whittleworth passed out copies of the Dostoevsky novel. Crime and punishment. That was the story of my life, if there ever was one. Mom was big on rules. That was kind of her thing. And not just the normal rules a kid might have, like “no curse words” or “eat your veggies before your dessert.” My life was highly regulated. If I ever got a grade on any school assignment, that was less than an “A.” Well, that’s a spanking. My butt still hurts when I think about the one time I got a “D” on a test. With rules, come punishments, and I’d experienced every one known to childkind. Time-outs. Getting grounded. Having my mouth washed out with soap. And spankings. That was Mom’s favorite. She cherishes her grandfather’s wooden paddle like it was an actual family heirloom. Once I logged into the computer at my desk, I made sure not to go to any sites that weren’t educational. Yes, Mom tracks where I go online, and, yes, if I waste time watching cat videos on YouTube I’ll likely not be allowed to touch the computer for the rest of the week. I logged into the website our school uses to let us track homework assignments and grades. “Shit!” I said. I didn’t like what I saw, and I was glad Mom was far enough away not to hear me. Stupid Mr. Higgins had given me a “C” on that quiz on President Reagan from earlier this week. What could I have gotten wrong? Getting a “B” wasn’t too bad, especially if it was a “B+.” But a “C?” That wasn’t going to make things fun tonight. I did, however, have something going for me. Mom had one means of grace. If I’d broken a rule, and I told her rather than try to hide it or make her wait and find out herself, the punishment was usually a lot less. Mom did check my grades every couple weeks, but I would have heard it from her already if she’d seen it. I’d gotten better at avoiding spankings recently, but I didn't think I could get Mom in a good enough mood to talk her out of them for that bad of a grade on an assignment. But I didn’t have to decide immediately. There was not any chance she checks my grades from the living room couch. Instead, I grabbed “Crime and Punishment” and jumped onto my bed, only to be greeted with a loud, crinkling sound. So irritating. Normally, I wouldn’t pay attention to the crinkle coming from the plastic mattress cover on my bed. But after the video, it was just another awkward reminder of my bedwetting phase that I’d really rather put behind me. It wasn’t that Mom had been mean or strict about it, but it had still just been such a humiliating experience. What was funny about the bedwetting was that Mom was nicer, a little, about nighttime accidents. I’d heard that the condition - I forget the medical name for it - was hereditary, but no way would I ever ask her about it. I had wet the bed nearly every night until I was about nine. Mom never made too much of a fuss about it besides making me wear pull-ups every night and keeping a plastic cover on my mattress. I had to stay dry a whole month before I was allowed to stop with the pull-ups, but no matter how hard I asked, the plastic sheet was there to stay. That, and the reminders every night that I go potty before bed, you know, just in case, like I wasn’t a fully toilet trained teenager. The rules Mom was more stringent on were the ones about daytime potty-training. It almost made me feel bad for my bratty sister. Almost, but not really. The potty-training rules were as follows: No big girl panties unless you’ve gone seven straight days with no accidents. Any accident, no matter the reason, meant you were back in pull-ups. If you had two accidents in the same day, you’d be back in diapers for all the next day. Once every thirty minutes, you had to sit on the potty for three minutes. No lying about whether you’ve had an accident. Yeah, it’s strict, but I mean, I was potty-trained during the day before I turned two, according to my mom. And Desi and Samantha’s younger siblings, who I think were around the same age as Emilia, all were perfectly capable of using the toilet on their own. Who knew what was wrong with Emilia? I flipped through the first few pages of the book. I hated AP Lit. This book was going to be the death of me. I’d only got five weeks to read and then write a report on it. Maybe I’d ask Desi for help. At least she can get onto CliffsNotes without her parents caring or noticing. As I read through the opening chapter, I couldn’t help going back to think about my own impending punishment. After fifteen minutes and only three pages, I decided that I may as well get it over with. I set the book down and headed back toward the living room. I tried to be calm as I walked into the room. I really did. But Mom must have some sort of sixth sense cause she caught on right away that I was apprehensive about something. “Sweetie, what was wrong?” Mom asked. Sweetie, now that’s another one of my mom’s keywords. She does that when she suspects I’d done something wrong, but doesn’t know what. I could still back out now, tell her that everything was OK and hold off for another day. But though I had walked into the room determined to get the spanking over with, the words just stayed stuck in my mouth, refusing to come out. Mom gets what was going on. “Do you have something you need to tell me?” she asked. I nod and walk up to her. I know the drill. This scene had played out hundreds of times before in my life. I could recite it as well as any of the lines from my school play. But just like in real life, when it comes time to go before an audience, I always mucked it up. “Mom, I broke your rule about getting good school grades,” I spat out, garbling all the words together. “No, say that slower and enunciate your words.” “I got a ‘C’ on a quiz in my American History class,” I said crisply and clearly, with my eyes pointing down at my feet. “No, young lady, you look me in the eye while I’m talking to you.” I matched my mom’s eye and felt my face go full red. Oh, I hated how I had no control over my blushing. It just always seemed to amply the shame that I felt. I repeated about how I had gotten a ‘C’ on the quiz. “And why was it wrong for you to get that grade?” “Because I need to be an ‘A’ student so I can get a good scholarship and go to college.” “And what is the punishment for getting a ‘C’ on an assignment?” This was trickier, you see. While my mom had punishments, they weren’t always consistent. Make it too easier, and she might go a lot harder on you. But if you gave yourself too much of a punishment, well, you were stuck with that as well. I decided to play it cautiously. “A spanking.” Mom gave me that look. And I knew right away I had given the wrong answer. “And just how many spankings was that punishment going to be,” she said. I hesitated, which was bad. I’m always bad at thinking on my feet. I spat out the first number that comes to mind. “Twenty.” Bad, bad, bad idea Sarah. Twenty was more than I’d gotten when I’d burnt dinner and set off the fire alarm. I probably could have gotten away with just five. But Mom didn’t object, didn’t say that seems like a bit much. She just gave a soft smile and stood up from the couch. It was so unfair. “Hold still and lift up your shirt a little,” Mom said. I complied without saying a word. The shock of impending spankings was still fresh. Why, why, why did I have to suggest twenty of them? I pulled my shirt up just enough to reveal the top of my jeans and my belt. I felt Mom’s hands as she undid my belt buckle and then pulled the entire belt loose. Next, she unbuttoned my jeans, pulled them off my hips, and let them fall down. Mom sat back down on the couch. She didn’t have to say what I was to do next. I already knew. I stepped out of the jeans, leaving them in a pile in front of the couch and carefully lay on the couch facedown so that my bottom was directly on my mom’s lap. My head was facing the TV, which only added to the humiliation. The video was paused right at an angle where you could fully see how wet the pull-up was. Yellow and saggy. Why couldn’t Mom have changed me out of it before opening presents? Emilia had stopped building her puzzle, which was about halfway done, a look of puzzlement on her face. It had been a while since I’d been spanked. Who knows, maybe she doesn’t even remember having witnessed it before. I sure as heck didn’t want an audience for this. “Emilia,” Mom said. “Go get the black bag that was in mommy’s closet.” I should have known I wasn’t going to get away with her not using a paddle. We live in a small house. It shouldn’t have taken even Emilia more than a minute to grab the bag. But it felt like an eternity. Why did I have to get a stupid “C” on that quiz, anyway? All I had wanted was to get the spanking done and over with quickly, but it kept getting drawn out. The pitter-patter of Emilia’s feet signaled that she had at last come back to the room. The plain, black gym bag was what Mom used to keep all her disciplinary supplies in. Several types of paddles. Non-toxic soap to wash out mouths. Lotions and ointments for treatment after a spanking. The next choice Mom makes would greatly determine my level of discomfort. Please, please, please don’t use the wooden paddle, I prayed silently. After Mom had finished rustling through the bag, I saw Emilia come back into view, sitting on the floor next to the coffee table where she had been working on her puzzle. But she hadn’t gone back to playing. She was facing me with a curious look in her eyes. My face was burning now. Why couldn’t Mom just send her away? Without any warning, Mom pulled down my panties to expose my bare bottom. Oh great, this was it. She held the paddle against my bottom to line it up. And she had chosen the wooden one. I’d gone a year without getting a wooden paddle spanking. Smack. The first whack knocked the breath out of me. I was barely able to squelch a sob. The strikes proceeded likely clockwork every five seconds. One after another. Left. Right. Left. Right. I was able to hold out for the first few swats. But the tears and cries of pain were inevitable. Emilia watched the entire time. And that brat even started giggling. Suddenly, as quickly as they had started, the spankings came to a stop. The only sound in the room was my heavy breath and receding sobs. A cool sensation covered my bottom as Mom rubbed a lotion into my skin. Despite the relief it was giving, I knew sitting would be a pain in the you know what for the next week. Mom pulled my underwear back up and helped me sit on her lap. Her hand took a firm grip of my chin as she held my face steady with hers. “There, there,” she said. “Now, what lesson have you learned from this?” “I’ll study harder and get good grades. I promise.” I couldn’t help it. All the pent-up emotion, pain, and tension had to come loose again. The floodgates burst open, and I cried and cried and cried into Mom’s shoulder as she rubbed my back. It was over. Thank goodness it was over. Another beeping found filled the house. But it wasn’t Emilia’s watch. Mom quickly set me down on the couch. “Put your jeans back on and help your sister clean up her toys while I get the casserole out of the oven,” she said. Just the effort of sitting up and pulling on my jeans was enough to remind me of how sore I was going to be. As I finished pulling on my jeans, the sight of Emilia sitting in front of me gave me an idea about how to teach that brat that it was not nice to laugh when your sister was getting spanked. I reached down and ever so gently gave her the slightest of tickles, enough for her to feel my touch, but hopefully not enough to blame me for what was about to happen. If there was one way in which my sister and I were most alike was that we were super ticklish at even the slightest touch. I knew all her weak spots. The result was exactly what I had hoped for. Emilia jumped up with a little squeal and placed both hands on the front of her pull-up. I didn’t even need to look at the wetness indicator to know what had just happened. “Mom,” I yelled, doing my best to keep the satisfaction out of my voice. “Emilia just had an accident.” Karma may not be a bitch, but it certainly was a wet pull-up.

Well, I know I have some other works that I need to really get done, but this little idea popped into my head last night, and it wouldn't go away until I wrote a chapter for it. So, here's The Infant's Guide to Reaching Purgatory~ Some things to note before we get started: Firstly, the content warnings are very real. Pay attention to the tags before you jump in and read. If it's not for you, you are absolutely not obligated to read, and that's perfectly okay. Secondly, this is not meant as a religion-bashing story, and I will not make it one. I am not religious in the slightest myself (and some of the things that the characters say do not reflect my beliefs), but I respect all creeds. It's just that this story is set in hell, for the very most part. No, it's not a Hellaverse fic: just a babyfur story that happens to be set in a different sort of hell. Finally, it is a very short prologue, and I apologize for not being able to get back into the swing of things in my other stories. I just needed to write something down and post it. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Now, without further delay, let's get into this story: - Prologue - “What do you MEAN, ‘I’m going to Hell’?!” The female red wolf had all but screamed those words, lashing her tail to-and-fro, nude as the day she was born (to her utmost dismay as she continued to cover herself with her paws and tail as best as she could; the angels said that earthly clothes couldn’t be taken to the afterlife), standing on the clouds that made up the surface of whatever judgment chambers there were in Heaven. Fuck, even the walls and ceiling were covered in clouds. She was utterly incensed. How dare these fucking self-righteous hypocrites say she was damned?! What did they know about her life?! What did they know about her?! The swan-winged figure looked at her coldly. Gender and species were impossible to identify with the angel’s robes, the heavenly halo shining upon its masked face. “Violet Valencia Bailey,” the voice intoned, neither male nor female. “Please don’t make this as drawn out as it could be. You’ve been judged by your actions and sins, and-” “I WANNA KNOW WHY!” Violet snarled furiously. “Please don’t interrupt me when I’m talking. You know why. Your last actions literally spelled it out.” “Unless you think suicide is a sin all of a sudden?” the red wolf huffed, wishing she had something, anything, really, to cover her body. Even a towel would be nice… “I’d say brutally murdering your husband in cold blood gets-” “YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID TO ME, IF YOU’RE SO FUCKING ALL POWERFUL-” “Please do not interrupt me, and please do not curse. His actions were detestable. Yours are inexcusable, and you don’t even have the good grace to admit it.” “Bullshit! I did what any sane woman would’ve done to a fucking bastard like him!” “Please stop curs-” “Make me!” “Don’t - interrupt me - again.” “Make me! You’re not my parents!” “And thank the Lord Almighty I’m not. You’re acting like a petulant child.” “Fuck off, chickenwing! If you’re going to send me down to Hell anyway, when I don’t deserve it, you’re goddamned right I’m gonna chew your ass out!” The masked figure sighed and pulled out an odd circular object that Violet assumed was a phone of some kind (and it sucked that she couldn’t bring her phone with her to the afterlife. Seriously, the afterlife could go screw itself, at this point.). “We have a Code Sunshine, repeat, Code Sunshine,” the figure said in a bored tone. The red wolf was suddenly confused. “Sunshine?” she asked. “It means you’re getting what you’ve rightfully earned,” the angelic figure said, and Violet could practically hear the smug smile on their face that she knew they were hiding behind their mask. “It’s been a while since this code was used. You might want to give us some entertainment.” “Entertainment? The fuck are you talking about?! You sick fucks like to watch animals get tortured, don’t you?!” “You’ll see what happens. I bet you last a week before you’re begging for Lucifer’s deepest, darkest pits. Or three days before she has you right where she wants you.” “Huh?” Violet felt herself sinking through the clouds, and she howled in distress - she hated heights, hated them, hated them, hated them - before her entire body slipped through, and she began to freefall through the air, her spirit plummeting to earth as she continued screaming in terror, flailing for any purchase where there was none, her soul dropping like a stone. She saw the ground fly up to meet her, and she held her paws out to protect her face, awaiting the crash. Only she didn’t crash; the second Violet’s spirit hit the ground, she began to sink through the inky black, like she was going into water in the night. Her arms and legs were forced up to her chin, tail curled around her waist, as if she was a fetus again, her body compacting from the pressure. “OH?” a masculine voice rang out, sounding very amused. “So, you managed to anger an Archangel enough for them to request a Code Sunshine. Can I have your name?” “Who the fuck are you?” Violet snapped, her voice sounding oddly tiny for a fully-grown she-wolf. “Are you some demon who’s gonna try to torture me, asshole?” “Well, I can certainly see why they requested it.” The voice was still amused. “Let me see…what is your crime…oh, right here, they texted it to me. Heaven can be so kind in those cases…” “Who the fuck are you?!” the red wolf repeated furiously. “Ahem, Violet Valencia Bailey the red wolf, you brutally murdered your husband, Dirk Arnold Stauss the Tapanuli orangutan, with a shotgun…multiple shots before he was finally killed-” “Shut up!” Violet snarled, baring her fangs, wishing for the millionth time that she wasn’t naked. The demon continued as if she had never spoken, “-then committed suicide after the murder-” “SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Violet screamed into the inky blackness, her voice as loud and forceful as a puppy’s. "-aborted his potential children without his knowledge in the past, refusing them a life when you had other options-" "GOD DAMN YOU, GO SUCK YOUR FUCKING DICK!" “And you had arguments with him as well,” the voice finished with a thunderous ending in his tone, far more powerful than hers. “Do you deny any of this?” The red wolf was shaking, her fur bristling with rage. “Does anyone realize why I did this?! Do you even fucking CARE, you unfair piece of shit?!" “Fairness in Hell? Do not make me scoff. He is damned as well; there is your 'fairness'. The difference between this man and you is that he did not act childishly when confronted with his wrongdoings. He freely admitted his sins, boasted that he was proud of them, despite knowing very well they were wrong; he is facing his eternal punishment as we speak. Deep down, I think you do know you were not in the right either. What is the saying, ‘two wrongs do not make a right?’” “Shut up! You don’t know shit about me!” The voice sighed. “I cannot continue this conversation with someone so immature. I will leave you to the Grand Duchess, Astaroth. May this be the last time we meet.” “What?” Violet felt a burning charge go through her soul, trillions upon trillions of times both hotter and colder than she had ever felt in her twenty-five years of life on earth, unable to even scream out her pain in response - and after the charge lanced through every part of her that remained, her conscious thoughts slipped into darkness. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Jill woke up refreshed. She felt good until she checked her diaper. It was soaked. This made seven nights in a row. She looked at her calendar. She only dry three times in a whole month. She put herself back into nighttime diapers at the start of the month and things didn't look good. She wrote down "Wet" to end the month. She got her phone out and opened the Dress App. She set the settings to what she would wear.Mary had told her what she needed to wear. The diaper was replaced with heavy duty Pull-Ups. She wished it was normal underwear but it was better than diapers. A skirt, just below the knees, with Hello Kitty on it came next. The padded bra was next. Just big enough so it look like she did have something. Over that was a Hello Kitty Peter Pan collar shirt. All looked cute but still more like an adult. She got a text from Mary. "Are you up?' "Yes," "Were you dry?" "No," "Are you dressed properly?" "Yes," "Your ride should be there in thirty minutes. There will be a Starbucks pickup for you." "Thanks," She was out and ready for the Uber lift. They stopped at Starbucks for her Pumpkin Chi tea lattie, Venti Size with a snack. She was half done by the time she got to the golf course. Mary was there waiting with both set of golf clubs. They did warms ups while waiting for their tee times. Mary said, "Can you keep under five accidents this time and avoid Pull-Ups for a week?" Jill said, "I hope to avoid any accidents. Maybe get you to have a few accidents." "In your dreams." They got their ear buds in and phones linked to they can talk even if far apart. When their names were called they went to the started. The started confirmed their start time. "No one is in front of you. Your daughter and you should have no one to wake for. What grade is she in, sixth or seventh?" Jill wanted to say that she was twenty years old but Mary wouldn't allow her to say that. "She's twelve but she's only in the fifth grade. She has been held back." They got to the first tee. "Why did you tell him that?" "Makes me feel young to have daughter that's only in elementary school." "I'm not your daughter." "Details. This only role playing for fun." The first hole was a par five. Jill went first. Her first shot was straight for a hundred yards. A good begining. Mary's shot was just to left in rough, about ninety yards. As they head to their balls, Mary asked, "How many dry nights have had this month?" "Just three." "Send me a log." Jill sent it. The log not only had have often but how much she wet. Her phone kept track as well as physical calendar she kept. Mary got to her ball. This time she was on the fairway. Jill's was further and also on the fairway. "These don't look good. Not only are you a frequent wetter but heavy wetter as well. You need to add a night-time bottle and sleep with a dollie." Jill didn't like that. It would make her accidents even worse. She knew what would happen if she started to leak. Three more strokes and Jill was on the green. Mary was just off. "I don't want to have to switch to cloth diaper or double diapering." Mary smiled. ''Well, then don't leak." Mary chipped on within a foot. Jill have a ten foot putt. She needed this to win the hold. At first it looked like it would miss on the left but then broke and went in Jill had won the first hole. She just needed two more so could use the toilet. And with luck Mary would have an accident. Jill said, "I'm one up." This was good start.

Hi Everyone. Long time enjoyer of the forum, first time poster. I've enjoyed reading stories about ABDL for many years now, both on her and across the rest of the vast internet. I'm not new to writing, however this is my first ABDL story that I've written, or at least the first one that I felt good enough about to post. I posted this story first on the abdlstories subreddit, and decided "Hey, why not post it here too." I've completed only 2 chapters so far, but I'll continue working on this story. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and I welcome any sort of criticism. Thank you. Chapter 1: A Day of Relaxation Gone Awry June 2nd, 2023. 2:13pm “Wow, what a shitshow.” I say with a sigh as I unlock the door, stepping into the house. Another tedious day at work. I swear, people always think data entry is an easy position; well I’d like to see them try dealing with the shit I have to deal with. If it’s not my supervisor breathing down my neck, it’s one of my colleagues needing some help with a monotonous task. “Well, at least I got off early today.” I couldn’t be happier with the early release. Mostly because I was about 2 seconds from murdering that idiot Beth. Seriously, how hard is it to save a spreadsheet before you close it out! Well, whatever. Not my problem anymore; at least for the weekend. I hang my coat up on the rack, kick my heels off, and sluggishly make my way over to the couch. I sit down, feeling the weight of the day release from my shoulders. Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, I turn on the T.V and begin to scroll through Netflix, hoping to find something to distract me from my hellish day. From across the house, I can hear the shower running, and a smile forms on my face. No matter what bullshit I have to deal with, I know it will be alright. I know I can come home to my favorite person: Emma. I hear the sound of water cease, and a few moments later, I see what I can only describe as the definition of beauty exit the bathroom. Her long, dark brown hair hanging over her shoulder, still damp from the shower. Her skin covered by a towel around her waist, leaving me just able to see glimpses of her fair, glistening skin. I watch as she begins to head to the bedroom, before doing a double take towards me. I watch as her face brightens up. “Roxie! I didn’t know you’d be home so early! How was work?” She walks over to me and pecks me on the cheek, careful not to let her towel fall. “If I have to fix one of Beth’s screw ups one more time, I’m gonna demand a raise for the extra work.” I say, half sarcastically, but with a hint of seriousness within. “She somehow manages to make extra work for me to do on a daily basis.” I shouldn’t be too hard on Beth. I mean sure, she fucks up a lot, but it’s not exactly her fault. Beth joined the company a couple years back as a receptionist, and she really flourished. I remember when I went in for my interview, and she made me feel welcome, calming my nerves. I’d even go as far to say that she was my first friend over there .Unfortunately, the company has been short staffed these past few months, and moved her over to the data entry department. It’s not like she’s the worst member on the team either. Data entry just isn’t her specialty. Most of the time, I don’t even mind helping her out, but with the rest of today…well I guess it just got on my nerves. “I feel bad for her.” Emma remarks. “It can’t be easy being moved around the company like that.” “Yeah, I know. I’ll text her later and tell her not to worry.” I just hope I don’t forget. My brain feels overworked today. I look up at the clock and take note of the time: 2:30. “Hey babe, don’t you have that meeting in an hour?” A look of surprise shoots across Emma’s face, and I can see a bit of panic in her eyes. “Dammit, I thought I had more time! Oh shit, where did I put my outfit…wait yeah I laid it out on the bed! Sorry babe, we’ll talk more later!” “Do you want some help getting ready?” I ask, wanting to remove some of her worry. “No, I should be fine. You just relax for now. You’ve had a long enough day already.” With a second peck on the cheek, I watch as she hurries her way to the bedroom door, hips swaying as I watch her disappear behind the doorframe. I feel sorry for her at times. Being an account manager for her company's high level executives comes with many perks: free travel, time off and a lucrative salary being some awesome bonuses. However, it also means having to make herself available for dinner meetings, out of state conferences, and other hindrances. I decide to resume my task, and after a couple more minutes of scrolling, I settle on a classic; She-Ra. God, I can’t count how many times I’ve rewatched this series, but here I am, going down the rabbit hole once again. I watch as the red N flashes across the screen, and the title intro plays. After a few minutes, I begin to feel a bit parched, and decide a cool beverage is in order. I get up and make my way to the kitchen. As I walk, I hear Emma getting louder in the bedroom. If I had to guess, she misplaced something. “Where the hell did I put those earrings?!? Come on, I just had…oh, they’re on the desk.” I chuckle to myself. This is pretty normal for Emma, rushing to get ready. I know to give her some space when she gets heated like that, so I continue to the kitchen. Reaching into the fridge, I grab 2 cans of Diet Coke. “It’s not like I wanna get back up later.” I reason to myself. Satisfied with my choice of soft drink, I make my way back to the living room. “Damn, I missed Adora finding the sword!” Having seen the show more times than I care to admit, I elect to not rewind, and just continue watching. I watch through to the credits of the first episode before I hear the bedroom door open. Emma walks out, her outfit finally complete. “How do I look? Ready for business?” She asks, fishing for a compliment. “You look gorgeous as always.” I say, sincere in my words. To me, she is, and will always be the most beautiful woman in the world. Today though, her look is that of an absolute professional. Her white, button down shirt buttoned up, with her black blazer overtop, just screams “I know what I’m talking about” while her ironed dress pants complete the ensemble. She looks at me and her lips, crimson lipstick freshly applied, turn into a smile, and a slight blush appears on her face, clearly enjoying what she heard. “Hearing that makes the effort worth it.” I watch as she walks over to the door, grabbing her purse off the coffee table along the way. As she pulls out her keyring from the bag, she turns to me. “I’m not sure how long this meeting will run, but I’m willing to guess it will be a few hours. You know Andrew; he never shuts up.” She didn’t have to remind me. Andrew is her partner at the company, and he truly doesn’t know how to stop talking. When I first met him at the company Christmas party, he went on and on for over an hour about his trip to the Florida Keys. I was only able to escape due to Emma’s timely rescue. He’s a nice guy, don’t get me wrong, but man can he chat your ear off. “Yeah, don’t let him go off the rails again, or you may not come back till tomorrow.” Emma chuckles at my remark, before opening the door. “Okay, well I’ll see you afterwards, no matter the time.” She jokes back. “Love you Roxie, and don’t forget to message Beth!” “Oh shit, thanks!” I can’t believe I already forgot. “I love you too Amore.” I didn’t learn many words from my heritage, but I learned that one. I should really learn more Italian though. With one last smile, I watch as Emma walks through the door, locking it behind her. A couple moments later, I hear the sound of her BMW starting up, before quieting down as she pulls out of the driveway. I sigh, missing her already. With nothing else to do, I return my attention to the T.V, noticing half of the episode having played whilst my attention was pulled. “Aw man, I’m missing all the good parts.” I say before pausing the episode. I sit back, contemplating what else I can do to pass the time. Just then, a realization strikes me; I have the place to myself for a few hours, and no plans for the rest of the day. I smirk as I figure out my new plan. I have a chance to engage in my own little secret. I get up from the couch and, with a brisk pace, I make my way over to the spare bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I lock it out of habit. I know I have the place to myself, but I still can’t get over my fear of being discovered in my secret activity. I walk over to the guest bed, and bend down, getting on my knees. I reach my hand underneath the frame, feeling around until I find what I'm looking for. With a bit of effort, I pull a wooden chest out from underneath the bed. A simple design, one almost wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, at least until they look at the heavy duty lock on the front. I walk over to the walk-in closet, and head to the back, finding the second part of my lengthy process of hiding my secret. I open up a shoe box filled with a pair of old sneakers. I reach my way into the right shoe, and pull out a small key. I then return the shoe box to its place, and return to the chest. Placing the key into the slot, I twist it with shaking hands, my excitement building with each passing moment. With a click, the lock unlatches, and I place it off to the side, making sure to leave the key inside so I don’t forget where I put it. I slowly open the lid, and reveal my secret treasures. Inside the hidden chest, there are many different items that share the same theme. In secret, I am an ABDL. I’ve had a love and fascination for the kink for as long as I can remember. Once I moved in with Emma, I locked my stuff away in secret, afraid that she would think I’m some kind of degenerate…and I wouldn’t be able to stand that. Pushing that dark thought aside, I look over my collection of goodies, and after a moment, I pull out my first item. I’ve always been a bit of a goth, so when I found out about Rearz Rebel design, it was a perfect match for my aesthetic. I pull out the thick padding, and trace my fingers over the small skulls placed throughout. I quickly pull myself out of my mini trance, and grab the rest of my changing supplies before throwing them on the mattress. I lay myself down next to the supplies, before unbuttoning my black jeans, slipping them off of my legs and letting them fall to the floor. I take a look at my panties, looking over the similar design, black with little white skulls throughout. “No more panties today!” I say, making myself chuckle at my own bravado, before sliding those off as well. I then unfold my diaper, and place it underneath my rear, making sure to get the positioning just right. Once situated, I take a quick look at my body. While the hormones had done a bit of shrinkage, I still had a rather decent, if not average, sized penis. I know some Trans women have mixed or negative feelings about their traditionally male organ, I never quite felt that type of dysphoria. If anything, the rest of my figure was the issue, not the privates I have. Continuing with my mission, I begin to sprinkle a decent helping of baby powder over my nether regions. After all, what baby doesn’t smell like baby powder. Once satisfied, I raise the front of the diaper up, and take my time taping up the sides, wanting to make the fit as perfect as it could be. Finally secure, I let out a sigh of relief, before placing my hand on the front of the plastic, enjoying the thickness between my legs. Feeling a pressure on the front began to make my arousal grow, and I take a moment to enjoy it. “I should probably keep getting ready, otherwise I’ll be here all day.” I hop off the bed and return to the chest, pulling out a black onesie with a cartoon skull on the front. You could definitely say I have a theme for this outfit. I temporarily place it on the bed so I can strip out of the rest of my clothing. I unbutton my black button up shirt, letting it fall away, exposing my bra. I debate for a moment if I should keep it on, before reaching behind my back and unclipping the garment. It just wouldn't feel right to wear right now, with the rest of my infantile outfit. I pick up the onesie, and unbutton the snaps on the crotch before slipping it over my head. I feel the fabric expand and constrict to my form as it gets into place. I reach between my legs, and re snap the crotch of the garb. I reach into the chest once again, and pull out a black pacifier, before quickly popping it into my mouth. With a suckle, I walk over to the mirror to inspect the look. “Just like a baby.” I think to myself, and smile behind the dummy. I admire how the onesie confirms to my frame, accentuating the small curves I had developed over the years. I turn around, and look at the thickness surrounding my butt. Anyone looking would be able to tell what was underneath, especially with the design peaking out slightly around the legs. I finally look how I desire. Taking one last glimpse back into the mirror, I turn back to the chest for the final time, pulling out a black bag, filled with various other goodies. Taking it with me, I unlock the door, and head back to the living room. I situate myself back into my spot, feeling the cushion underneath me. I smile to myself, and I truly begin to feel the stress of the day melt away. After a moment of silent relaxation, I reach into the bag and pull out an oversized baby bottle. Deciding to stick to my already opened beverage, I carefully pour the can of soda into the bottle, before opening the second can and doing the same. I screw the lid back on, and begin to place the nipple towards my mouth, forgetting about the paci sitting between my lips. Giggling at my forgetfulness, I quickly attach the pacifier to the clip on my onesie, leaving it hanging within reach. I then return the bottle to my mouth, taking a sip of the refreshing, caffeinated drink. I place the bottle down next to me, before reaching over to the remote, resuming the episode I was watching. I sat there for a couple hours, watching the adventures unfold on the screen. Having finished my bottle, I had gotten up and filled it back up with water, polishing that off as well. As the 6th..or is it the 7th episode began to play, I returned the paci to my awaiting lips, enjoying my own personal nirvana. Midway through the episode, I begin to feel the results of all my consumption. I take a moment to decide if now is the moment I want to release, before deciding to return my attention to the show. Another series of credits rolls across the screen, and I begin bouncing in my seat, the desperation reaching its peak. I realize that I soon won’t have a choice if I want to go or not. Pulling my legs onto the couch, I get into position, sitting on my knees. With a final sigh, I begin to feel my bladder release, slowly at first, but quickly turning into a flood. I feel the warmth spreading around the front of the padding, which eagerly ate up the onslaught of pee. Many seconds pass by, and after what seemed to be a minute, I feel the flow turn into a trickle, before finally stopping. I begin to unsnap the crotch of the onesie, wanting to see myself how soaked I had become, and I was not disappointed. The entire front of the Rebelz had turned a pale yellow color, and reaching my hand down, I could feel the satisfying squish that only a soaked diaper could give. As I was inspecting my results, I felt my arousal from earlier return in earnest, the front of my padding beginning to tent, my erection making itself known. This time, I decide to do something about it. Reaching back into the bag, I pull out my favorite toy, a wireless wand vibrator. Pressing the button, I feel the device spring to life. I sit back down, feeling the warmth had made its way somewhat to the back of the diaper, before bringing the wand to the crotch of the padding. “Oh, how I missed this.” I say as I revel in the sensations. I turn up the speed a level before beginning to move it around, my privates becoming fully erect in the process. I close my eyes, and begin fantasizing about my usual dream. Instead of my hands guiding the wand, it’s Emma, using the device to provide this pleasure to me. I imagine all the things I wish I could experience with her. My mind plays the scene, me squirming around, feeling the wand to its job, while Emma calls me her good girl, her soggy baby, her precious little. All too soon, I feel myself beginning to reach my climax. With the last few strokes of the vibrator, I feel myself begin to orgasm, spurting my load inside my diaper, which happily accepted the additional liquid. I turn the device off, and breath heavily, basking in the afterglow of my alone time. Just as I finish recovering, I hear a sound to my left, and I open my eyes. My heart drops. Having been distracted by my masturbating, I must have failed to notice the sound of the lock on the door, or the opening of it for that matter. There stood Emma, confirming my worst fears. I begin to panic, before noticing something. Where in my worst nightmares, I had always imagined her with a look of disgust, in reality, here she stood, with a massive grin on her face. “Well, out of all the things I expected to walk in to, this wasn’t at the top of the list.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (CW: Shame, Homophobia, Transphobia, Familial Abuse, Mentions of Violence) Chapter 2: Caught in The Act June 2nd, 2023. 5:48pm Dread. All I feel is an overwhelming feeling of dread. For years, my biggest fear has been this exact moment. (I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let this happen! I should have never unlocked that chest!) My internal monologue goes into overdrive, reminding me how I should’ve been more careful, should’ve stayed locked in the guest bedroom, should’ve never engaged in my perverse kink to begin with. I feel my anxiety building with each passing moment. “So…wanna tell me what’s going on here?” Emma asks. I’m unable to read her expression, whether that’s due to my rush of emotions, or her lack of displaying one, I’m unable to tell. (Just talk to her! What’s the worst that she could say? That you’re disgusting, a pervert, a mental case? Yeah…that’s definitely what she’s going to say!) I open my mouth, trying to get any semblance of a word out, just…something. But nothing comes out. Instead, I feel my body enter autopilot, my legs moving faster than I can think, rushing me over to the guest bedroom. I quickly lock the door before collapsing on the floor, holding my head in my lap as the tears begin to form. What if she doesn’t think I’m sexy anymore? What if she wants to leave me? Why couldn’t I just be normal?!? I continue to cry, wishing more than anything that this didn’t happen. But it did. The cat’s out of the bag now, and no amount of wishing would make it otherwise. So I cry; that’s all I can do, is just cry. Suddenly, I hear a gentle knocking on the door, and I hear a voice filled with kindness and concern on the other side. “Roxie, are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you. I tried calling you to let you know I was coming back, but you didn’t answer.” I mentally kick myself, looking over to my jeans and seeing my phone sticking out of the pocket. Me and my forgetfulness. “Listen, I’m not mad, okay? I just want to talk to you. I don’t want to rush you, but would you please open the door?” I sit there for a moment longer, before slowly making my way to the door. I pause for a moment before unlocking the door, and cracking it open, just able to poke my head through. “I’m so, so sorry Emma.” I say with fresh tears dripping down my cheeks. “I never wanted you to see me…like this. I promise you I’ll never do this again, just please don't…” I’m interrupted by Emma pushing the door open. (This is it, she’s going to yell at me.) I think, before quickly being enveloped in a hug. “That’s enough, Roxie.” She says, only warmth in her voice. “I’m here, and I’ve got you. It’s all right.” I feel nothing but kindness and love from her words, not even a hint of anger in her voice. Hearing the conviction in her voice, a new wave of tears emerge from my eyes. Not tears of fear, or of sorrow, but of pure relief. I stand there, wrapped in her embrace, and continue to let out the emotions I’ve been carrying for too long. It feels like years have passed standing there, although in reality, only a few minutes have likely passed. I feel Emma begin to pull away, and I look down at my feet, embarrassed by my emotional outburst. A moment of silence lingers for a moment longer, before I hear her speak. “Are you okay now?” I see the concern in her eyes, still worried about me. I sniffle a bit, and attempt to regain my composure. “I…I’m okay. Thank you…for the hug…” I trail off “Are you sure? It’s okay to not be okay, you know.” She looks at me, awaiting my response. “Yeah, no I’m okay now. It was just…a bit of a shock is all. Last time I forget my phone.” I attempt to make the situation a bit less awkward with my joke, and I think it worked, maybe just a bit. “Listen, I know you’ve probably got a million different things running through your mind right now, but let me reiterate; I’m not mad, not in the slightest. Why don’t you sit down, I’ll make us some coffee, and we can talk about all of…well, this.” I give a slight nod, and head over to the kitchen table. I watch as Emma walks towards the kitchen, turning back long enough to give me a reassuring smile. (I should take a moment to compose myself. I mean, we’ve gotta talk about it at this point.) I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, holding it for just a moment before releasing, and repeating the process. As I feel myself regaining my composure, I open my eyes to see Emma walking out of the kitchen. She places a mug full of coffee in front of me, plenty of cream and sugar inside, before taking the seat next to me. I take a whiff of the warm beverage, and bring the cup to my lips, taking a savory sip. “Before I say anything…” Emma starts “I want you to talk. What does all of this…” she points to my outfit “mean to you. No judgment, just start where you’re comfortable, and speak truthfully.” Where do I even begin, I wonder. How do I explain all of this? Do I lie? Make up some kind of excuse for why I’m wearing diapers and baby clothes? I look into Emma’s eyes, and I begin to feel at ease. I decide to tell her. I decide to tell her everything. “Well…I’m into all of this. I’m an “ABDL”, which stands for Adult Baby Diaper Lover.” I see her expression remains unchanged, so I continue. “I’ve always had a fascination for Diapers, for as long as I can remember. I always dreamed of going back to the moments of my childhood, even when I was…well still a child. I would dream of being able to go back to Diapers, and just enjoy the carefree experience of an infant. As I grew older, my feeling began to change and evolve, becoming more…complex. Not only was I discovering my sexuality, and how it plays into my obsession, but I also began to figure out more about myself. I began questioning my life, trying to figure out why I felt like I was a stranger in my own skin. I would look online, trying to see if someone, anyone, felt the way I felt. Not only did I find out about ABDL, but I discovered that some people can be “Transgender.” After reading more about the experiences of Trans Men and Women, I finally figured out what was “wrong” with me.” I feel Emma place her hand on top of mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. From the moment I met her, she knew about my gender identity. Having always known that she was accepting, I still felt a little anxious, telling my whole story. I take a breath, and continue on with my story. “Maybe a part of me wanted to relive the moments of my childhood, because I never truly had “my” childhood. I was just pretending to be what everyone thought I was. Now that I knew who I was…I knew I had to hide it.” “Why?” Emma asks. “I mean, I get hiding your interest in Ageplay, but why did you feel like you had to hide your identity?” I wince, reliving the harsh memories like they were yesterday. “I hid it because I lived in the south, and it was the 2010’s. The folks down there aren’t exactly welcoming to those who are…different.” I pause, steeling myself for what comes next. “That included my parents. I knew full well how they felt about “Queers”, and I knew for a fact that they wouldn’t change their minds, not even for their own blood.” Emma looks shocked. “I…I knew you didn’t talk to your parents, but you never talked about why. I can’t…I can’t even imagine the feeling.” “Yeah, it was Hell. But I survived. I buried my true feeling deep down, and continued living a life that wasn’t mine. I got through Middle School, and even High School, hating the changes happening to my body, but unable to do anything about it. I just…tried not to think about it. I buried myself into my school work, doing everything and anything I could do to keep myself busy. Eventually, that paid off, and I graduated with honors. I even got scholarship offers from Universities. And then I finally realized…I could be free. I was about to be out in the world, on my own, free to do as I may. And suddenly, I began to feel alive again. I began making plans. I got myself into school, registered for classes, and got into the dorms.” “So you could finally live as yourself? Sounds like you found a way to be happy.” I looked at Emma. I always appreciate her optimism, but not everything works out as you hope in life. “Yeah it does…but then I made a mistake.” She looks at me with a mix of curiosity, confusion and worry. “It was supposed to be a happy day. I was moving out. I had my car all packed and everything. All I had to do was hop in, turn the key, and never look back. I didn’t do that. For some reason, I thought I could finally tell my parents about who I was, who I wanted to be. I told them I was Trans…and regretted it.” I see a tear form in Emma’s eye, too shocked to even speak. “My father told me I was a freak, a degenerate looser, and that I would be doomed to Hell for my sins. He…did more than yell.” I reached to the neck of my clothes and pulled it to the side, showing off my faint scar from all those years ago. I see a look of shock and anger fill her face for a moment, before returning her expression back to composed. She reaches over, feeling the surface of my skin. “That’s how you got that scar? I always assumed it was from something embarrassing, not something so…so wrong! How could he do that to you?” I’ve asked myself the same question over the years. “He told me to leave, and never come back, or else he’d bury me in the ground. Mom..my mother just stood there, not even looking at me. I don’t know if she was just scared of my father, or if she agreed with him. All I know, is that she wouldn’t even look at me. So…I left, and never went back. That…that was the last time I heard from either of them.” “Roxie, I’m so sorry. Nobody should have to go through something like that.” She reaches around the table and gives me a hug. No tears flowed from me this time though, that memory had already extracted all the tears it ever would. “It’s okay Emma. The story gets a bit better from here. I went to college out of state, finally leaving the bigotry of the south behind, and I moved into the dorms, free for the first time. I even had a dorm room to myself. I swear, when I found that out, I felt that my luck was finally turning around. I finally had the time, space and availability to start being me. I got a part time job, and since I didn’t have any other expenses besides my car insurance, I had a good amount of disposable income. I ordered clothes for myself, started practicing make-up, dyed my hair, and even started out on hormones. I was, for the first time in my life, living for myself. Once I got settled into my new life, my mind turned back to my…other interests. I ordered diapers, onesies, pacifiers, you name it, having it all delivered to a P.O box. People saw me bringing packages to my dorm room all the time; they probably thought it was more clothes or something. It wouldn’t have mattered if the did though, nothing was going to stop me, not anymore. I began letting myself explore my ageplay kink, and let me tell you, the first time I put on a diaper, I felt complete. Everything that I had lived through, all the pain, all the suffering, it was all worth it. So..I kept doing it. And well…that’s where we are today.” I wait for her response with baited breath. “Thank you, Roxie, for sharing your story. I can’t imagine your struggle. I mean, having to deal with all of that…your family, and…just wow. I’m glad you were able to find yourself, and embrace the little within you. I want you to know, I love you, and nothing you’ve told me has changed that.” Emma smiles at me, and I return it back to her. It was my turn now to lean over the table, embracing the woman that I love. Then, something hits me. I never mentioned the term “Little” in my explanation. In fact, Emma used the word “Ageplay” before I even brought it up. I then remember the smile she gave me when I was caught; like she knew what I was doing. Not one point during this ordeal did she ever question the fact that I was wearing a onesie, or a wet diaper for that matter. I break the embrace, and look into her eyes. I ask the question now in my mind. “Emma, you know more about Ageplay than you’re letting on, don’t you?” She looks at me for a moment, then returns that same smile I saw earlier in the day. “Guilty.” She says. “Since you were so open with me, I’m going to be open with you.” It was now my turn to listen. “I’m into Ageplay too. Specifically, I’m a Mommy. I’ve been a Mommy for a long time, years before I met you. I actually started out exploring BDSM, and while I enjoyed all the bondage, and the domination, it was always missing something for me. I was craving that touch of innocence that comes with Ageplay. I won’t hit you with my whole backstory right now. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not hiding anything from you, but you’ve had a long day, and I don’t want to dump too much on you at once. For now, know that I’m just as weird and kinky as you.” I sat there, mouth open. Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine Emma, my girlfriend Emma, would even know about the world of Ageplay, let alone having been involved with it for years. My mind was swimming with questions, but she’s right, it has already been a long enough day. However, there was still one more question on my mind, that I just had to have answered. “That still doesn’t explain something. Why weren’t you surprised with me being into Ageplay? You didn’t seem shocked at all. It’s almost like…” “Like I knew?” She finished. “It’s because I did.” I see a guilty look appear on her face. “It wasn’t intentional, and I wasn’t trying to snoop, but I found your stash months ago. I was looking for my old sneakers, and was surprised to find a key inside the sole. You could imagine my confusion. Just as I was walking out of the closet, I…well, I tripped over my own feet.” I laugh, knowing full well that Emma gets distracted when cleaning and looking for things. “Yeah, laugh it up diaper girl.” We both get a laugh out of that one. “Anyways, I spent the next 10 minutes trying to figure out where I dropped the key. I looked everywhere. I checked behind the dresser, under the chair, and then looked under the bed, where I found your chest. At least I knew what the key went to, now I just had to find the key. Ironically, it was in my shoe. Don’t ask how it got there, I to this day don’t know how it happened. I unlocked the chest, and was surprised by the contents, mostly because I knew what everything inside was. I knew I didn’t have any supplies left in the house, and realized based on the sizes that they belonged to you. Plus, out of all the women I’ve ever met, nobody wears more skulls than you. I then panicked a bit, realizing I had intruded on your secret stash. I quickly locked it back up and put the key back in its hiding spot.” “Why…why didn’t you say anything? You had to know at the time it was all kink-related stuff?” I was now confused, wondering why she didn’t act on her knowledge, confront me, hell do anything with what she just learned. “I didn’t say anything because it was your secret to share. It didn’t matter that I was a Mommy, or if you were a Little, it was your secret, and you shouldn’t have had to reveal it before you were ready. If I was sorry for anything, it would be for not knocking before I came in…but this is my place too, so you could imagine how silly that would be.” I got up from my seat, and walked in close to Emma. She looked at me, unsure of what I was going to do. I move in closer, and bring my lips to hers, kissing her deeply. It lasts for a moment longer, before I begrudgingly pull back, needing to get the words out of my throat. “Thank you Emma, for the space, for listening…for everything.” “Don’t mention it. Now that the emotional stuff is over with, I’m suddenly hungry. How about I order us a Pizza, and we watch a movie, and just relax for the rest of the night?” “Sounds good to me!” I state enthusiastically, glad to put the negativity from before behind me. “Alright, how about you head to the couch and pick out something for us to watch? I’ll call the restaurant now.” As Emma pulls out her phone, I begin walking over to the couch, before realizing I’m still in my little attire. (I should probably get changed. Don’t want to push my luck tonight.) I turn around and start walking over to the bedroom, when Emma places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. “Where are you going?” she asks. “Oh, I was just going to change my clothes…for the movie.” I state, not quite ready to talk about my outfit aloud. I don’t know if I was just embarrassed, or if I was afraid she wouldn’t want me dressed like this right now. Emma then gave me a smile. “Don’t be silly, that’s a perfect outfit. Now get on the couch, crinkle butt.” She says, and gives me a quick swat on the butt, a crinkle sound emanating from my rear. A huge smile forms on my face, and I head back to the couch. I have a thought to myself. “How did I get so lucky?”

Every sissy baby knows that for every one mistress or mommy out there, there are hundreds of sissy babies begging for her attention. We are all looking to be submissive, and have someone else control how we dress, or what tasks we have to do, but there simply aren't enough mommies to go around. So while we're all naturally submissive, I propose forming a group where people can take turns switching who gets to be the sub and who gets to be the domme, so we all can get that feeling of helplessly being controlled at some point. Note that you must be willing to switch and be the domme half the time, so please take that into account that before messaging about joining. For everyone interested, please respond to this thread, or send me a message directly, and I'll begin organizing the group

It was a sunny Saturday morning and I had just woke up, I looked at my clock 0623 it said. My heart sank she would be home soon as I rolled I heard the plastic sheet under my sheets crinkle. I checked my diaper dammit I'm wet again, she is going to kill me. About 2 months ago I started waking up wet, that wouldn't have been so bad but I'm almost 57 years old. She took me to the doctor who ran tests on my prostate, ruled out urinary infections, could not find a cause for my bed wetting. Which no pun intended pissed her off even more. She said "that since women tend to be more incontinent than men, I was acting like a woman" so my boxers that I normally wear were replaced by Assurance Briefs from Walmart. These are purple briefs that are supposed to be worn by women because they look like panties that women wear. These were my new daytime attire. At night she got Always Briefs also with purple looking spots on them, also supposed to look like panties. She got Poise pads to use as a diaper doubler also in purple. She's trying to shame me to act like a man, but I feel at times that she's actually stripping my manhood away.

Dan was 12yrs old, he was an only child with a mom who gave him everything, but something was about to change in his life. Unbeknown to him, his mom was engaged to someone, and it was the dad of a boy at his school, someone whom

Dan was a troubled 16yr old boy, he wasn't good at school, his grades were falling, although he tried his best. He was also wetting the bed and not cleaning up after himself after a bowel movement. His parents, George and Brenda getting fed up with his laziness, and Tina decided that she would put a plan into action into getting him to stop acting like such a toddler..... It all started when he came home from school one Friday evening. He was late in, he had detention and he had lied to his mom saying he had a soccer match. Although she knew he lied and she hated lying. Dan walks in his house, nervous and hoping no one was home, but boy was he in for a shock......

Dan and Julie are a young married couple who absolutely love each other. Dan