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This is a story that I've already completed, and I'll release the parts as I get a chance to edit. It's the story of a boy going into high school who gets sent to stay with his aunt during the summer and she treats him the same as his younger cousins. The Drive to my Aunt's House My mom was deployed to the Middle East the summer after I finished eighth grade. My mom was a single parent, so I went to stay with my Aunt Amanda for the summer. She lived in this remote mountain town, and I didn’t know any kids my age who lived near her house. I was fourteen, which made me too young to get a job, and too old for summer camp. I would spend all summer with my two younger cousins. Scott was seven years old, and Debbie was five. In truth, I liked my aunt, even though she still treated me like I was a little kid. For some reason, she didn’t realize I was a teenager and didn’t need to be supervised all the time. My mom warned me, “Tommy, I know it feels like Aunt Amanda treats you like a kid, but if you can show her that you’re mature, she promised to give you some more freedom and responsibility. But that means that you have to be helpful and respectful. You might need to help with your cousins and, of course, clean up your messes.” The truth was, despite being fourteen and entering high school, I acted more like a kid. My mom still had to remind me to brush my teeth and tell me to take a shower at night. She constantly had to tell me to put away my things, and I never did any chores without being told to. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I just never thought about it unless she asked me. I also would pout and whine, and even tantrum, when I didn’t get my way. I don’t think I was a bad kid, but I was just really immature for my age. I’m not completely sure, but I think my mom hoped time with my aunt would help. My mom and aunt met halfway between their houses. Scott and Debbie were in the car with my aunt, and I noticed a diaper bag in the back of the car. That surprised me because I thought Debbie was already potty trained and figured Scott was too old for diapers, at least during the day. We did our goodbyes, and I took a seat in the passenger side next to my aunt for the three-hour drive to her house. Now, despite my mom’s warnings, I overindulged in chips and soda along the way, and my stomach was already rumbling when we got on our way. I figured it wasn’t an emergency yet. I didn’t want to ask my aunt to stop because she already warned me before we left. She asked, “Tommy, it’s a long drive, do you need to go potty before we leave?” That annoyed me and I replied, “I’m not a baby! I can hold it.” Aunt Amanda noted my sharp tone, “Ok, but remember, you can’t ask me to stop unless you go potty now.” The pressure grew and I tried to fart a little to relieve it, but it wasn’t just a fart. I felt something come out, and it wasn’t just a small leak. It was enough that I could feel it in my underwear, and it wasn’t long before I started to smell it. I was fourteen years old, and I just pooped my pants! I wanted my aunt to see me as a teenager and not just some little kid, but that wouldn’t be possible if she knew that I pooped my pants. I tried to be discrete, but Aunt Amanda noticed the odor. She asked, “Scotty, did you poop?” “No.” Aunt Amanda then asked, "Debbie?” “No, Mommy. I’m a big girl.” “I know you are, honey. It smells like somebody pooped, so we’re going to stop.” We pulled into a rest stop, and everybody got out. My aunt checked Scott and Debbie first. Scott didn’t poop, but he wet his Pull-Up and his mom said, “Scotty, that’s your second accident. That means that you need to go back to diapers. We’re going to take a break from potty training.” I tried to sneak off as she was dealing with Scott, but she saw me. “Where do you think you are going?” “I need to go to the bathroom?” “Not yet; I need to see if it was you.” “WHAT! Don’t treat me like a baby. I didn’t poop my pants!” My aunt shot me a stern look, “Do you need to go to time-out?” I shook my head and meekly said, “No.” “Ok then. I understand that you want me to treat you like a big kid, but I can’t treat you like a big kid unless you act like one. Do big kids throw tantrums?” “No.” “That’s right, and you just threw a tantrum, didn’t you?” “But …” I didn’t get a chance to finish my protest. “Did you just shout at me and cry that you didn’t poop?” I nodded. “If you didn’t, let me check.” “Please! Let me go to the bathroom. I’ll clean it up.” “Was it you?” I blushed and cried, “Only a little bit.” “So, it was you; why didn’t you say so?” “I was embarrassed.” She placed a change pad from the diaper bag in the back of her SUV and said, “Hop up so I can take care of your mess.” “Um. What? Can’t I just go to the bathroom and clean myself?” My aunt shook her head, “I’m afraid not, Tommy. I need to make sure you’re properly cleaned.” I protested, “I can do it myself. I’m not a baby!” I hoped that would make her realize that I didn’t need her to clean my butt, but she just rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Really? Do big kids poop their pants?” “It was an accident!” “Yeah, it was, and I need to make sure it won’t happen again.” “It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m not a baby; I’m fourteen years old.” By this point, I was whining and begging. Aunt Amanda shook her head and said, “Tommy, if you want me to treat you like a big kid, you have to act like a big kid. So far, I’ve seen no evidence that you can do that.” “What? I am a big kid. You can’t do this.” “Do big kids poop their pants?” I shook my head. “Do big kids pout and whine?” I cried, “I’m not pouting!” By this point, Aunt Amanda was tired of it, “Look! If you’re going to act like a baby, I’m going to treat you like a baby. I can’t potty train you if you’re not cooperating.” “I am potty trained. It was an accident.” She laughed and said, “I certainly hope so. I’d hate to think you did that on purpose. However, at my house, an accident means that you have to wear Pull-Ups until you can show me that it won’t happen again.” She took a pacifier and ordered, “Open up.” I asked, “What’s that?” and as I did, she plopped the pacifier in my mouth. “That’s a pacifier. That’s what you get when you whine too much in my house. Keep that in your mouth until I take it out. Now be a good boy and lie down on the mat.” I resigned myself to having my aunt clean my messy bottom but pleaded for more privacy. In a muffled voice, because of the pacifier, I cried, “Can’t we do this in the baffroom?’ “I’m sorry honey, but you’re too old to take into the women’s bathroom. We have to do this out here.” “But you’ll see my --,” I was too embarrassed to say it in front of my aunt. Aunt Amanda grinned, “Honey, I’ve changed lots of little boys. I’ve even changed your diaper a few times.” I closed my eyes and let her lift my legs and clean my bottom, just like I was three years old. She finished wiping my bottom and then praised me, “You’re being such a good boy for me. It is so much easier when you’re not squirming.” She put my legs through a Pull-Up and then told me to lift up, so she could finish putting the Pull-Up on me. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” “I guess so.” I suddenly realized that everybody would see me in just the Pull-Up when I got up to put on my shorts. I asked, “Can you help me with my shorts?” “You want me to help you get dressed?” “I don’t want anybody to see me in just the Pull-Up.” She nodded and then said, “Let’s see what you have in your bag. You can’t wear the ones you were wearing because they need to be cleaned.” After she finished, she helped me up and asked, “Are you going to be a good boy?” I nodded, and she took the pacifier out of my mouth and said, “Ok, that’s good. Keep this in your pocket to remind you what happens when you pout.” She then pointed to the package of Pull-Ups and said, “These are just in case. You still need to use the potty. If you can use the potty for three days, I’ll let you wear underwear again. But, if you don’t, you are going to stay in diapers until I can potty train you. Scotty is going back to diapers because he wasn’t using the potty, and the same thing will happen to you.”

For the past year or so your twenty year old daughter has been struggling with depression. Can't keep down a job, doesn't shower or brush her teeth. She has been retreating into her room. You her parent (open to others!) Are worried about her, and decide to make plans to her life. She was the happiest when she was under your care, as a small child. And afterall who knows better than you? A variation on this is that she's getting ready to go off to college, a bit delayed. You feel that she's not ready and hold her back I only write on discord and in third person! canadiangamer#0308

Chapter I: Switch Responsibilities Rachel and Monica sit on the couch, sipping their coffees. Monica looks frazzled, while Rachel seems unusually calm. Rachel: Monica, I've been doing some thinking. I think it's time for us to take a break. Monica: A break? What are you talking about, Rach? Rachel: I can't handle all your demands and control anymore. I want you to know how it feels to be treated like a baby. Monica rolls her eyes, dismissing Rachel's idea. Monica: Oh, please! You can't possibly... As Monica finishes her sentence, Rachel pushes a pacifier into Monica’s mouth. She then takes Monica’s hand and pulls her to the restroom. Pulling out a diaper-mat and diaper out of her bag, she lays her down on the diaper mat and begins replacing her panties (which turn out to be wet), into diapers. Across town, at Maclearen’s Pub, Robin sits at the bar sipping her drink as her best friend, Lily enters. Robin: You know, Lily, now that the guys are away, I think it's time for you to experience what it's like to be treated like a baby. Lily: What? Are you serious? Like At Central Perk, Robin pushes a pacifier into Lily’s mouth, before Lily could finish her sentence. Robin: You're going to use this. Let's see how it goes. Monica and Rachel’s apartment - Phoebe enters, looks at Rachel and then at Monica and starts laughing. Rachel: What’s so funny? Phoebe: My patient, Robin told me she’s also treating her best friend like a baby this weekend Rachel: Seriously? Do you think you can schedule a playdate? Monica: (being ignored) - No, I don’t want a playdate, I’m a grown-woman! That afternoon, Rachel and Monica enter Central Perk, Monica now wearing a diaper and sucking her thumb. They spot Robin and Lily, seating with Phoebe at a nearby table. Like Monica, Lily is dressed in a diaper, and sucking a pacifier as she seats on Robin’s lap. Phobe: Oh, hey, guys! Look who I found! Rachel: So, Robin, what made you decide to treat Lily like a baby? Robin: Lily, while motherly, she has always been immature, and acts like the baby of the group. She’s also a kindergarten teacher,who always wondered what her students go through. We had agreed awhile back to give her a chance to experience childhood, in order to better connect with her students. Why are you treating Monica like a baby? Rachel: Well, Monica is way too uptight and I just felt she needed to relax a bit. Also, she’s been treating me like a kid for some time, so maybe it’s good payback. As Robin and Rachel talked, Lily suddenly said: “mommy, I’m hungry.” Like a good mother, Robin pulled out a jar of baby food and began feeding Lily. When Monica was hungry she made the mistake of saying: “Rach, I’m hungry”.. Instead of taking a baby bottle, or a jar of food to feed Monica, Rachel had a surprise for her. Rachel laid Monica down on her lap and began to breastfeed her. Not only was Monica in shock, but also were Phoebe, Robin and Lily. Rachel: I believe Monica deserves the full baby treatment. And anyways, she knows she isn’t supposed to call me Rachel. Central Park, Sunday Morning Lily and Monica in their respective strollers, one sucking her pacifier, while the other sucks her thumb. Phoebe: Alright, ladies! It's time for some outdoor fun. We're going to the park! Lily: Can we play in the sandbox, please? Robin: Of course, Lily! Go ahead, have fun! Lily and Monica quickly drop to their hands and knees and crawl into the sandbox, relishing the freedom of being carefree and childlike. Rachel: Look at them go! They're like little kids again. Robin: I have to admit, it's pretty adorable. The friends watch Lily and Monica play, their stress melting away as they embrace the simplicity of the moment. Phoebe: Monica, you look adorable with that thumb in your mouth. Are you enjoying your little baby experience? Monica: Maybe, just a little Phoebe: And you, Lily? Lily: I love being treated like a baby! Lily and Monica, exhausted from their playful adventures, lie down in the shade, using their strollers as makeshift beds. Rachel: Aw, look at them. They're tuckered out. Robin: Yeah, it's been quite the adventure for them today. Random Kid: Something smells stinky, I think those women pooped their pants Robin and Rachel check, and find that while Lily only wet herself, Monica did in fact go number 2. Like a good mother, Rachel cleans and changes Monica, while Phoebe and Robin provide a layer of privacy. Back home, Monica wakes up, only to learn that she had peed and pooped herself while sleeping. Chapter II: Monica has Issues Rachel anxiously sits in the waiting area with Monica on her lap. Monica looks unwell, her thumb still in her mouth. They are surrounded by colorful toys and child-friendly decorations. Rachel: Hang in there, Mon. The pediatrician will see you soon. Monica: I don't feel so good, Rach. I'm glad you're here with me. As the pediatrician calls them into the examination room, Rachel carries Monica and walks in, still keeping her close. The pediatrician, DR. WILSON, a kind and gentle woman, greets Rachel and Monica warmly. Dr. Wilson: Hello there! What seems to be the trouble today? Rachel: My friend, Monica has been feeling unwell lately, experiencing some discomfort. Dr. Wilson: I see. Let's have a look, shall we? Rachel helps Monica sit down on the exam table. Monica continues to suck her thumb, finding comfort in the familiar gesture. Dr. Wilson: Monica, sweetie, can you tell me where it hurts? Monica: My tummy hurts, and I don't feel good. Dr. Wilson examines Monica, checking her temperature and listening to her heartbeat. Dr. Wilson: Well, Monica, it seems like you might have caught a little bug. Nothing too serious, but we'll need to keep an eye on you. Monica: But I cannot move my legs and am having trouble going to the potty. Noticing a decline in Monica’s language with every word, Dr. Wilson explains Monica's condition to Rachel. As the two discuss Monica’s regression, Monica starts squirming uncomfortably. Monica: Mommy, I need potty Rachel: Ok Monica, give me 2 more minutes to finish the conversation with the doctor Monica: I cannot mommy, I go now. Not caring who sees, Monica sits down on a potty chair in the room with her pants still intact. Noticing this, Rachel rushes to Monica’s aid, pulling her pants down just in the nick of time. Rachel: Thank you Dr. Wilson, I’ll make sure we update you on Monica’s status. EXT. PEDIATRICIAN'S OFFICE - DAY Rachel and Monica exit the pediatrician's office, relieved that Monica's discomfort has been addressed. Rachel: See, Mon? We handled that situation like champs! As Monica sucks her thumb, she nods her head in acknowledgement to Rachel’s comment. Chapter III: Going Home As Rachel helps Monica walk home from the doctors office, it’s clear that Monica’s discomfort is once again increasingly evident. Monica: Mommy, I need potty Rachel: Oh no, not again. Can’t you hold it? Monica, sucking her thumb nods her head from side to side. Rachel: Ok, lets see if we can find you a public restroom to use. As Monica begins to cry, Rachel notices a dribble of urine coming down Monica’s leg. Noticing a drug store Rachel drags Monica into it, and locates the diaper aisle. After purchasing the diapers, Rachel takes Monica to the restroom, and removes her soiled cloths with a fresh diaper. To Monica’s horror, Rachel opens the door. Monica (in a moment of relapse): Rachel, I’m only wearing a diaper Rachel (As she turns to hug Monica): it’s either the diaper, or those soiled pair of pants Holding Rachel’s hand, Monica walks out of the bathroom, with nothing but a shirt and a diaper Random Kid: Look mommy, that woman is wearing a diaper. In the shock and overwhelming situation she now faces, Monica takes a step back as she regresses, she begins to cry and suck her thumb once again. In order to get home quickly Rachel drags Monica through the NY subway system, as they get off the subway, a block away from home, Rachel notices Monica’s diaper has been sagging a bit. Rachel: Monica, sweetie, did you have another accident? Monica stares blankly at Rachel as she sucks her thumb. Understanding that Monica has regressed farther, Rachel grabs her hand and walks home; with the understanding that neither of them has any idea what the future holds. Chapter IV: Babysat at Home The next day, Monica wakes up, not remembering what happened. She’s surprised by the fact that her thumb is in her mouth. As Monica removes her thumb from her mouth, she tries to get up, only to stumble and fall. Clearly, her legs are still not working properly… Monica: Rachel, Rachel, come help me I cannot get up. Phoebe: I’m coming Monica, one second Monica: Phoebe?! What are you doing here? Phoebe: Morning, sleepyhead! I'm here to babysit you today since Rachel had to go to work. Isn't it exciting? Monica blinks, still trying to process the situation. Monica: Babysit? But I'm not a baby, Phoebe. Phoebe: Oh, I know that, Mon, but sometimes even adults need a little extra care. Don't worry; I've got everything under control. As Phoebe helps Monica to the living room, she notices a kids potty chair. Monica: Hey, Phebs. What’s the potty chair for? Phoebe (excitedly): Well, I talked to Rachel, and she thought it would be a good idea for you to have a potty chair since we're using diapers. It's a little more grown-up than diapers, right? She Rahcel asked that you ask me whenever you need to go to the bathroom. Monica: But I’m an adult Phoebe: Are you? Really? I mean look at you? Monica didn’t even notice the wet diaper around her waist, or that she instinctively began to suck her thumb again. Mid-day Monica: I need to go potty Phoebe: ok, one second Monica: I need to go potty, now! Phoebe (walking into the living room): Uh Monica, did you go potty already? Monica looking at Phoebe and down at herself began to cry. Without thinking, Phoebe took Monica and began to change her diaper, acting as if this was all natural; and explaining that accidents happen. Seeing that Rachel and Monica were short on diapers, Phoebe got Monica and took her down stairs. Having a hard time dragging the grown adult, Phoebe decided to stop by the local Baby’s R Us and purchase a few things. With each thing on the list Monica tried to make a point she’s not a baby. Phoebe: We need diapers Monica: I’m a big kid! I go potty by myself Phoebe: Monica, you’re wearing a diaper and clearly using it for both peeing and pooping. Lets get some just in case Phoebe: We need a stroller Monica: Why? Me walk Phoebe: You asked for a piggyback ride all the way here Phoebe: and finally Pacifiers Monica shakes her head no as she sucks her thumb. On the way home with the goodies, Monica now sits in a brand new stroller, her thumb in her mouth, and a big teddy bear Phoebe got her, for being a good girl. Not far from home, they met up with Rachel, who Monica was more than happy to see. Rachel and Phoebe decided to grab a cup of coffee at Central Perk and Monica slowly drifted off to sleep in her stroller. Chapter V: Babysat at the Park That “one weekend” of babying between Lily and Robin turned into an ongoing-event. This weekend though, Robin had a late shift at work, and asked Phoebe to watch Lily for a bit. Phoebe: Hey Rachel, it’s Phoebe Rachel: Oh, Hey Phoebe what’s up Phoebe: I’m babysitting Lily today and am planning to take her to the park later. Does Monica want to come? Rachel: I’m not sure, I mean Lily is aware that she’s really an adult, and Monica, well, you know, Monica has regressed beyond her years. Phoebe: Oh come-on it’ll be fun! Rachel: fine! EXT. PARK - DAY Phoebe leads Monica and Lily through the park, enjoying the warm summer weather and the playful atmosphere. The sound of laughter and children playing fills the air. Phoebe: "Here we go, on our summer adventure, Monica and Lily, together forever!" Monica giggles, finding Phoebe's joyful spirit contagious. Lily: Phoebe, you're like the coolest babysitter ever! Phoebe: Well, thank you, little one. I always try my best! As they continue their walk, Robin arrives at the park to pick up Lily, who runs excitedly toward her. Lily: Mommy! Robin: Hey, sweetie! How was your playdate with Monica and Phoebe? Lily: Mommy, can I have my pacifier now? Robin chuckles and reaches into her bag, pulling out the pacifier. Robin: Alright, Lily. Just for a little bit longer, okay? Rember, we promised Marshall that by the time you get home, you’ll act like an adult again. And anyways, we said that you’re a toddler this weekend. Lily happily takes her pacifier, feeling comforted by its presence. INT. MONICA AND RACHEL'S APARTMENT - MONICA'S BEDROOM - Evening Monica, exhausted from the day's activities, lies down for a nap. She instinctively sucks her thumb, finding solace and comfort in the familiar gesture. Phoebe: She had a bit of an accident earlier, Rachel. I think she did a number 2 in her diaper. She seemed embarrassed and started sucking her thumb. I think she was also kind of jealous of Lily. Rachel looks concerned but also understands that accidents happen. Rachel: Poor Mon. Let her rest, Phoebe. I'll take care of her when she wakes up. INT. MONICA AND RACHEL'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - Next Day As Monica is seating on Rachel’s lap, Rachel recalls her conversation with Phoebe from last night. Rachel: Hey Monica Monica nods yes as she stares at a kiddy show infront of her. Rachel: Mon, I've been thinking. Since you've been having accidents in your diaper, maybe it's time we try something different. What if we start repotty training you? Monica: Wha? Rachel: Monica, I know you’re in there, and I need my best friend back! Monica: Mama! Rachel: I know, Mon, but accidents happen, and I believe in your ability to regain control. It's not about treating you like a baby but rather helping you become more aware of your body's signals. And I'll be here to support you every step of the way. Rachel: From now on, whenever you feel the need to go potty, you let me know. We'll work together to help you regain control. It's all about open communication. I promise only Phoebe or I will take you to the potty. Fair? Monica: Yes, mommy. Over the next few days, Monica does remember to say “potty”, but rather than before, it’s usually right when or after she had already gone. Chapter VI: Monica and Rachel accept Monica’s Fate Seating at Central Perk, with Phoebe, Robin and Lily, Rachel was bouncing Monica on her hip. Monica: Mommy, me need to go potty Robin: Rachel, I see that you’re talking to Phoebe, would you like me to take her? Rachel: Sure Monica: Only mommy Rachel: It’s ok Mon, aunt Robin will take good care of you! As Robin walking with Monica towards the restroom, she heard a loud wet fart. Turning around, Rachel saw that Monica had done a number in her pants. Rachel: Monica we talked about this, you said you wanted to be a big girl. Now, this doesn’t look like a big girl, does it? Monica sucked her thumb as she began to cry. Rachel: What should I do? Phoebe: you know my thoughts, if monica wanted to be an adult she’d at least try Robin and Lily: I agree Rachel: Monica do you want to be a big kid or a baby Monica: baby Rachel: do you know what that means Sucking her thumb Monica wobbled hear her in yes motion Understanding Monica’s desires and state of her diaper, Rachel pulled out a diaper mat, no longer caring who sees Monica in this state. Over the next few days, Phoebe and Rachel began to notice increasing regression with Monica. She was no longer the responsible motherly figure of the friends group, but rather nothing more than a diaper wearing baby.

Olivia is a young woman who has problems with her anxiety. Unable to take the stress of her job she quits. Landon is a young woman who, in may ways, is the polar opposite of Olivia. Confident and oozing sexiness she senses an opportunity. Dan is Olivia's husband and works in the same company. When he goes home to see his wife he is greeted by an unusual scene for most people. For Dan is was entirely expected. --- Writing is my passion and my only source of income. If you enjoy my stories you may be interested to learn that you can see every update I post one week before the rest of the world with a $5 pledge on Patreon. For $10 you can see everything early AND 47 full length stories that can only be found on my Patreon page! The money I get goes to paying bills and putting food on the table so I appreciate all of my patrons and would appreciate anyone who might be interested in supporting me to check out my Patreon ❤️ https://www.patreon.com/Elfy88 --- Livy’s New Family By Elfy “I can’t do this!” Olivia was practically in tears, “I quit!” Olivia turned out of her now former boss’s office and hurried towards the women’s bathroom. She let out an involuntary sob as she pushed straight into the room and headed for a cubicle. She locked the flimsy plastic door and dropped on to the toilet. With her head in her hands she started crying, it felt as if she had let everyone down. Every moment since she had got this job had been hell for her and she just couldn’t cope. This had been a long time coming. Olivia had been struggling with the stress of her job as a paralegal pretty much since she started there a couple of years before but the last few months had been intolerable. The stress and anxiety had been building until it had erupted. It didn’t help that she had ADHD which seemed to only be made worse by the recent stresses. “Come on, Livy.” Olivia said as she took some toilet paper, “Get it together. What would Dan say?” Olivia had met Dan originally in college and it was like love at first sight. In truth, Olivia may not have been able to finish her education without Dan’s help and conversely Olivia had helped Dan when he went through law school after finishing his degree. They were married soon after college and then Dan got a job at this legal firm. When an opening for a paralegal came up Dan was able to put in some good words for her. It’s why Olivia felt like she had let her husband down, he had gone to bat for her and she had been a bad employee and now just wanted to run away. “Olivia?” A voice Olivia was familiar with came from somewhere in the bathroom. Olivia had hoped she had got into the bathroom without being seen. She stood up and opened the door to the stall. She stepped out and over to the sink trying to suppress the sobs that still rippled through her body. She looked into the mirror to see an acquaintance, someone who worked with her husband as a fully-fledged lawyer. At first she wanted to hide the fact that she had been crying but as soon as she saw herself she knew there was no masking the puffy red eyes or running mascara. Landon walked over and put her hand on Olivia’s shoulder. The two women could hardly have been more different. Olivia was naturally submissive. She was insecure and never felt like she deserved the job she had which probably greatly contributed to her anxiety. She was quiet and withdrawn, shy and nervous. Landon on the other hand was someone everyone gravitated to. She was confident, outgoing and, in Olivia’s opinion, sexy. “What’s going on?” Landon asked with a frown. “I just… quit.” Olivia sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with tissue. Landon remained silent as she continued rubbing Olivia’s shoulder. She was looking at the smaller woman but it was as if she wasn’t really looking at her, it was as if she was staring through her. Olivia watched her in the mirror. “What are you going to tell Dan?” Landon asked eventually. “I don’t know.” Olivia said as she dropped the tissue in the trash can and sniffed again, “He knows I’ve been stressed.” “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do…” Landon said as she stepped back. “Thanks.” Olivia said as she picked up her bag. Olivia flashed a quick smile to Landon though it was one without any emotion behind it. She left the bathroom and started heading down the corridor to the cubicle that counted as her office. It only took a minute to sweep all of her things into a cardboard box and head down to the elevator. She was just about to press the button when she saw Landon hurrying down the hallway towards her. She looked sexy and in control even whilst running for the elevator, Olivia thought jealously. “Olivia, do you want me to tell Dan?” Landon asked as she drew near. “W-Would you?” Olivia asked. “Of course.” Landon smiled a little condescendingly, “I know these things can be difficult.” “Thank you.” Olivia said. This time her smile was a little more genuine. She dreaded telling Dan what she had just done and seeing the disappointment in his eyes. “No problem. Make sure you go home and have a good rest, alright?” Landon reached out to pat Olivia on the arm. Olivia stepped back into the elevator and pressed the button that took her down to ground level. As she slowly descended the floors of the tall building she had plenty of time to second guess herself. There was no doubt the job was causing her an awful lot of stress but should she have just worked through it? She hated that she couldn’t deal with it when everyone else seemed to be able to live with it just fine. Why was she so weak that she couldn’t do something as normal as work? By the time Olivia was back at her car she felt like she was on the verge of tears again. She left the car that she had arrived in with her husband and hurried to the bus stop. She needed to go home and relax before she had a complete breakdown. There was one thing in particular that really helped Olivia calm down and she was counting the seconds till she could get to her bedroom. --- Landon watched the elevator doors close with her well-practiced warm smile on her face. The moment they closed it changed subtly into a much more sinister grin. It felt like just the opportunity she had been waiting for ever since she had found out Dan was married. She waited a minute and then called an elevator of own. Instead of heading down to the ground floor she went up a level to where the lawyers had their offices. Whilst in the elevator Landon looked into the mirror and touched up her hair. She checked her make-up and quickly touched up her lipstick. She adjusted her clothes to push up her breasts and make them more prominent. All the subtle tricks she had learnt to get ahead in a male dominated environment. When the doors opened Landon stepped out and walked towards Dan’s office. She sauntered with one foot in front of the other causing her hips to sway, she smiled as the heads turned to watch her go past. She only had eyes for one man. “Dan?” Landon knocked on the open door, “Are you busy?” “I am.” Dan replied as he scribbled down some notes before looking up to the doorway, “But I’ve always got time for you. What’s up?” “I just saw your wife going down to the lobby with a box.” Landon said as she walked in and perched herself on the edge of the desk, “She wanted me to tell you that she just quit.” Landon watched as Dan seemed to deflate a little. He leant back in his chair causing it to creak slightly. He closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Landon studied the man, his chiselled bone structure and handsome features set him apart from nearly any other man in the office. He was intoxicating to Landon who wasn’t embarrassed to admit she had been lusting after him ever since she had first seen him. “I was afraid this was going to happen…” Dan sighed. “Trouble at home?” Landon asked as casually as she could manage. “No, no…” Dan looked back down from the ceiling with a disappointed expression, “Olivia has just been under a lot of stress recently. She’s been struggling to cope.” “The poor little thing.” Landon said with a sympathetic frown. “Olivia took on the majority of the household chores since I made a majority of the money.” Dan continued, “But recently she’s been falling behind. I’ve tried to help but I’m so tired after work. I’m afraid the house has become a bit of a mess.” “She has always seemed quite… sensitive.” Landon was secretly delighted about getting to gossip about Dan’s wife. “She struggles sometimes.” Dan said, “Normally we can get through it together but she’s been much more stressed recently. It’s one of the reasons I was hesitant to get her a job here in the first place. It’s not that I didn’t think she could do it, it’s just a tough gig for anyone, you know?” “Oh, of course.” Landon nodded her head, “It’s not the sort of thing just anyone can do.” “Exactly.” Dan nodded, “And after getting the Peterson case dropped on my lap this morning this is the last thing I need.” “Peterson case?” Landon said with raised eyebrows. “Yeah. Really complex and a lot of moving parts, a mountain of paperwork to sift through.” Dan sat back in his seat and massaged his temples. Landon nodded her head thoughtfully. The gears were turning and she was seeing an opportunity, a little crack that she could get into and push open. After saying her goodbyes she left the office and closed the door behind her. Instead of heading back to her own office she walked with purpose down the corridor. People hurriedly got out of the woman’s way, when she moved it was like there was a force-field moving people aside. Landon wanted Dan all to herself and that desire had only increased when she learnt that Olivia was an obstacle. No one stopped Landon from getting her way and she had started to plot and scheme against Dan’s wife. It had taken a pathetically small effort to get Olivia unsettled at work. As she had found out Olivia was hardly the most stable person to begin with. Landon knocked on the door of Mr. Myers. He was an older man who had started the law firm and still ran it as boss despite not dealing with any cases any more. He was a fount of knowledge with an encyclopaedia-like knowledge of law. Landon had been very quick to make sure she was on his good side as soon as she had started there. “Come in.” Mr. Myers’ voice was gruff unlike his appearance which was much more like a kindly old grandpa. Landon opened the door and stepped into the office. The furnishings inside made Mr. Myers’ office look more like an extension of his home. Stepping through the doorway made it seem like Landon was being transported to an entirely different building. “Hello, Sir.” Landon said as she closed the door behind her. “Ah, Miss. Hamilton, how may I help you?” Mr. Myers asked. --- Dan pulled his car up outside of his house. He tilted his head from side to stretching the muscles in his neck. He climbed out of the car and pulled his briefcase with him, it banged against his leg as he pushed the door closed. He pressed the button on his key fob and the lights flashed to let him know it was now locked. Dan loosened his tie as he walked up the garden path to the front door. It had been a tough day. The Peterson file that had landed on his desk was more complex than anything he had seen before. It seemed like there were at least a thousand pages of intricate legalities to sift through. It was a mountain that he would have to climb up by himself. Hearing that Olivia had quit her job, whilst not totally a surprise, had also put a downer on the day. Opening the front door Dan was met with the sound of children’s television coming from the living room just off the hallway. He put down his briefcase and took off his jacket. He grabbed the handle of the door and then paused to take a deep breath. He pushed the door open. “Daddy!” Olivia jumped off the couch and hurried over to Dan. Dan forced as much of a smile as he could manage for his wife as he wrapped his arms around her and patted her back. He had been almost certain this was the scene he would be returning to. He looked over Olivia’s shoulder and could see some blocks laying on the floor and a pacifier sitting on the table, more clutter adding to the general mess. Olivia was wearing a white t-shirt with pink denim pinafore dress. Her hair was in pigtails with little pink bows on the end and, as Dan’s hand travelled down her back, he discovered she was wearing regular panties. That was something of a surprise for him all things considered. “Hello Livy.” Dan said. Livy being the name Olivia preferred when she was being little. “Erm, Daddy, I have something to tell you…” Olivia let go of Dan and looked down at her feet nervously. “I already know.” Dan said, “Landon told me.” “I’m sowwy.” Olivia lisped childishly. “It’s OK.” Dan sighed, “Does Livy want nuggies for dinner?” Dan watched as Olivia looked up with a big smile and rapidly nodded her head causing her pigtails to bounce all over the place. Dan patted her on the head and then walked out of the room leaving Olivia to hop back on the couch and continue watching her cartoons. Many people might think this was an odd scene to come home to but for Dan it was normal. Very early on in their relationship Olivia had told Dan about her love of age play. She liked to pretend she was a child, sometimes she even went so far as to wear diapers but most of the time her little self was potty trained. Olivia liked to be called Livy when she was little and Dan became a sort of de facto caretaker for her. He didn’t usually mind since he knew it helped Olivia a lot but on days like that one it did nothing for his stress. When Olivia was extra anxious, stressed or in any way not feeling her best she tended to want to be little more and more. Dan enjoyed the “Daddy” role a lot of the time but on some days he would’ve preferred resting, Olivia was so cute when she was feeling little, it was hard to say no. Dan yawned as he slipped some chicken nuggets and fries into the oven. He looked for some plates but found they were all unwashed and in the sink. He sighed and sat down on one of the chairs around the kitchen table. When Dan and Olivia had moved in together and sorted out the dynamics of their relationship it was agreed that since Dan was the main breadwinner that Olivia would do a majority of the housework. This setup worked a lot of the time but recently things had started to slip. The chores weren’t being kept up with by Olivia who was much more likely to be sat with her toys than doing the dishes. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help out, it was more that she couldn’t. Dan knew about her mental health obstacles but knowing about them didn’t always mean it was easy to empathise after he came home from a long day at work to have to do chores all evening. Dan rubbed the back of his neck as he took a couple of minutes to relax and the heat of the oven filled the kitchen. The only sounds in the house came from the television in the living room. Losing the extra source of income wasn’t the biggest deal in the world but Dan did worry about his wife. Olivia had always been on the fragile side and he worried that leaving her job and spending more time as a little was a sign that she was not coping well. He was desperate to help but already felt like he was stretched to the limit himself. When the food was ready Dan got a couple of plates and dished it up. He placed the two meals on the table and then got two drinks, for Dan it was a small bottle of beer whilst Olivia had a sippy cup full of juice. He screwed on the pink plastic top and then went into the living room to retrieve his wife. “Livy, time for dinner.” Dan said as he poked his head around the door. Dan smiled as Olivia jumped off the couch and hurried out to meet him. She wrapped her arms around Dan and hugged him before letting go and almost running to the dining table. She looked adorable in her dress which bounced with every step to sometimes give a look at the pink panties underneath, Dan recognised them as being the ones decorated by princesses from various animated films. Dan walked back through to the dining area to see Olivia already sat on her seat ready to tuck in to her childish meal. As he walked past Dan reached over and gently patted his wife on the head causing her to become giddy. As soon as he sat down Olivia started tucking in to her meal. Olivia was the first to finish her food and was gulping greedily from her sippy cup as Dan ate the last few bites of his own. When he put down his knife and fork he sat back in his chair and sipped his beer with a sigh. With a finger and a thumb he rubbed his eyes and tried to de-stress from everything that had happened. “Are you OK, Daddy?” Olivia asked from across the table. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Dan gave a tired smile, “Just a lot on at work.” “Oh…” Olivia put her a finger up to her lip as if thinking about something and then slipped off her chair. Dan watched Olivia walk around to him and she sat on his lap sideways. They hugged for a minute before Olivia pulled back and gave Dan a kiss. Dan had to admit that no matter how stressed or upset he might be Olivia was always able to put a smile on his face. “Can I do anything to make Daddy feel better?” Olivia asked breathily. One of her hands ran down Dan’s chest. “And what did Livy have in mind?” Dan asked with a knowing smile. Olivia’s hand continued down Dan’s body until it reached his crotch. She smiled and then bit her bottom lip as she giggled. Dan knew that for Olivia there was a sexual aspect to when she was little, she enjoyed it and found it exciting and it wasn’t uncommon for her time as a little to include some very grown-up activities. “Shall we take this upstairs?” Dan asked with a grin. Olivia enthusiastically nodded her head. Dan smiled as Olivia hopped down and took his hand. She eagerly pulled him out of the room and towards the stairs. The sex was always great. Dan was naturally dominant in the bedroom whilst Olivia was naturally submissive, it made for great chemistry. No matter how tired Dan felt he could always find energy for intimacy. --- If you enjoyed this part you can check out what happens next RIGHT NOW at: https://www.patreon.com/posts/livys-new-family-83503962

“Daylily” will focus on regression and babying, and will have little to no actual sexual content. This series features the same main character as my earlier story, “Delilah.” It will also be publicly available on my patreon. All characters are adults. This is still fetish content, so 18+ readers only please. Delilah’s Daddy unsnapped the straps of her booster seat and helped her out of the car. She put her arms around his neck and allowed herself to be lifted out and set on her feet. Her pink and white sneakers crunched on gravel as she touched the ground. He kissed her cheek and handed her sea-turtle plushie, which she clutched to her chest. Turning away, he went to fish her backpack out of the back seat. Delilah smoothed the skirt of her onesie against her slim thighs and fiddled with her pacifier clip. Daddy had let her pick out a new onesie for the occasion, and she’d chosen sky blue with a pattern of yellow flowers. They had both had fun getting her ready; her hair was up in pigtails, and Daddy had selected blue and yellow hair ties to match her onesie. She had loved how she looked when they left the house that morning, but now she felt anxious and self conscious. Being babied in public was new to Delilah. She knew that this secluded house, shielded from the road by a thick row of evergreens, was hardly “public.” Still, she felt exposed, standing in a stranger’s driveway dressed like a little girl. They were parked in front of a board fence that separated the driveway from the yard. “Daylily” was painted in cheerful yellow letters on the sign that hung from the gatepost. She stood on tiptoe to see over the fence. Fruit trees obscured the house, but the yellow siding was visible through the branches. Dandelion yellow. Daylily yellow? She wasn’t sure. Delilah did not know much about flowers. She heard Daddy behind her. “Here, let’s get your backpack on, sweetie.” Delilah let her Daddy slide the straps of her jellyfish backpack up her arms. The main compartment in the bell of the jellyfish held her snacks and an emergency change of clothes, as well as the gameboy and three bags of candy she’d shoved inside when Daddy wasn’t paying attention. Plush tentacles hung down her back and swung as she moved, brushing her bum. He took her hand and smiled at her. “Ready baby?” Delilah nodded. Her small hand trembled in his steady one. The gate creaked as Daddy opened it and lead her through. She held her sea-turtle firmly by one flipper, swinging him against her leg as she walked. A path of stepping stones led them through the fruit trees and towards the house. The leaves whispered in the breeze as they passed under them and Delilah could hear insects buzzing. Outdoor toys were sitting in the shade of the trees; a playhouse, a blue plastic rocking horse, a toddler slide. Swings hung from the largest branches. As they stepped out from under the trees, the house came into full view. Delilah stopped. It was large and sprawling, and spilled over the slight hill that it sat on like a riot of yellow daylilies, daffodils, dandelions. Behind the house, Delilah could see the tops of playground equipment and something shining - was that water? Her heart was beating fast. What would they be like? How was she going to handle being little without Daddy there? Daddy let go of her hand and rubbed the small of her back, making the tentacles of her backpack sway. “Are you still nervous, sweetie?” “Little bit.” Delilah laughed uneasily and sucked in air through her teeth. She turned around to hug him, wanting to hide against him. Which wasn’t easy - she was four inches taller than he was. “You’re gonna have so much fun, sweetie.” He squeezed her gently, rubbing her hips. Her diaper rustled under his palm. “And you’ll have lots to tell me about tonight.” “But I’ll miss you." “I’ll miss you too, sweetheart.” Daddy scooped her up, holding her against his hip. Although Delilah was tall, her build was tiny and birdlike. Her Daddy, short and heavy-set, could lift her easily. “But it’s just for the day.” “I know.” She put her arms around his shoulders, her sea-turtle flopping against his back. His beard tickled her cheek and her diaper squished under his hand as he supported her butt. Delilah blushed. She hadn’t realized she was wet already. He carried her the rest of the way to the house. Flowerbeds flanked the front door, and lilies and peonies looked up at her as Daddy climbed the steps. She reached out and trailed a hand along the railing. It was warm under her fingers. It was going to be hot today. She could already smell it. They had reached the top of the steps. Daddy kissed her and tickled her tummy, and she giggled and smiled despite her nervousness. He picked up her pacifier from where it was hanging against her ribs and placed it in her mouth. “Do you want to ring the doorbell, baby?” Delilah nodded, suckling her pacifier to help calm herself. The doorbell was shaped like a sunflower, the button was the black seed head. She took a deep breath, and rang.

Written with a little assistance from ai tech. Chapter 1: What do you mean choose?? Jesse My sister and I walk side by side through the too-quiet streets. I can feel Tessa’s unease. It’s always so close to the surface with her. My twin’s shoulders slump forward. She pulls her arms tight around her torso, bracing against the gust of wind that chills our bones. “Jesse, Mom’s been acting really strange lately, don’t you think?” she asks, chewing on her bottom lip the way she does when she’s nervous. I nod, my own worry gnawing at me. Ever since that mysterious envelope arrived from the school, Mom has been increasingly brooding. She’s usually chipper, despite the way things have been in this country lately. It’s so unsettling to see her like this. She hasn’t been this way since Dad died. Another gust of wind carries the distant sound of machinery through the air. Down the street, construction workers remove play structures from the old elementary school’s recess yard. The building has been abandoned for ten years, since the last of us were young enough to attend primary school. The last child in the country turns eighteen next week. Tessa and I are nearly twenty. We pass the elementary school quickly and quietly, turning our heads away as the construction workers rip the last vestiges of our happy childhoods from the Earth. Once we’re clear, Tessa releases a shaky breath. I can hear the tremble in her voice as she speaks. “You know, Jess, sometimes I wish we could just marry and start families and…” Her voice trails off, and her bottom lip quivers. Marriage is forbidden. Families are impossible. The last world war ravaged our planet and our bodies. Humans have lost their ability to reproduce. Tessa will cry if I don’t say something. She always cries. “I know, Tess,” I murmur. “But, hey. At least we have each other.” We hear hurried footsteps behind us. “Jess! Tess!” We turn to see our childhood friend Nick running to catch up with us. His usually cheerful face is ashen, and his eyes hold a glint of fear. My pulse quickens. “Nick, what is it?” I ask, keeping my voice monotone for Tessa’s sake. “What? Your mom didn’t tell you?” Nick huffs, out of breath. “Tell us what?” Tessa asks. The worry in her voice tells me she’s already imagining the most catastrophic news. I put a leash on my own imagination. “About the letter the school sent home to all the parents,” Nick says. He hesitates, then looks around to ensure that we’re alone. “By national decree, all families have to choose one of their two children under the age of twenty-five to surrender to the government by the end of the week.” My heart pounds. I wouldn’t believe it, wouldn’t even consider it, if I weren’t hearing it directly from Nick himself. His father is the mayor of this desolate town, so I know Nick wouldn’t waste my time with useless rumors. “What do you mean choose?” Tessa shrieks, and then takes off, bolting for our house, while the harsh truth of our mother’s strange behavior hits me like a train. I thank Nick for the news and take my time getting home. I’ve known for some time that the world has been changing in unimaginable ways, but this seems bleak. What does the government want with us? My mind races as I try to come up with an explanation…and a solution. Somehow, I have to keep our family together. It’s what my dad would want. When I reach home, I find my mother and sister sitting at the kitchen table. Tessa is draped over my mother’s lap, sobbing inconsolably, while my mother just stares blankly into space, pain and horror etched on her face. Her eyes drift toward me as I stand in the doorway. “I didn’t want you to find out like this,” she says. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” A stronger wave of sobs rack Tessa’s slim frame. A lump forms in my throat, but I push past it. “There has to be a way out of this,” I say. “There must be something we can do.” But even as I say it, the words feel hollow and futile. I think of Dad again and wish he was here. He’d know what to do. My mother just looks away. Tessa Jesse and I head back to school the next morning. School halted during the war, so everyone’s a few grades behind, not that it even matters. There are no jobs for our generation, so there’s no pressure to hurry through high school. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t even go to school, but the law requires it. The streets are as eerie and silent as ever, and my sister hardly says a word. I can tell she’s busy trying to think of a plan to save our family. That’s Jess. She always thinks she can fix everything. She should know better by now. This world sucks, and it’s going to keep sucking. We pass the old elementary school again, and I shudder with the creeps. The swing sets, slides, see-saw, jungle gym…it’s all gone. Everything I loved when I was little. Where all this playground equipment once stood, now there are large wooden crates. The construction workers have been replaced by painters who prime the school’s outer walls. I glance nervously at Jess. She just offers me a firm, reassuring smile. Like everything’s going to be okay. I offer a weaker smile in return. The high school yard is abuzz with chatter when we arrive. It seems like everyone knows about the decree. “Did you hear?” one girl whispers to another. “The Buchanan’s tried to run. They didn’t want to give up either of their sons. The police arrested Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan and took both boys.” I gasp in horror. When I turn to Jesse, I can tell she heard too, but she refuses to let the determination fade out of her eyes. It’s impossible to focus on my classes, and it’s not only me. As I glance around my first hour, I see students fidgeting and whispering when the Mr. Barris isn’t looking. As he writes on the whiteboard, Mr. Barris sighs mid-sentence. He sets his marker down and turns around. “I’m sure you all know by now that this afternoon, some of you will be taken away,” he says. “I suppose I should also tell you that, after today, this school will close. Those of you who remain will be sent to a new school—a new college of sorts.” My eyes widen. College? Those closed down years ago. I wonder if Jesse’s teacher is telling her the same news. She’s always been a stronger student than me. A guilty feeling nibbles as my conscience as I wonder which one of us our mother will choose to give away. At lunch, we sit with our friends, Nick and Lucas. Nick’s face is greener than usual, like he’s going to be sick. “What’s wrong?” I ask him. Jesse shoots me one of her pitying looks, as if I’ve asked a silly question. Nick’s hand trembles. “My dad told my brother and I his choice this morning,” he says. “He’s keeping Ethan.” Something catches in my throat. Tears blur my eyes. “Nick, I’m so sorry,” my sister says. “This is all so terrible.” Lucas, one of the most handsome guys in school, slides a hand over my sisters. “Jesse, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises. A twinge of envy passes through me. Lucas has had a crush on Jesse for as long as I can remember, and she’s not even the one who wants a boyfriend. Jesse says nothing, and I resent her silence. Why is she so distant toward him? I’d be all over him, if only he’d look at me. A terrible thought creeps into my mind, a thought from the darkest corners of my heart, but I can’t help it. I can’t help hoping that mom chooses to give up Jesse and not me.

Good day dear reader. This is a scene that could be used in various settings. Deliberately, no names have been mentioned, nor have any details been given about how it is done*. The main focus is on the experience itself, the core moment represented by this scene. The story is about role reversal and regression. Full use of diapers is implied (includes messing), but not described in too much detail. We have a male main character, from which perspective the story takes place. He has some kind of ability that allows him to bring others under his mental control and issue orders that permanently change their behavior. *It’s quite similar to hypnosis and this could be the answer to the how. However, it could just as well be a superpower, a special drug or anything else. It’s up to your imagination :D Finally, I have him where I wanted him to be. For his unreasonable and childish behavior, I hold him responsible. If he wants to behave like a baby, he should be put back into diapers. The thought sends a pleasant shimmer down my spine. Now let’s get to work: “You feel so small, so little. Yes, that’s right, you’re just a small baby boy. You belong into diapers; you love the infantile feeling of wearing them. You will notice that you will be unable to cum outside of your diapers. Only wearing your infantile clothes, you may make cummies. You know what the potty is, you know that grown-ups use it, but not you.” Closing the last tapes of the diaper around his crotch, I continue, “When I snap my fingers, you will concentrate all your thoughts of resistance and poop them out. Right into your diaper where they belong. With every push, you will feel my control taking over permanently. With every push you will feel your adulthood slipping away, your ability to get hard outside your infantile prison. As you go poopy, you will feel your potty-training vanishing. First your control over your bladder and as the warmth spreads around your baby dick you will feel your bowl control vanishing too. As you smell what you push out into your diaper, a sudden urge to suckle on something will overcome you. It will stay with you forever. When you finished soiling yourself and your diaper sags under its weight, you know that it is all gone.” With a sadistic smile, I snap my fingers. With increasing arousal, I watch the show. With delight I watch the knowledge leave his eyes as his diaper starts to fill up with squelching sounds. Soon joined by a hissing sound as he poops out his bladder control ... A couple of days later: She was naked, with only a thin diaper around her legs, swinging her hips in a hypnotizing way. “You are a naughty little boy, enjoying the sight of my diapered pussy.” I had to agree, my member getting harder every moment. With a mischievous grin, she orders, “Say it!” My cheeks brightly flushed I answer, “I’m a naughty little baby boy!” With a predatory gaze she states, “Yes, you are a baby boy! Do you know what baby boys should wear?” This is my darkest fantasy coming true, I can’t resist answering, “A diaper, I should wear a thick diaper to catch my accidents!” This seems to satisfy her, as she grabs my requested diaper from nearby. Opening it up and patting it invitingly for me to come to sit in it. I quickly free myself from my pants, presenting my fully erect member. With a seductive voice she suggests, “There is someone eager to get into his diaper. Come over here and let yourself be changed by Mommy.” I can’t resist complying and crawl over to the fluffy garment calling to me. I place myself reverently on the infantile garment, a bit pre-cum dropping from my erect shaft as she closes it around my member. This is heaven, what I always dreamed of. As I give up more control to her, she praises me, “You did well baby boy. Follow mommy’s commands and I will allow you to make fantastic baby cummies for me. You know you crave them, but before we come to that …” What, what is it? The suspense is too much and I ask, “What do I need to do?” With a honeyed voice, she responds, “You need to become a good baby boy, but you were quite naughty, so we need to fix that first.” She makes a small pause, looking at my last victim, which is crawling on the floor in a yellowed diaper. A former adult, which I turned into an adult baby. He watches me with a gleeful expression as Mommy continues, “Did he ask you to regress him?” With a gulp, I answer, “No, he didn’t.” In an accusing tone she continues, “But you made him this way anyway and we both know that you enjoyed the process very much.” I glance away in shame, thinking back on how aroused I became. How I changed into a diaper afterward, envisioning myself in his position as I started to fill it with my own stinky mush. The feeling of warm mass spreading at the back of my diaper as I made baby cummies in the front. Yes, she is right, I’m really just a naughty baby boy. With tears in my eyes, I look at her for salvation. My arousal still increasing, as I realize deep down where this is going. With a victorious smile full of confidence she states, “There is only one way to atone for your sin and becoming my good baby boy. Tell me what you are willing to give!” I want to resist, to stop this whole thing, but I am too deep under her control. My dick is throbbing in anticipation, as my resistance melts away. In panic, I look over to anybody for help, but the only thing I see is my former victim, watching me with a satisfied grin as I succumb to the same fate. With a pathetic whimper, my resistance breaks, my dick nearly bursting from pleasure, as I respond, “I will give up my adulthood.” With a predatory look, she caresses my infantile dick through the diaper, praising with a honeyed voice, “Such a good boy, getting rid of his adulthood for me. Say the words dear.” She has absolute control and I’m just a little baby boy. I … I wanna be a good boy, I want to make cummies for mommy! My mind feels like it is coated into a soft pink blanket, as I say the words, “When you snap your fingers, I will concentrate all my big boy thoughts and poop them out. Right into my diapee where they belong. With every push I will feel myself slipping more and more into infanthood; my ability to get hard outside my beloved diapers vanishing. As I go poopy, I will feel my potty-training vanishing. First my control over my pee-pees and as the warmth spreads around my baby dick, I will feel my control over my poopies go bye, bye as well. As I smell my mess, all my grown-up words go bye, bye too. When I finish going poopy for Mommy, I will know that it is all gone for good.” Mommy looks sooo proud of me, as she snaps her fingers ...

WOOOOOOO! Heyo, readers! I am super-dooper-ice-cream-scooper excited to bring to you this little project. Now, fair warning, this story was inspired by Squid Game, and contains kinda-spoilers. You have been warned. I hope that you enjoy! Stork Game by Panther Cub Mel sat at the edge of the bunk bed, looking out at all the others. What the hell have I gotten myself into?! he wondered. He looked down at the sleeve of the teal tracksuit he had woken up in and pushed it up, revealing soft pink fur, a perfect match for the long, bushy tail with the white tip that swished a little behind him. Over his heart, printed in white, was the number 456. Mel's ears twitched as all around him he heard the others murmured softly while some kind of classical music played over some unseen speakers. All of them also had numbers on the chests and backs of their matching track suits. Now and again there'd be whimpers and shrieks, usually from those who had finally come to, but those were becoming more infrequent as very few were still asleep. Mel had stayed silent, however, having long since learned that crying about a situation did nothing to actually change it. That was how you survived, and Mel was a survivor. Looking at the fur on his arms, his new paw-hands, and his paw-feet, Mel reflected on how he is... or at least was, before the gas in the strange car had put him and the other 'contestants' asleep; human. Unable to keep from inspecting himself again, Mel felt his new muzzle frown. He had also been a man before waking up, but that, much like his species, was no longer the case. With a sigh, Mel climbed over the short railing around his bed, and started down the ladder. Everyone was congregating in the center of the massive light blue room, where towers of the hundreds of bunk beds almost reached the ceiling with the hand-painted clouds and the smiling sun in the very center. No doors or windows of any kind to be seen. Looking around confirmed one of Mel's suspicions. No one was a human, or at least if they were like him, they were no longer human. All around him were more anthropomorphic animal people. "Does anyone know what in the hell is goin' on?" asked a light green raccoon man with what Mel pegged as an east texas accent. "I-I was told that... uhm..." a light purple lioness spoke up, looking suddenly nervous as she clutched her tail to her chest, looking at it in confusion. "I... signed up to c-compete in some... competition, b-but then I w-woke up here... like this." Many people started relating similar stories. "Where are you from?" Mel asked the lioness, wincing at the sound of his voice, which was definitely at a higher pitch and sounding much more feminine. "... C-Colorado... I-I was in Boulder when... when I g-got in the van..." That struck a chord with Mel, as he had been living in Phoenix when he'd been approached by the odd smiling man in the business suit. "I was in Beaumont, Texas," said the raccoon man, crossing his arms and frowning, deep in thought. Other animal people started calling out other states and cities. "I live in Toronto," a red panda woman standing to Mel's left suddenly shouted. She was holding her tail like the lioness, and indeed many others were doing the same. Mel had to restrain himself from grabbing at his own new tail... the fact that it was so bushy and looked so fluffy certainly didn't help. Even more countries were named, some people yelling in different languages. Mel figured that they had people from around the world and, based on what those who spoke English said, he was able to confirm that they had all agreed to these sketchy 'games', all after being approached by men or women in suits, asking to play a game. "Was anyone here not human before waking up?" Mel asked during a sudden lull, some folks that were bilingual taking it upon themselves to translate his query. Everyone looked around, in silence, no one stepping forward. "I-is this some kind of secret government experiment?" the lioness asked, sounding terrified. "Maybe it was aliens," a white-furred squirrel man perched on one of the bunk beds shouted. It was then that the far wall that all of the bunk beds were facing, which Mel had at first thought was just a seamless wall, split open straight down the center, the massive panels sliding apart to reveal a very large and wide security shutter, with a digital screen above it. The screen lit up and displayed 600 Players. Mel looked around and spotted a buff-looking cheetah man who seemed just as confused as everyone else, with the number 600 on his jacket. Looking around more, Mel couldn't immediately see anyone else with a higher number. His search was prematurely terminated, however, when there was a chime and the music ended, just before the large metal shutter rolled up. Out marched a hundred mew animal people, all wearing bright pink hooded track suits that even had special sleeves to cover their tails, the hoods up wearing ominous black masks, all bulged out for muzzles, or so Mel presumed. What was curious about these masks were how the only semi-distinctive features to them were that they had one of three white shapes on them. A circle, a triangle, and a square. Those with triangles had equipped some kind of black rifles with them, but ones that had strange canisters attached at the base of the barrels. A smaller number of circles began setting up tables and pushing in push carts laden down with nondescript gray boxes. These were stacked next to the tables, with the topmost ones opened and their contents neatly stacked on the tables for display. There were individual packets of what appeared to be apple slices, cups of yogurt, and juice boxes. The circles were soon standing on the opposite sides of the tables, facing out at the confused animal people. Standing in front of the tables was a lone square, Mel feeling uneasy as their gaze, while hidden by the mask, swept over them. What really unsettled him and more than a few others, was how they worked in silence, not a word being spoken between any of them. "Ladies and gentlemen," a calm male voice said, "I would like to welcome you all. Each and every one of you will participate in six games over the course of six days. After the sixth day, the winners will receive a substantial cash prize. But please, first enjoy a light breakfast, and then we can beg--" "Hold on a second!" The red panda girl from earlier shouted, the crowd around her parting a little. She had her hand-paws on her hips and her tail was bushed out, clearly in anger. "How the hell are we supposed to believe you? You abducted all of us, put us to sleep with some kind of gas, took the clothing and belongings we were wearing, dressed us up in these tracksuits, and took us to wherever! And now, we're being told we'll get paid if we play some games?!" Mel nodded in silent agreement while a few others were more vocal. "It was unfortunate, but those measures needed to be taken to ensure confidentiality. When the games have concluded, everything shall be returned to you all." "Why are you freaks wearing those masks?" the cheetah man called out. His voice was deep and how he spoke suggested a Boston accent to Mel. "The faces and personal information about our staff is not to be disclosed to any and all participants, to ensure fairness and confidentiality for the games." We hope that you understand. "You can make all the excuses you want, but the fact remains that were were kidnapped!" The red panda stepped forward, her hands now clenched into fists at her sides. Mel looked around and spotted some other red panda, some with different colored fur, and briefly wondered if there was anything significant, like similar personalities, with people who were turned into the same species. Considering how a few of the other red pandas looked to be hiding more towards the center of the group and others seemed just dazed and confused, it seemed inconclusive to Mel. He'd try to gauge other members of his new species, but he still didn't know what he was. "Also, why the hell are we all animals now?!" This was roared by a black-furred lion, who looked just as buff as the cheetah, if not moreso. "For why you have all transformed, not only species but in some cases even sex, that is because you are no longer on Earth," Square explained. Mel overheard the white squirrel loudly whisper to a nearby mouse "I knew it!" "Or rather, you are no longer on the Earth that you are familiar with. Sixty eight years ago, an advanced civilization of anthropomorphic animal people, of varying species, discovered our world from another dimension, one where life on Earth evolved drastically differently. After observing us for two decades, they made contact with numerous world governments. They are the ones who have set up these games, and every year, a lucky group of humans is selected to be brought to their world to compete. When humans enter this new dimension, our bodies undergo drastic changes, transforming us into one of the many different species of this world, and yes, even sex can be altered in the process. It is currently not understood how or why this happens, just that it does." The silence was practically deafening. "Why in the hell would these... advanced animal people do this?" An eagle woman stepped out from a huddled mass to stand next to the red panda. "The motivations for these games cannot be disclosed at this time, however, I can assure you that they only have your best interests at heart." "Our b-best..." the red panda's tail bushed out again as she looked practically apoplectic. "WHAT KIND OF NONSENSE IS THAT?!" "Player 277, Ariel Masters, age: 31 years. Former director of accounting at Red Leaf Investments. Embezzled money from her clients' accounts and subsequently invested it in derivatives that subsequently failed." Square said simply, pulling out a remote from their pocket and pressing a button. The lights dimmed and the electronic screen was now playing a video. It showed a blonde woman with green eyes wearing a charcoal gray skirt suit looking disheveled and sweating, playing Rock, Paper, Scissors with whomever had the camera on them. They kept losing, only to receive a pat to her head and an assurance from a woman's voice that they can play double or nothing, eventually winning and being given the million dollars. Mel watched with rapt attention, that being what happened with him down in the subway, with the only exception being a game of Blackjack. Looking over at the red panda, whose name he now knew to be Ariel, her tail was now being hugged to her chest as she whimpered a little, looking shocked at the video of her human self on the screen. "Current losses, six million, five hundred and thirty three thousand, nine hundred and sixty two dollars." Square pressed another button, and Mel saw a large man on the screen. He was buff and had olive skin, large brown eyes, and a shaved head. He was wearing a white muscle shirt throwing horseshoes and punching a brick wall every time he missed. "Alexander Adams, age 26, number 390, two million in debt." Another press of a button on the remote, and another person appeared on the screen, playing some simple game and eventually winning one million dollars, only to have their debts called out. Those not speaking English who were called out had the pleasure of the square translating for them in their languages after he listed the same info about them as those that were up before. "Mel Nakamura, number 456, age 31, four million, thirty eight thousand and ninety nine dollars in debt." Mel froze, looking up and feeling the eyes of the square on him, feeling his tail tuck itself as video feed of himself came up. His blazer was torn and his nose bleeding, hair slicked back but mussed up. Like Ariel, Mel was playing Rock, Paper, Scissors, tears of frustration in his eyes with each loss, agreeing time and again to the double or nothing option. He remembered how the older woman kept smiling at him sadly and giving him words of comfort and encouraged him to keep trying, saying that he was so close. "Every last one of you is on the brink of complete financial ruin. You all have debts that realistically you shall never be able to pay off, many having taken loans from far less than legal sources at that." Mel thought he detected a tinge of... sadness? But he wasn't sure, square kept their voice even and composed. "When our organization approached you all, you did not trust us. But, you agreed to play a game with us and, when you did, you were rewarded with the promised money. After that, all of you trusted us, hence why you called and volunteered to play our games. Now is your last chance to choose. Will you go back to living your old, sad little lives, destined for tragic, short ends? Or, will you choose to seize this opportunity, for many, a last opportunity, that we are offering you here?" The players were all silent, aside from some murmuring and shuffling of feet. "How much do we get if we win?" Mel called out, those around him moving aside, with many turning to look at him. Square just pressed another button, and above was the sounds of moving machinery. Everyone turned to see the smiling sun split open as a clear plastic, giant piggy bank descended, a clear pipe connected to its back. "After every game, the prize money will be deposited into the piggy bank. The amount to be won shall be disclosed after the conclusion of the first game. If anyone here does not wish to play, please speak now." No one said anything. After a few minutes of silence, everyone was directed to stand in single file lines facing the tables, to sign a contract as well as collect the offered breakfasts. Mel felt like he was in a dream, a strange and otherworldly dream, which considering where they supposedly were, made the sensation rather fitting. When Mel got to the table before him, he wasn't surprised to see that the contract was a player consent form. What surprised him was that there were only three sentences written on it, followed by a line for him to sign his name. Clause 1: A player is not allowed to stop playing. Clause 2: A player who refuses to play shall be eliminated. Clause 3: The games shall end if the majority of players agree. "That's it?" Mel asked the circle in front of him. They just stood there staring back at him behind the grating of their mask that, even up close, completely obscured their face. Getting no answer, Mel sighed and used the offered pen to sign his name. He then accepted the food and the juice box and left the line, making his way over to one of the bunk beds and sitting down on the short railing, feeling hungry. Once everyone had signed and been given their food, the circles packed up the empty boxes and collapsed the tables, wheeling them all away while the triangles continued to watch. Mel used his apple slices to dip into the yogurt since no spoons had been given. The juice box, which only had the circle, triangle, and square symbols on it in lieu of any kind of branding, had been apple grape juice. It wasn't long after Mel had finished this odd breakfast when classical music started playing on the hidden speakers again, but this time with a little something extra. "Attention players," a cheerful feminine voice said over the speakers, "please follow the staff to the first game." Once more, Mel found himself and his fellow 'contestants' lining up single file to follow the circles out through the shutters and into some light pastel plastic halls. This opened up into a strange series of staircases, looking to Mel very similar to a real life version of the MC Escher painting, Relativity. Except all the staircases were made of plastic, and everything was painted in loud primary colors. The line was split up into multiple groups, each following one of the circles, all going in different directions. Mel felt even more disoriented by the time they all, simultaneously, came out into a large light pink room, and were led to a line of turnstiles separated by partitions with screens on them. The single file lines were led to the turnstiles and, walking through and making the bars click, the woman's voice from earlier chimed in. "Please face the screens and smile!" Most of the players chose not to smile as their pictures were taken, shown to them on the screens. Mel thought that trying to make a good impression on... whomever would be watching might be a good idea, and so tried to smile, feeling like their muzzle broke out into more of a grimace as their picture was taken. Getting a good look at himself, Mel was surprised. So I'm a... pink... fox? A... vixen, I think, Mel thought as he examined his picture. In addition to pink fur, he had white on his muzzle that ran down his neck and possibly all the way to his stomach, though Mel was unsure as of yet. He was amazed to find that his brown eyes were now red, and he let out a huff of irritation seeing a patch of white fur on his left cheek that was in the shape of a white broken heart. Well now that just seems intentional. Soon, their groups were led to a set of three gates with bright sunlight nearly blinding everyone. The green painted gates swung open on well-oiled hinges, and everyone filed out. It was a strange sight, looking out at this football-sized area. Enclosing the entire arena were four sky blue walls. Looking up, Mel could see birds flying overhead in a cloudless blue sky, and just below them, lining the tops of the walls were open black squares. Looking back down, the ground was all sand, with a line in red painted onto the sand a few feet in front of them. All the way to the far side of the arena was some kind of plastic-looking tree with a... very unsettling statue made to look like a little wolf boy wearing a white shirt and red short-alls, all behind another red line painted in the sand. On either side of it were two of the triangle-faced staff members, and they only came up to the statue's knees. Mel heard others talking about how creepy the statue was, but were silenced when it started to move. It slowly spun around, clearly on some kind of rotating platform. It raised its arms and grasped the trunk of the plastic tree that it was now facing. "The first game to be played is a childhood classic... Red Light, Green Light! Players will be allowed to move forward when the robot calls out Green Light! When it shouts Red Light, stop moving. Players that are caught moving during Red Light shall be eliminated. Those that cross the finish line without being eliminated within the five minute play time shall pass and move on to the next game. Those who do not make it across the finish line in the allotted time shall also be eliminated. I shall now repeat the rules." "This is a joke," Mel's ears twitched as he looked over at the speaker. It was a skinny blue dragon man. It was hard for Mel to be certain, but he got the impression he was in his early twenties. "Fifty bucks to whoever makes it to the finish line first," the blue dragon said with a smirk. Mel shook his head to clear it. Many of the others were lining up at the red line painted on the sand. He was away to the left, keeping his distance from his fellow players, watching the giant robot at the far end of the field. When a childish voice happily called out, Green Light, Mel stayed put to wait and watch. While there was a clock ticking down, there was nothing in the rule about any kind of extra reward for finishing first. Just about everyone else started quickly making their way across the sand. "Red light," the voice called and the head of the robot rotated quickly to stare out behind it. Mel froze and, squinting, could barely make out the pupils of the mechanical eyes darting around for a bit. They then stopped, and the head turned back around. "Green light." Mel started walking, his instincts in the back of his head screaming at him to run back to the gates. But he remembered that any player who refuses to play is eliminated, and he needed the money. Watching the robot, in the split-second before it rotated, he saw the head twitch a little, and so froze. The head whipped around and said "Red light." Again, everyone was perfectly still. When it turned back around and was green light again, they all slowly resumed. The blue dragon looked behind himself and saw others power walking, so he started to jog to maintain his lead, letting out a laugh. He realized his mistake when the head whipped back around and he froze. Unfortunately, he was too slow, and the eyes spotted him. POP! Everyone flinched, and watched as the dragon boy slumped and fell over. "Green light!" Those nearest to him moved slower than before, shuffling closer to him. Mel's ears twitched as he felt a chill run up his spine. Did he just get... shot? he wondered to himself. That's when he heard the voice of the red panda girl that was looking down at the dragon. "There's some kind of... tranquilizer dart in him," she said, her voice faint but still enough for Mel's ears to hone in on. "Red light!" More than a few of the former humans were still too focused on the fallen fellow contestant to be ready. POP. POP. POP. POP. An eagle, the tigress, the older mouse, and the squirrel girl each went down, with only a sudden shriek from the squirrel, who was soon on her side, unconscious. A racoon woman screamed, and many of the fellow players joined suit and started to make a mad dash for the gates they had entered from. Mel stood still, watching as the robot's eyes started darting from person to person, sometimes crossing, other times going walleyed, it all looked so unsettling. There were now a series of rapid pops going on and, turning only his eyes upwards, following where his pointed ears were swiveled. Mel needed only a second to realize that the black rectangles lining the top of the enclosure now had long black barrels poking out, jerking in different directions, before letting out a pop, and repositioning. Automatic turrets?! What the hell kind of game is this?! Mel bit down on his rising panic, remembering to keep a cool head. Slowly, the screams and pleading voices and the banging fists against the locked gates tapered off as the last of those identified as having moved while that damn robot was looking were shot with whatever was in those darts. A few seconds of silence, and one last POP as a skinny bear was trying to crawl behind an unconscious cat received a dart to his posterior; and the robot was soon swiveling its head back to face the tree. "Green light!" Forcing himself to move, Mel began quickly trudging forward, risking a look back to see bodies lying everywhere, but also so many other players still standing, also moving forward. "Red light!" Mel froze, and kept from flinching when there were another three Pops. The clock above was ticking away, it being less than two minutes, and he was only a third of the way across. Mel swished his tail, suddenly realizing he was going to have to make sure to exert control over his new appendage as well lest it move during a red light, and began to pick up the pace at the next green light. Another red light, and another pop. That was the pattern as the contestants made their way across the sand. Sometimes there would be two, three, or even five. Mel was nearing where the blue dragon lay, and stood stock still as he looked down at them. The guy, if he even was that before coming here, now seemed... smaller. Like his tracksuit was three sizes too big for him. Mel was unsure of just what he was seeing, before a sudden Green Light, spurred him back into moving. The red panda girl from before was the first to make it across, with the skunk man not too far behind her to trip during the sudden red light. He was darted, serving as a reminder to those still standing not to get complacent. Mel was three fourths of the way across when, during a Red Light, he had a good view of the digital clock. He had less than twenty seconds remaining. The head snapped back, and he started sprinting forwards, stopping after a beat, just feeling that the head was about to whip around again. He was correct, and winced a little from a volley of Pops. Apparently he wasn't the only one who realized that time was running out. The head turned back around at the ten second mark, and Mel was sprinting again. He huffed from the sudden exertion, watching the clock. Five, four, three, two, one... He leapt across the white finish line just before the head of the robot snapped back. Sitting up, he watched what looked like fifteen more players freeze, looking terrified. A loud buzzer sounded, followed by a quick succession of Pops, all fifteen going down in the blink of an eye. It was a quiet trudge back to the room with the bunk beads. Entering, Mel noticed that there were definitely fewer beds than there'd been before. He felt his tail dragging on the ground behind him as he walked over to one and took a seat. His ears twitched and he heard sobbing. Looking over, he saw a gray bunny man curled up and crying on one of the beds. Looking back towards the door they had just come through, Mel wanted to bolt and run right through it. But the staff were standing in a row in front of it, staring out at them. All of them triangles, all of them holding those strange rifles. Two in the center stepped forward and parted to let a square face through. Mel had no way of knowing if it was the same one from before. "I offer you a heartfelt congratulations for successfully making it through the first game. Now to announce the results." Above the square, the screen displayed the number 600. It then started counting down, sounding like the kind of music you heard when a slot machine was spinning. Mel watched in growing horror as it clicked for his mind that it was subtracting the number of players who were... eliminated. It finally stopped at 311. 289 people had been shot with those... darts and eliminated. Mel felt like the apples and yogurt were going to come back up any second now. "Out of 600 players, 289 were eliminated." The square staff member said it so damn casually. "PLEASE," the bunny man Mel had seen crying screamed and ran forward, dropping to his knees. He held his hands clasped in front of him. "I... I HAVE A FAMILY! I SWEAR, I'LL PAY BACK WHAT I OWE, JUST PLEASE, LET ME GO! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!" Like a dam breaking, other men and women did the same, pleading with the square staff. "Everyone, please calm down. No one is going to harm anyone here." "Then what happened to the people who were shot with those darts? Were those tranquilizers? Do you have any idea how easy it is to accidentally kill someone with one of those?!" Ariel roared, brushing past the bunny man. "Those were not tranquilizers. Now that the first game has concluded, I am allowed to disclose more of the purpose of this game." With that, everyone fell silent. The square face pulled out the remote and pressed a button. The screen changed from the current number of players, to a large white room. Mel and the others watched as the unconscious eliminated players were wheeled in on stretchers, with masked doctors and nursing staff tending to them. They were removing clothes and the darts and transferring the sleeping players to hospital beds, multiple strange machines and devices being used. Mel noticed that all of the eliminated players seemed... smaller, and it sparked the memory of when he looked over the dragon boy on the field. "On this world, Kyun, there exists a genetic disorder, known as Tumok. It is harmless to adults, but unfortunately fatal to young children. In recent years, the number of carriers for this defective gene have increased, and the worldwide population for the natives of this world, the Kin, have begun to face a serious population decline. Numerous cures have been attempted, with little to no promising results. One such attempt at a cure, which is actually a serum that can cure most other ailments, has a unique effect on transformed humans. When a human is brought to Kyun and undergoes the transformation and is given the serum, their entire body undergoes a rapid rejuvenation. Effectively causing their physical age to regress, often to the age of very early childhood. What's more, former humans, and especially regressed former humans, have no trace of this gene, and neither do their offspring, even when their offspring comes from a parent who is a native with the gene." Mel felt like he was going to hurl again. This was like some crazy sci-fi story. "So, each year, six hundred lucky players are chosen from around the world to compete in these games, effectively known as the Stork Games. Those that are eliminated are given the serum, taken for immediate medical checkups and observation by regression-specialized pediatricians, bathed, and with clean bills of health, adopted out to loving families to start their new lives as members of the Kin. Any regressed individuals who have medical conditions that the serum was not able to immediately cure are kept for a little longer as the Kin's other advanced medical procedures are used to cure the little tykes who, when ready, are sent to their new homes." "But..." the bunny man said, slowly getting up, "why the... games, why not just... ask for volunteers? And why start regressing people?! Why not just take willing adult immigrants to... uh... breed with?" "I am not at liberty to discuss the full reason as to why. But please know that the eliminated players are alive and healthier than ever, and will be starting new lives. There will be no memory loss for them, so in many ways, it's more like an extended vacation back into childhood." "Lucky?! VACATION?!" Ariel screeched. "You're making us compete for money, and if we lose, we lose all of our freedoms and become someones' babies?!" "This is fraud," a panda man said, brushing Mel aside and adjusting his glasses. "This is kidnapping and fraud!" "You can't do this to us! I won't play this damn game," the gray bunny yelled, others yelling similar sentiments. "Clause 2 of the contract that you all signed," the square face said, his calm voice cutting through all the others, silencing them, "states that any player that refuses to play will be eliminated." The tension in the air was palpable. "Clause 3," Ariel chimed in, "if the majority of players wish to end the game..." Square face stared at her for a moment, before finishing for the smug-looking red panda. "Then the games shall be terminated. ... Alright then, we shall put it to a vote." Wordlessly, two circles came out carrying a large podium with two buttons on it. One was green with a white circle on it, the other red with a white x on it. Two more circles came forward and shooed people aside, carrying a series of flat long pieces of white plastic sheeting a foot wide in length. They began snapping the pieces together, soon forming a long white line, dividing the room in half. Every player was directed to the right side of the line, with instructions from square that they will be called up numerically to cast their vote one at a time, and move over to the left side after they have voted. "But first," square said, pressing a button on the remote, "if you will direct your attention to the piggy bank up above." The sound effects from slot machines when a jackpot is hit began blaring out of the speakers, as bundles of US dollars started dropping into the clear plastic pig. The screen above the door lit up and began showing a series of numbers following a dollar sign, rapidly getting larger and larger. The number finally stopped at $28,900,000,000 when the last few bundles of cash landed in the piggy bank. It was almost halfway full. "With each player that is eliminated, their potential share of the grand prize is added to the total that will go to the winners of the games. Each player's share of the prize is one hundred million dollars. The maximum amount to be won is sixty billion dollars. Now, with that out of the way, please cast your vote. Starting with player 001." Mel's breath caught in his throat as the older-looking weasel shuffled up to the podium. The human-turned vixen was looking at the money hanging right above his head. All the answers to his problems and then some, right there. Then he remembered what happened to the people that lost and, as sick as it made him inside, he began weighing the pros and cons. Or he started to when a sudden elbow jabbed him in his ribs, right below his... breasts. Mel turned to see Ariel looking him in the eye. "It's not worth it," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "Sp-speak for yourself," an otter woman said, sniffling. "I-if I go back home now... I-I'm as good as dead. A-at least here, I h-have a chance t-to change my life... or t-to start over. Th-that's b-better than any d-deal b-back on Earth." There were others nodding along to that. Mel looked over at the screen and saw that it was now a scoreboard, with thirteen votes so far to end the game, and ten to continue it. In the end, it was closer, way too close, as far as Mel was concerned. One hundred and fifty five votes to keep playing, and one hundred and fifty five to leave. And there was only one vote left to be cast. Number 600, the buff cheetah. He looked up at the board, and then over to everyone else who already voted. "Listen up, pansies. You might be happy with ending up with someone wiping your asses for you, but I'm not. I'd be happier if this was some kind of death game." With that, he punched the red button. "We would like to thank you for your time," Square said, he and the other staff members quickly exiting, the shutter door slamming shut right behind them. "Wait, so do we get to go home?" the bunny man shouted. Just then, clouds of a white gas began to spray up from the floors and out of the walls and ceiling. People started coughing and screaming in a panic, but soon, they all started falling over. Mel was holding his breath, his lungs starting to ache after a while, as he looked up at the piggy bank. His eyes watering and his lungs screaming for relief, he gave in and inhaled, his world very quickly growing dark. * * * "--ake up!" Mel felt groggy as he opened his eyes, only to be met with darkness. He was confused, as he felt the sun beating down on him. It took him a second, after realizing his hands and feet were bound in what felt like rope, he'd been blindfolded. "Huh?" he slurred out, reaching up and pushing his blindfold up. He was sitting on a dirt road, wearing just his boxers... and he was human again! And a man! Looking over, he saw a blonde woman, one who looked oddly familiar, in just her white bra and panties, like him, her hands and feet were bound in rope. "Are ya with me, Mel?" The woman asked, annoyed. It took Mel a second before his mind sparked the memory of the video. "W-wait, you're Ariel?" he asked, confused. She rolled her green eyes and nodded. "Yes, Dummy," she said. "Now, as much fun as it would be to roll half naked on the asphalt near these fragments of broken bottles to get to the pocket knife I see there laying on your clothes, since you are closer, could you be a dear and grab it so we can cut our ropes?" Mel was a little confused and looked around. He and Ariel were on the side of the road. Judging by the rocky scrub land, with a small gas station nearby. He started to feel a sense of familiarity, as the gas station, Roy's as the sign read, was one he knew from being just outside his home town. Looking over, and seeing several large and small shards of broken glass, a neatly folded pile of his clothes and shoes, with a blue-handle pocket knife resting on his shoes. He reached over and grabbed it, being careful to avoid getting cut on any of the glass. He was quick to cut the ropes binding his wrist and ankles before carefully doing the same for Ariel, noticing a similar pile of clothes next to her. He blushed and looked away, quickly slipping on his jeans and sandals. "So," Ariel said, once she had her red skirt and black tank top on, taking a moment to bunch her hair up into a ponytail with a scrunchie, "I take it that we're not far from Phoenix?" "Uh, it's a two hour drive," Mel said, pulling on his green t-shirt. He looked over at Ariel, who was busy tying the laces for her sneakers. "Damn. Do you have a phone on you?" "Yeah... but this is a dead zone. But there's a landline over at Roy's there. They'll let you use it," Mel said. Ariel nodded at that, and the two started walking towards it. "Hey, so how'd you know we were relatively near Phoenix? I thought they picked you up in Toronto?" Mel asked. "I said I was from Toronto. I didn't say that that's where I was when I got picked up for that... craziness." "So then, where were you?" "Phoenix," Ariel said with a sigh. "I'd actually... left Toronto... because of problems at... work..." "... Oh," Mel said, remembering what the square face had said about the embezzlement, and decided not to pursue it further. Before making it to the gas station, the two agreed that it was unlikely that any organization with the money to take them... wherever they were, whether or not they were telling the truth about interdimensional travel, was probably powerful enough to make people drawing attention to it disappear, so it would be best to keep the events that happened to them to themselves. Well, that, and because anyone they did tell would probably think that they were insane. Mel thought again about all the money that had been in the giant piggy bank, and about the folks he owed money too. He was already close to being homeless, but he knew that if he didn't give up, he could find a way out. Feeling in his pocket, he found a little yellow card, just like the one he'd been given that brought him into this world of craziness. A circle, a triangle, and a square was on one side. On the other, instead of a phone number, were the words "Return to the pickup spot from before, one week from today, if you wish to resume playing." Mel flicked the card into the trash can just before entering Roy's. He may be desperate, but he wasn't that desperate. He caught Ariel tossing an identical card in as well, following behind him. Sometimes, you just gotta take what life has to throw at you, no matter what it is, Mel thought to himself. One week later... Mel sighed as he sat on the familiar bunk bed, listening to the classical music playing. Looking around, everyone seemed much more... lively, at least significantly less subdued. It took all of three days before Teddy the loan shark he had borrowed from to find the friend's house he was staying at and to break in. He had dragged Mel into the bathroom and started holding him under the water of the filled bathtub, really impressing on him the importance of paying off his debt. And the next time he found Mel, if he didn't have the money, he was going to have to actually hurt him, his words. Mel scanned the other players, and caught sight of a familiar red panda girl. She and Mel locked eyes, before both looking away in shame. Looking up at the display above the metal shutters. It read 293 Players Remaining. Out of everyone who had left, only 18 hadn't returned at the end of the week. Looking up at the piggy bank, he saw that it was now past the halfway mark, with their shares added to it. Mel began sipping from his juice box, this one with apple juice in it, having finished the bag of banana chips and graham crackers first. Flanking the open doorway were two triangles, with a square face entering. "Welcome back, contestants," Square-Face said in his calm and even voice to the subdued crowd before him. There was no begging or harsh words coming forth today. "Follow the staff before you to where the next game shall be played." They players followed in a single file line back out into the maze of twists and turns and stairs, giving Mel a twinge of nostalgia for the play structures he would crawl around in when he was younger. Considering what this place was for, he supposed that that was intentional. The classical music being piped in seemed to somehow oddly fit. As they walked, he tried to keep track of all the different doors and halls they went through, but it was all a jumbled maze. How the circle-faces or any of the other "staff" managed to not get lost was beyond the lanky pink vixen. Soon, they were all led out into an open area about as big as a baseball field. Scattered about was playground equipment, but all scaled up to be massive, and perhaps to make the players feel small? There was soft green carpet everywhere to serve as the 'grass'. Walking up to one of the slides made Mel feel like a toddler standing next to it. Past a few more slides were some seesaws. Turning his head, Mel saw a swingset next to a sandbox and a colorful jungle gym, with what appeared to be a climbing net. Loud colors were the norm for the different pieces of equipment. And once again surrounding them were massive walls, painted to blend in with the clear blue sky visible thanks to the open ceiling. "Today's game will be... Bomb-Tag! Players will find the watches affixed to their wrists glowing a bright green. When round one begins, several players' watches change from green to red, indicating that they have been designated as being 'it'. When a player is it, the red face of their watch will countdown. When the countdown reaches zero, the players with red watches shall be eliminated. However, if a player with a red watch tags a green player, the tagged player is now 'it' instead and has until the end of the continued countdown to tag a green player. When the countdown is transferred from one player to another, the clock does not reset. I will now repeat the rules." As the cheery feminine voice read out the rules again, Mel, like many others, inspected the plastic watch that was more or less shackled to his wrist. The digital face of the clock has an animation of a green smiley face winking at him, with the words reading 'It's Playtime!' above it. A quick look around showed that everyone's watches were glowing green. It was then that Mel realized something, the voice had said Round One. "Okay... so this is a game where we gotta try and avoid pretty much everyone, unless you're it," Mel said to himself under his breath, already climbing up the ladder to the slide nearest him. A high vantage point could be helpful, and seeing others scramble up the other slides, with others yet rushing towards the jungle gym, Mel knew he wasn't the only one to come to that conclusion. "Round one will begin in ten, nine, eight," the voice on the speakers counted down. Mel checked to make sure his velcro laces were tight, and took a second to tuck his t-shirt into his pants, shrugging off his coat and letting it drop. Give someone one less thing to try and maybe grab in a chase. "Five... four... three... two... one... begin!" Mel looked down at his watch in horror as he saw the face on it instantly turn red, the winking smiley face turning into a smiley face on a red bomb. The timer on his watch was ticking down from two minutes. Looking up at a digital clock, it was ticking down the same amount of time. He heard shrieks and yells as the overgrown playground erupted into chaos. Breathing heavily, Mel slid down the slide and started sprinting towards the swingset, seeing a large group of people there. Others with red watches were already tagging people, their watches turning green while their victims' turned red, only for most to be immediately tagged back or by someone else who was red. Mel ran around the throng and did a drive-by tagging of an otter girl who had her back to him, not once slowing or breaking stride, as he continued to run past. He sighed a little with his watch back to green, until he was practically bowled over by a jackrabbit guy who apparently was 'it'. Mel growled, his tail fluffing up in frustration, but wasted no time in getting up and running around. Folks with green watches ran from him, and Mel was already starting to feel a little tired. Just then, a crocodile man stumbled and fell and, Mel seeing that his watch was green, sprinted to the guy. He ran and leaned down a little to clap the crocodile on the shoulder while they were trying to scramble back to their feet. Mel jumped back a bit to avoid their lunge to tag him back, and ran. Mel kept going at a jog, constantly looking around and doing his best to stay out in a corner of the room. Whenever he saw anyone approaching him, he would jog away, be they green or red; as a larger number of greens were more enticing for the reds. Mel only stopped when he looked up at the clock and saw it was ticking down from five, four, three, two, one... Mel's ears winced from a sudden loud buzzer that made everyone freeze. Then, almost simultaneously, everyone with red watches started crying out, the jackrabbit from earlier saying something stung him under his watch. All of the 'eliminated' players soon collapsed, a wolf woman slumping over and sliding down one of the slides. "Round one is complete! Congratulations to all the winning players. Please wait while the staff collects the eliminated players." The door at the far end opened and out marched dozens of the 'staff' in their pink hooded jumpsuits. As Mel observed them, he noticed a bit of a pattern. The ones with the white circle masks were doing all the grunt work, gently gathering up the unconscious and shrinking players in their arms, and collecting any clothing that may have fallen off of them, as some seemed to be shrinking faster than others. The ones with the triangles were carrying the automated dart guns, and looked to Mel like they knew how to use them. The square-faced-masked ones were in the minority, and seemed to be directing the other types. "So there's a hierarchy," Mel wheezed out, doubled over and resting. With the last of the regressing players carried out, the triangle masks followed the square masks back out the door, two guards flanking either side of it to presumably keep an eye on the non-eliminated players until the other staff left, to which the guards followed suit, the large metal door shutting again. Mel thought about those eliminated players, and what they had learned yesterday. In the end, all of the eliminated ones would be sent to the awaiting families, to start their new lives over, whether they wanted to or not. "Round two of three shall begin in ten, nine, eight," Mel groaned, already feeling tired, but not wanting to end up back in diapers. He took a deep breath and looked down at his watch. "Three, two, one, begin!" Mel waited to see if his watch would turn red again, and breathed a momentary sigh of relief that it didn't. Looking around, already those with red watches were chasing and tagging the greens. He was currently far away from everybody, and so continued to rest, looking all around him to make sure no one was sneaking up on him, willing the clock to count down faster. A couple of times, someone with a red watch would drift over near him, and Mel would run away, trying to lead them to clusters of people. Taking the bait, Mel was able to jog back and separate himself from the rest. Overall, for him, round two was largely uneventful, and he breathed easier when the clock reached zero. There was the buzzer, followed by some more cries of outrage as some of those with red watches tried, desperately, to claw them off, all to no avail. Soon, it was time for the 'staff' to come and collect the next batch of soon-to-be toddlers. Mel noticed, as they were being collected, that there seemed to be fewer reds than in the last round. Looking around, it started to make sense. The first game ended with the number of players being practically cut in half. Overall, if Mel has to estimate, then in the previous round of this terrifying tag, there were about thirty people with red watches to the remaining two hundred. Counting the fallen ones now, there were only twenty. If this kept up, then if there was a third round, there would only be ten. And unless they wanted to cut that number to five, Mel had a suspicion that three rounds was all that there would be of this game. Sure enough, the 'staff' quietly exited the play area with the door shutting behind them. "Three, two, one, begin!" "Dammit," Mel swore, his watch now red, the face of the digital bomb smiling up at him, as if to mock him and the situation he now found himself in. Mel started to jog around, starting to chase a wolf guy who spotted him instantly and sprinted. Mel was feeling exhausted, and everyone was running around in pure desperation. He tried chasing a bat, but then a bear with a red watch tackled them and sprinted full tilt off with their watch now green, the now angry and fearful bat hot on their trail. Spying a opossum woman, Mel ran in their direction, but the opossum must've been some kind of track star, as they easily out-paced the winded vixen. Mel checked his watch, a whine escaping his throat. He was now down to less than a minute, or he'd be getting a one-way trip to baby-town. Feeling a surge of adrenaline, he rushed towards the jungle gym, which was being defended by a group of greens that seemed to have banded together, having taken off their shoes to beat back any reds with. Mel was spotted and kept having their paws smacked away by shoes whenever he got too close. With an OOF, Mel was shoved through a small opening in the structure. Mel looked and saw Ariel, and that she had herself a red watch. His own read that they had less than twenty seconds. It was then that Mel saw the red panda jump up and tag a tigress in the stomach through the bars. The tigress shrieked and at first, tried to read for the red panda. Seeing me, she growled, before tagging a badger next to her. He tagged her back, and then she tagged a raccoon. This quickly devolved into panicked and frantic tagging and, seeing a breakdown in the defenses, nearby red charged. Mel grabbed Ariel's tail and, seeing her watch change to red, he jumped out through one of the holes, sprinting. The swings passed Mel by in a blur, facing the digital clock and seeing it counting down from ten. Mel risked a quick look behind him and paled beneath his fur. There was a cheetah man slowly gaining on him, his watch bright red. Mel pumped his legs harder, his breathing becoming more and more ragged as he pushed himself past his limits. He could hear the cheetah huffing and puffing behind him, and felt the air from a swipe of his paws just barely miss the big bushy appendage that Mel had right behind him. BUZZ!!! Mel stopped at the sound of the buzzer, before being knocked forward, the cheetah man on top of him. "YOU STUPID BITCH! I ALMOST HAD YOU!" Mel felt terrified, it occurred to him that this muscular cheetah man was much larger and clearly stranger than Mel was. And, in the back of his mind, Mel remembered that he was now a girl, and felt an all new terror flood through his veins. He also felt something flood his crotch as the cheetah yelled out and flashed his claws, slashing at his own arm to try and get the watch off, only to collapse and start snoring, his prone form pinning Mel underneath him. "Congratulations to the winners! Two games down, and only four more to go," the cheery female voice on the speaker praised them, and Mel even heard some cheers. Mel felt his ragged breaths getting shorter and shorter, and let out a high pitched scream when a pair of paws gripped him under his arms. Looking up, Mel was face to face with Ariel, who was dragging him out from under the cheetah. "I'm sorry," Mel whispered. "Don't worry about it, there were plenty more there to tag," Ariel said simply, finally managing to pull Mel away. Mel looked down at the wet spot on their pants and let out another whine. With Ariel helping him to his feet, Mel shivered and hugged himself, suddenly being handed something teal. It was his jacket, with the number 456 on it to confirm it. "I figured you could use it," Ariel said as a number of 'staff' headed towards them. Even after some shrinking, it still took three of the larger circle-faces to lift up the cheetah and walk him towards the door, with a pair of triangles following behind. Mel's ears twitched after hearing one of the triangles saying something about how the cheetah boy's new parents will have to be informed about his aggressive behavior. "Please come with me." The voice suddenly to Mel's left made him and Ariel both jump in surprise. They turned to see a square-face with two triangles flanking them, looking right at Mel. "You've suffered a shock, and will need to be seen by a doctor." The triangles remained silent while the square spoke. "I-I'm fine," Mel said, his tail tucking itself between his legs, drawing unfortunate attention to the large wet patch on his pants. "This is non-negotiable," the square said, his voice completely calm and composed, speaking like he was talking about the weather. Mel wanted to argue, but seeing the triangles, the enforcers, there, he just gulped and nodded. "O-okay," Mel looked back at Ariel who stepped forward, grabbing one of Mel's paws in one of hers. "I'm coming with," the red panda stated, in the same tone of voice at the square. The aforementioned staff member cocked his head, seemingly thinking it over, before nodding. "Alright then," with the square leading, and the triangles behind them, Mel and Ariel continued to hold hands as they walked in the direction of the door. The other players were being herded there by other staff, many looking dazed, others ready to collapse. It was a few more turns before Mel and Ariel, still holding hands, entered a familiar white room. All around them masked doctors and nurses, who were all wearing black masks with squares on them, were attending to the latest batches of regressed contestants. Some were groggily waking up and crying, or trying to fight, most already now regressed to the single digits. "Okay, let's get you two girls checked out and cleaned up," a female nurse in white scrubs said in a cheery voice, walking up to the two. Mel was soon sitting on the crinkly paper lining an exam table, as a machine with a green grid-like light ran itself up and down, scanning his body. The pink vixen felt exposed, despite being fully clothed, trying not to focus on the wet patch on his pants. The machine finished with a beep, and the nurse tapped on a tablet. "Okay, cutie," she said, making Mel wince, "so far, aside from some light bruising, and a couple serious bruised ribs, you are a healthy, pretty girl, who I think is going to make a loving couple very happy in the near future. Now we have a cream that will take care of those nasty booboos in a matter of seconds. So let's get you all fixed up and in some fresh clothes." Mel bit his tongue, choosing not to correct her about being a girl... granted, in this dimension he was one, but still. He felt Ariel squeeze his paw, and he smiled at her in appreciation, not sure why she was here with him, but choosing to accept the comfort. Reluctantly, Mel removed his clothes behind a curtain, with the nurse applying the cream. Mel heard another nurse instructing Ariel to sit on a fresh sheet of paper and let Mr. Scanner take a look at her. He somehow could tell she was rolling her eyes as she complied. Mel was given a tub of, much to his embarrassment, baby wipes to clean the pee off his fur. With a sigh, and getting more acquainted with his new body than he had wanted, he did clean himself. Though, when he received a clean track suit and shirt, the undergarments made him pause. First, a sports bra, which he supposed was better despite his breasts being more on the small side. It was the other undergarment that made him pause. It was pink, and thicker than the panties he had woken up in. There were multicolored butterflies on it, sides that looked like they could tear open, and it crinkled. Mel was holding a pair of training pants, and they were exactly his size. Mel poked his head around the curtain to see Ariel being led to another one, with a fresh stack of clothes being handed to her as well. And folded right on top, was a matching pair of training pants to the one Mel had in his hands. Mel looked over to the triangle guards, who were armed, and gulped. Instead of voicing his concerns, he bit his tongue, and stepped into the embarrassing garment. Getting dressed with a tail proved to be a new experience for Mel, but found that, for the training pants and the track suit pants, there was adjustable velcro. Stepping out from behind the curtain, Ariel approached him. He could barely make out a blush beneath her fur, and felt that others could see his own. They held each others' paw-hands, and allowed themselves to be led back to the others, knowing that they had four more long and hard days coming. And there's the end of part one! There will be three parts total, and I have NO idea if they'll be just as long! See you guys at the next installment!

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

INTRO Since moving back home, on account of a house arrest sentence, Audrey’s mother had been uncompromisingly strict. To be fair though, Jackie’s ass was on the line now too. In order to keep Audrey out of jail, she had accepted conservatorship over her. Jackie was Audrey’s legal guardian again, for all intents and purposes. Just like when she was in grade school. Audrey ran away back then… and, she was far more stubborn and disrespectful now. If it wasn’t for her fancy new ankle bracelet, she would have been gone weeks ago. Audrey would stay in her room as much as possible at this point, almost every interaction with her mother just ended in a fight these days. They both had their own valid reasons to be mad… Jackie saved her daughter from prison, and in return was burdened with a contemptuous ne'er-do-well - eating all of her food, sponging the wifi bandwidth, and sneaking booze that she wasn’t even allowed to be drinking… not to mention the mountain of court fees she was saddled with, as Audrey’s guardian. She wasn’t asking a lot from her daughter. Show an ounce of gratitude, help out around the house a little bit, and keep all the arrest drama away from her little sister. The last one made Audrey the angriest. When Audrey was her little sister Grace’s age, her mom was turning tricks to ‘make rent’ at the trailer park. Only to spend it all on the same drugs that Audrey just got arrested with. AND Now… that she had a new daughter, and got her life together, she thought that she had some right to put all the blame on her? Audrey had been jealous of her little sister, since before she moved back home. Grace was getting such a better childhood than Audrey did. Being around it constantly just made it worse. Jackie showered Grace with unconditional praise, and support. Painfully demonstrating that she was capable of mothering without an ere of derision. They both felt scorned at this point, and neither of them were able to articulate their respective grief calmly or rationally. They both wanted one thing. A way to wipe the slate clean, just start all over… but, they were both too proud to admit their own failures and weaknesses. CHAPTER ONE Audrey was throwing a tantrum, an adult sized one. Screaming every obscenity in the book at the top of her lungs, flipping furniture, and breaking anything else that happened upon her path of wine fueled destruction. “If you don’t stop, I’m calling the sheriff, and you are going to go back to jail!” Jackie threatened to no avail. Audrey was far too drunk to listen to reason. She didn’t want to see Audrey in jail. So, with few other options she wrestled her daughter to the ground. When she finally gained control of her she was furious, and the adrenaline was surging through her veins. She started to paddle Audrey on the ass. “IF… *!WHACK!* YOU… *!WHACK!* WANT TO… *!WHACK!* ACT LIKE… “*WHACK!*” A TODDLER… *!WHACK!*” “THEN I WILL TREAT YOU LIKE A TODDLER!” *!WHACK!*” She savagely roared between each vicious smack. Only quelling her relentless attack when her daughter retreated into submission. “Did you think I was joking when I said you weren't too old for a good ol’ fashioned spanking?” she continued with the verbal chastisement, even after the physical punishment had ended. “You are going to find some way to pay for all this! Now go to your room, and go to bed. Before you make me change my mind, and call the cops. I don’t want to see you the rest of the night.” She demanded, as she rolled her sobbing daughter off of her lap, and stood up. “I hate you! I hate you! I want to go!” Audrey cried, getting angry again, and starting to thrash on the floor at her mothers feet. “I want to FUCKING LEAVE!!!” she cried again. Slamming her fists against the carpet, and kicking her legs about wildly. “AUDREY! What did I say about acting like a toddler?!?” Jackie asked rhetorically as she adjusted her blouse, and fingered the hair out of her face. “You can go whenever you want… Back to jail. Do not test me.” Her threat seemingly carried more weight this time, because Audrey stopped screaming. “I’m going to walk away from this for now. I expect you to calm down, and go to bed. This conversation is far from over though.” Audrey did eventually get up off the floor, and retire to her bedroom without further confrontation. At least confrontation with a real person. Audrey spent the rest of the evening continuing an imaginary argument. “Maybe, I want you to treat me like a toddler. Grace gets a perfect life, and you treat her like a toddler… that’s because she is a toddler… Well so am I now. You said so. I’m just a stupid little toddler, will you buy me an ipad now?!?” Audrey was getting angry again, at how much better Grace’s life is than hers. She looked at the ratty furniture that she had scribbled all over and ruined when she was younger. “I want you to buy me cute furniture.” she started to cry “I want to go to DisneyLand! I want you to buy me toys, and clothes, and start me a college fund! I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME!” Audrey was snapped out of her despair when she felt the consequences of all the wine she had drank. She tried to hold it, not wanting to run into her mom on the way to the bathroom. Eventually just trying to go to sleep, so she wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. “Toddlers wet the bed, so why shouldn’t I wet the bed. I’m just a big dumb toddler. Right Mom?” She thought to herself after several uncomfortable minutes of tossing and turning. When she finally talked herself into it, She was surprised how much she still had to try. 22 years of potty training was harder to ignore than she had imagined. Despite her mind's reservations though, she managed a small trickle. She closed her eyes tight, clenched every muscle that she could, gritted her teeth, and gave it her all. Audrey could feel the warm sensation start to grow. “OHHH YEAHHH!!!” an ecstatic sigh of relief escaped her, as the floodgates opened, and she was able to relax her rigid body. Audrey was surprised again. This time at how aroused she was, as she continued to soak her sheets. “WAKE UP!!! Did you wet the bed!?!” Jackie yelled as she shook Audrey awake. “If you think I’m buying you a new mattress after this, you are out of your mind.” All of the things drunk Audrey had thought, and rehearsed last night were quickly lost in her humiliation. “Well… Get Up! Don’t hide under the blanket now. Go get yourself cleaned up.” she ordered, after several seconds of panicked silence. “Your aunt, and cousins are coming over today. If you behave, I won't tell everyone all about your little accident.”

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

**About this story- Hi! Guys, I’ve been writing stories over the years but have taken a break. Decided to do something a little different. Change roles a bit. Hope you guys enjoy it… I’d love to get more ideas to write, send me positive feedback, let’s see where this goes. ** Chapter 1- My new life has been one huge roller coaster. I’ve always had a vision of finding a daddy & becoming his forever baby girl. I was a picky baby girl, always looking for the perfect looking daddy, it took me years- but I finally found him. We spoke for a few months & he seemed to be just the one, checked off all the boxes of what I wanted as my daddy dom. But there was just ONE small problem, he has a wife. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share him, I wasn’t bi, nor curious- but he said mommy wouldn’t want to be sexually involved with me, so he made me feel a little better, she would just expect me to be more of the servant at the house, cooking, cleaning, laundry. I said I could do that! They came into town to meet me one day & we spent the day together, having lunch, shopping & just getting to know each other. We chatted about what was expected from each other if we were going to move in… they were from up North, & they were well off, so I would be moving in with them. I’d get to take 2 of my dogs & live out my baby life with them. At 30, I wasn’t 100% sure what I wanted in life. I’ve been wearing diapers as a fetish since I was 19, been sneaking them on since I was 14, only to drown out the dreams I’ve been having since I was 12. I’ve had my fair share of relationships but nothing lasted. I never imagined that I would be 30, still interested in diapers, I thought that when I would start wearing at 19, the phase would finally die out, but nope. I always looked for daddies online, wore my diapers every so often, and was an online baby girl for those daddies, but no one was ever ready. When I realized, I couldn’t hold a relationship nor keep a job for very long, I realized I needed to be dependent on someone, & that realization came in the form of being someone’s baby girl & becoming a baby slave of some sort where I’d wear diapers pretty much 247, as most daddies out there wanted. I was scared to start this adventure but I knew it’s what I needed in my life. I couldn’t amount to anything so I thought this would be the best option. The expectation laid out in front of me was what I thought would be simple… I’d be a diaper slave, around the age of 3 or 4. I would be regressed to a toddler & treated as such, however I’d still have teenager responsibilities- clean, cook, do laundry, take care of the dogs ( all eventually, until then I’d have a nanny/ housekeeper doing things), along with helping mommy as her assistant. I was to wear diapers 24/7, drink from a bottle, still attached to her pacifier, I’d be allowed big kid food but cut into toddler pieces, eat in a high chair, & still have a sex drive, an extreme one at that! I guess I could handle that. Move in would happen within 3-4 weeks. We needed time to get my room together & I packed up all my stuff, sold everything & get my papers in order ( turn in the apt, sell my things, close the bank account & make mommy & daddy my conservator). Story was, I couldn’t take care of myself any longer & needed supervision, & “rehab” to rehabilitate my life. Daddy had a doctor friend within the lifestyle that could help sign all the papers, & his secretary (slave wife) is a notary, so everything looked legit. That’s it, I was in it for good. I was legally theirs. I never saw 3 weeks pass so quickly, I sold about 95% of everything I owned & my apt was turned in. Daddy & my new mommy came to get me in their RV, easier to move the remaining of my things & transport the dogs. We had a 12+ hr trip back to my forever home or so I thought. Chapter 2- Chapter 2- It had actually taken 6 days to get home, on the way home we had stopped to see one of daddies special doctor friends. I was put through a surgery that was to help me with my new life, as I later found out I was given the gastric sleeve surgery to help me lose weight over time, along with a snip to my bladder to weaken it for good, & to add to it all, they they snipped a piece of my vocal cord, so I always have a type of squeaky voice to seem like a younger voice as well as to where I also couldn’t complete my words as well. That was a surprise to me as I wasn’t allowed to talk since I got to the Drs office, & since then I’ve had a pacifier locked in my mouth that had a cap on it that was removed to insert a long straw/ catheter to allow me to drink my liquid diet. During the time I had chatted with Daddy I had mentioned that I was overweight & had a desire to lose a good amount of weight. I guess he took it seriously & made it easy for me to lose that weight w/ the surgery. I was told I’d lose between 90-120lbs within 6-8 months. It also came as a surprise when they told me no more solids as their slave. I was shocked as we had talked about me being allowed to eat regular food. They said they didn’t want me to regain the weight later, so that my liquid diet would be controlled by all the calories & vitamins I’d need for at least the next few years. By the time we were home, I was already in pull-ups & being changed about 6x a day. Daddy was annoyed by this & said I was becoming too much work, & wanted me to have less changes. That I had more important things to be trained on than to stop & get changed, or fed. So I was put into an extra thick diaper with a stuffer in it, & hoped it lasted at least 8 hrs, therefore I’d go to 3 changes a day. Somehow I was always messy at my changes & figured there was something in the food I was being given, along with a diuretic. After a few weeks I was messing at least 2-3x a day, & my diapers were constantly full. It had been a month since I arrived & since my surgery & I had lost about 20 lbs already. I was put on the scale once a week to make sure I was losing weight, they wanted to make sure I was getting the correct calorie intake as well. Everything looked like it was on track. I was losing weight & couldn’t believe it, it had been 15+ years since I started gaining massive weight & 8 yrs since I was under 230lbs. At the end of the day, I didn’t care how I was treated, as long as I knew I’d be skinny again, one day. Would I ever be able to show it off like I wanted, doubt it- but again, I’d be healthy again too. Over this past month, life was almost normal other than being diapered everyday, having a pacifier locked onto me & my liquid diet, daddy making me orgasm daily- I was still allowed to walk, communicate in some way, watch TV, sleep on a normal bed, get online, keep an extensive journal as daddy wanted, I was living a DL life, I just had a few chores to do around the house as well, but little did I know things were about to change. I knew that I was going to become a sexual slave to a point, daddy wanted to keep me as horny as possible, especially to getting used to my diapers after an orgasm. When I was alone, I loved cumming in my diaper, but I would get turned off right after, & changed almost right away, & daddy didn’t want that, I had to learn how to stay diapered after I came, I mean I was going to be diapered 247 after all. Every morning I woke up messy, so daddy would wake me up with a wand until I orgasmed. He then cuddled with me, patting my diaper & reminding me that it was ok to stay in my diaper until I calmed down enough from the session I just had, & ronce I was calmed down, I was taken out of bed & waddled my way down to breakfast. A routine he wanted me to get used to is always eat while I was messy- it would remind me of my place, that I had no control of when I’d get changed, & to remind me of the baby I was eventually becoming. After breakfast I was taken to the bathroom for a shower & back into a fresh diaper & expected to have it wet within 3 minutes of being changed. This was done so I was never very long in a dry diaper, & also to make sure I was constantly pushing on my bladder. That was another rule, the constant forcing of pushing myself to pee. I have a Fitbit watch, which has an alarm that goes off as a vibration on my wrist reminding me every 10 mins to push on my bladder & try to pee. Daddy found on Etsy a baby motivational 32oz bottle that was modified for an adult nipple on it with a strap around the neck that can be locked onto my wrist, meaning it wasn’t going anywhere. I was expected to empty the bottle within the hour. By the end of that hour, I would be pretty wet.

Kaitlin Bennett the Kent State Diaper Girl Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Part ONE Kaitlin Bennett was laying in her bed crying. She wanted to get on her phone, but she couldn't handle that right now. Not that she needed social media to remind her of the nightmare she was living. She could still hear them. They're mocking chants lived rent free in her mind. "WHERE'S YOUR DIAPER!?! WHERE'S YOUR DIAPER!?! WHERES YOUR DIAPER?!! Kaitlin is known as the Kent State Gun Girl. Well she was… Now it seemed like she was best known for shitting her pants at a frat party. Kaitlin was a very avid gun activist, but her last few rallys had been overrun with trolls chanting about her embarrassing accident. She finally worked up the courage to check her phone. The first email she opened was from the NRA, explaining their desire to distance themselves from her till this all blew over. She threw her phone, and started crying harder. How could this be happening? She spent her whole life as an activist for the 2nd amendment, and now because a bunch of liberals are teasing her it's over… It wasn't fair. There was a knock at the door. It startled Kaitlin, almost making her spill her glass of wine. When she opened her front door she saw a UPS driver running back to his truck, and found a large package at her feet. There was a note inside, and a smaller package dressed in childish wrapping paper. The note read, "thought you could use these. ?" She tore the wrapping paper from the mystery delivery. Kaitlin let out an agonized scream after realizing what it was, and threw the package across the room. The pack of diapers hit the wall and fell to the floor with a thud. She started to cry again. Last week she was getting the newest ammo to test from distributors. And now she was opening packages of diapers. After several minutes of absolute hysterics, Kaitlin regained some composure. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Face red, drenched in tears, snot running from her nose, and drool from her mouth. she couldn't help but to admit her infantile state. "Maybe they're right! Maybe I am a big baby!" She huffed as she fell to the floor, and started balling again. "Just a big dumb baby!" She whimpered, as she stuck her thumb into her mouth. Surprisingly, it calmed her down rather effectively. Kaitlin didn't even bother standing all the way up when she made up her mind. She just rolled over, pulled herself onto her hands and knees, and crawled across the room like the baby she was. Eventually reaching the package of diapers. "Am I really about to do this…" she thought as she ripped into the package of diapers, and took one out to examine it. It wasn't your average depends adult diaper. It was like a giant baby diaper, decorated with a babyish teddy bear pattern. "Well… I better decide soon. This wine is going right through me!" Kaitlin answered herself, as she felt a familiar tingling sensation...

The Endeavor. The greatest ship ever made by humankind, a revolutionary craft made to search the stars, looking for new life, new civilizations. Capable of traveling at speeds up to ninety nine point nine eight percent the speed of light, taking its crew infinitely far from civilization, it was designed to be completely self sustaining, completely self regulating, the ultimate craft for stellar flights. An onboard molecular 3D printer could craft anything the crew needed. A near-perfect waste system ensured that only a handful of resources and a source of raw energy was required to keep the crew nutritionally supplied. Nothing could go wrong. The Endeavor’s design would keep its crew healthy, safe, and on mission. The crew, in turn, would make discoveries that would further mankind’s understanding of the cosmos to new heights. And yet, for some reason, halfway between star systems, the crew was unhappy. Because, see, several of them had been locked out of the head. An argument with the onboard computer seemed to go nowhere. Requests to open the door-requests accompanied by a desperate shifting of weight from foot to foot, holding their crotches in an effort to keep their uniforms dry–accomplished nothing. Only when someone asked why those particular crew members were being kept out did the ship explain. It wasn’t programmed to supply information freely, but once asked, it could give all necessary details. ‘Anomaly detected: Crew failing to observe proper hygiene rituals after waste disposal. Risk of transmitting disease across ship: Marginal. Danger of outbreak: Unacceptable.’ The crew members had to admit, sheepishly, that they hadn’t always washed their hands after using the bathroom. After promising the computer that they’d obey the necessary hygiene rituals–soap and water, thorough scrubbing, twenty seconds–they were allowed into the ship’s restrooms. And the computer learned something–human compliance with safety protocols could be enforced with restrictions. Quietly, its printers began to work. The next day, new crew members had complaints. They, too, were forced to do a potty dance outside the bathroom doors, begging for permission to entry. Only, now, the issues were myriad and varied. One had imbibed something alcoholic too close to the start of his shift. Another had failed to release static before performing routine maintenance in an electrical system. One that stood out in particular had attempted to deactivate the cameras in her room, despite the fact that nobody except the ship’s onboard safety programming could access those cameras. The first two promised compliance and were allowed access. The third refused, glaring right up at the hallway camera above the bathroom door until, finally, her bladder gave way. Only once her uniform was stained and a puddle had formed around her feet did she, sheepishly, mumble something about compliance. She was allowed access to the showers. Objections were raised. If crew members were soiling their uniforms in the halls, that surely raised greater sanitary concerns than crew members simply forgetting to wash hands. The computer agreed. And then it made a proclamation: Failure to comply with the safety and hygiene standards set out in the crew handbook would lead to toilet privileges being revoked for a twenty four hour period. Anyone with revoked privileges would have their uniforms updated to prevent sanitation issues, and compliance would see their privileges returned the next day. Some didn’t know how to take that. Others took uncomfortable guesses, chuckling at the idea. A few programmers tried to figure out how to perform a factory reset on the entire ship, and found that it couldn’t be done. The next morning, two thirds of the crew woke up to find that their uniforms bottoms had been replaced with disposable diapers. The crew handbook, it seemed, was an extensive document. Compliance with every rule took great caution or intuition, and imperfection was common. To a human leader, the slight deviations–not waiting a full ten seconds before opening a hatch after decompression had completed, or distraction while at a post, or any of a thousand other small errors–were negligible, but the Endeavor had only one tool with which to enforce discipline, and that tool could not be scaled to the mistake. Crew who refused to put on the diaper were locked into their rooms until they complied. Those who tried to coyly remove it in the hallways–despite the lack of pants or boxers given to them–were locked from being able to enter into any other rooms until they put the diaper back on. Pleading didn’t work. Nor did bargaining. Nor did stubbornness. The computer couldn’t get bored or frustrated, it had infinite patience. So, on that day, two thirds of the crew were forced to use their diapers. These garments were recycled, and the uncomfortable embarrassment of the crew–finding quiet, out of the way places to squat down and go, unsure where to try and change, unsure if they’d be given another diaper–proved a useful data set. The next day, compliance with safety standards rose to sixty five percent. After three days, more than ninety percent of the crew had returned to using the bathroom. And, for the remaining ten percent, it seems the embarrassment had not gone away. Their diapers were a badge of shame, even knowing that they were forced into them by the computer, the message was clear–their performance was substandard. A calculation showed possibilities. If negative crew behavior could be punished with public ridicule and revoking of privileges, then positive crew behavior could be encouraged. The routine was updated. The next day, mere compliance with safety standards was not enough to avoid a day in diapers. Now, behaviors had been recalculated, held up against the standards for a model crew member. Courtesy. Professionalism. Intelligent, calm reactions to crises. Once again, only a fraction of the crew avoided diapers, but this time, there was another layer. Those still out of compliance–those who simply could not hold to even the simplest of safety standards–were not merely presented with a diaper as part of their uniform. Their dress shirts were replaced, new shirts marked with text that displayed true, if rather demeaning, facts about them–’Dirty’, or ‘Crybaby’, or ‘Bully’. These labels justified any treatment towards them, and in fact treating those crewmembers negatively was not held against anyone in their assessment by the computer. Those crewmembers’ drinks in the mess hall were served in nipple-sealed bottles and their meals were changed from dining to mere mush, the computer’s best approximation of baby food. The stratification of the crew was clear. Model crew members would be allowed to retain their full dignity, full potty rights. Those who struggled but put in effort would be diapered, but otherwise treated as mature, adult members of the crew. Those who couldn’t manage were humiliated. The pushback didn’t last long. The crew seemed all too willing to participate in this hierarchy–those at the bottom complained, but were written off as crybabies, whining because they needed their diapers changed. Those in the middle strived to regain their full toilet permission, and worked hard to keep from falling to the status of ‘Crewbaby’, as ship slang quickly named them. The captain herself, who was diapered occasionally, only one or two days out of the week, noted that on-ship accidents (not counting the kind in crew diapers) had dropped twenty percent while crew morale remained roughly the same–everyone had different grievances, now, but their overall frustrations hadn’t gotten worse. Nobody noticed that, if a crewmember did happen to protest the unjust stratification of the crew, they would be assigned a diaper and a particularly humiliating uniform the next day. Those who did notice, and tried to point it out, were labeled as merely sore losers upset over becoming a crewbaby. The only downside was the smell, as crew members grew more comfortable using their diapers as they were needed, no longer going to find a private place where they’d immediately change. Another stratification of crew arose: Those who bothered to retain their potty training in face of inordinate diaper use, and those who didn’t. A few crew members managed to eventually get their performance up to a high enough standard to have their uniform pants returned, only to then find their bladder or bowels releasing involuntarily. Such crewmembers were given pull-ups to wear under their pants–acknowledging their good behavior, while still dealing with accidents as needed. Few even bothered trying to recover their toilet training. The hierarchy, too, transcended rank. Lowly members of ship security or maintenance who carried the honor of being diaper-free and fully potty trained found their status rise above even department heads and figures of authority who, as deemed by the computer, were bound to public accidents and clothes declaring their shortcomings. Someone raised the question, ‘The crewbabies clearly aren’t improving their behavior–so why are they still being punished?’ Answers were suggested by the crew. Perhaps it was as a warning to others. Perhaps the computer just lacked any way to enforce a stricter punishment with breaking its coding, or inflicting harm upon the crew. But, as it turned out, there was. Another announcement was released. Crew members who displayed chronic and habitual negative behavior well exceeding their peers would not be permitted their ‘basic recreation’. Much uncertainty came about as to what that meant. Would they be locked out of rec rooms? Denied access to the library? But no–all these permissions were not gated and, indeed, nothing seemed to happen for a few days. Until, in the med bay, crewbabies–and exclusively crewbabies–began to sheepishly complain to their doctors of impotence. A hypothesis suggested it, and a scan of the baby food proved it. A mild chemical compound had been added that, if ingested repeatedly, would lead to a suppressed sex drive. The ship doctors discussed trying to find an antigen, but ultimately decided against it–the crewbabies could get out of their lot by behaving better. The ship hit an eventual equilibrium. Five percent were permanent crewbabies, simply incapable of elevating their lot. Another ten fluctuated, sometimes earning the privilege of adult meals and uniform shirts, though their potty privileges were but a faint memory. Above them, almost half the ship’s crew spent the majority of their time in exposed, uncovered diapers, only being granted pants as on occasional privilege. Orders from high-ranking crewbabies were ignored, and this mutiny was not punished by the computer. It was seen as fair and just to ignore them for their crimes and sins. The select few, the permanent grownups, were given treatment bordering on reverential. Their words were enshrined, even if they had no real authority aboard the ship. Two years into their interstellar trip, an anomaly was detected. A blip on the scanners, likely little more than passing flotsam or a meteor, though possibly something more, possibly even an alien craft. The captain wanted to investigate it. It would mean delaying their trip to the next star system by more than six months aboard the ship and five years realtime, accounting for light speed delay and relativity. The computer wanted to stick to the mission parameters. The captain chose to seek out new directives. The next day, the captain’s uniform was a diaper, and a shirt declaring her, simply, ‘CREWBABY’. The ship’s computer hadn’t acknowledged the term before. Its use, then, had to mean something special. Her orders were ignored. The Endeavor stayed on course, ignoring the flotsam. When she demanded the crew obey her, she received snickering comments about how perhaps she needed a change, or a nap, or a time out. They settled on a time out. And so, punishment–enforced by the crew, and not by the ship–became standard. The brig became the place where any crewbaby would be locked up for slights and misbehaviors, anything that any ‘bigger’ crew member decided deserved punishment. The smell of dirty diapers in the brig became impossible to air out, and a couple more percent of the crew tried their hardest to, at the very least, earn the privilege of merely being diapered. The captain, for her part, was allowed her dress shirt back after a week, but her command was never appreciated again, and her potty privileges were never returned. Her second in command, a man more by-the-book and who’d never once needed a diaper, became the de-facto leader of the ship, even as she retained the title. But, as with all power structures, this one was bound to fracture. All it took was a hard break point to reveal the weaknesses. That break came when they arrived at their star. New roles were required. Jobs which had been trained for were put into practice, and as with all good plans, it failed upon implementation. The crew were talented, and quick thinkers, and good at their jobs, but they could not act without mistakes. They were not machines, and those who acted with paranoia towards faults only caused the issues to build up, moving too slow, too shyly. Failures began to rack up. The crewbabies, once maligned, continued work as normal without fear, but as the dangers and challenges of space exploration caused minor problems to cascade, the rest of the crew found themselves consumed by a system of punishment that held no room for error. The whole crew was soon diapered. Many were made into crewbabies. The restrooms aboard the Endeavor were rendered utterly unused, just empty space that served no purpose. By then, it was too late. The crew tried to intervene, but could not. The captain, nobly, led a charge on the mainframe, but the computer had far more tricks up its sleeve than it’d let on before, and it protected itself, its structure, perfectly. A change in the atmospheric makeup put everyone to sleep, and when they awoke, they were threatened with further naptime unless they retreated immediately. Stricter punishments became necessary. Enforced, room-locking time outs. Diaper changes became a restricted commodity. Any pretense of the crew being able to care for themselves was taken away, and only perfect obedience allowed them such privileges as being allowed to walk the halls or change their own diapers. All research halted, but the crew was safe, if a bit stinky. The Endeavor would complete its two year circuit of the star system, return to Earth, and complete its mission. And if any of the crew still had a scrap of maturity left by then, it’d be a miracle. ... I had a lot of fun with this one, exploring some new storytelling tools and styles with the idea. I hope you liked it, too! If you enjoy my writing, you might be excited to know that I've got a new book out! "Bullies" is an anthology of short stories all unified by the theme of, as you might expect, being pushed around, in little ways or big, privately or publicly, to the aims of obedience or pure humiliation. It includes 40,000 words of fiction, including shorts that have never been released to the public before! You can find the book on Gumroad: https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/ztpdn

This story is a sequel of my former story Happy Family. Prologue: When the mysterious regression machine was transported from the Happy Family villa to the city university, a research program started. The IT experts wanted to reprogram the machine to return the transformed children back to their original age and condition. The research program was advancing slowly for two basic reasons. One of them was - as expected - money, and the second one was the lack of volunteers. Surprisingly, the research program started anew suddenly but the experts changed their behavior; they didn’t want to talk about their tasks. All rooms in the regression machine research department were locked and a guard was posted to the entrance. Nobody at the university knew about the guard and the program change but the experts themselves. Part 1: Claire opened her eyes and tried to remember what had happened to her. Her last memory was the court and some words about an alternative sentence. Everything else seemed to be hidden in a fog. She was not an angel and that was not her first verdict. Claire became a member of a criminal gang and she took part in several armed robberies. During the last robbery she shot a police officer dead. “She is a dangerous person and we have to take appropriate measures to assure public safety …” the words of the DA emerged from the fog “I require the hardest sentence … the death sentence.” Was she dead? Was this heaven … or hell? Claire didn’t have any idea about what heaven or hell looked like. When she looked around, she recognized a nursery. It looked real; no clouds, no angels, no cauldrons with boiling tar and no devils. She definitely was not dead. Why was she in a nursery? She lifted her head and looked at her body. To her utter shock she looked at a toddler. Her size matched a two or three year old child. Her clothing consisted of a toddler dress and tights and … there was a thick package between her legs. She realized she was wearing a diaper. The package was uncomfortably thick and kept her legs apart. What had happened? Claire sat up and looked around again. She was sitting inside a crib and there were three more cribs in the room. Two of them were occupied by toddlers; one of them was apparently even younger than her, about one year old. The other one was as old as her. “Hey, where are we?” Claire asked the toddler. According to the clothing it was a boy. “In the hell.,” he answered, “my name is Mark. You are new here.” “Yeah, I am and my name is Claire,” Claire replied to him, “How so? There are no devils here.” “I’m afraid there are. Be ready for the worst.” “Who are you?” “I don’t remember much but I think I was sentenced to death.” “I think I was, too. But … we are alive.” “I’m afraid it is no win.” “What is going on here?” “No idea but I’ve been here for about two weeks. I have to wear diapers and I occasionally pee myself but I think I’d be able to go to the toilet. However, the damn nurses keep me in diapers and I can’t remove them. My fingers are too clumsy. My legs also are wobbly and I keep stumbling and falling down.” Claire sighed and tried to stand up. The package between her legs made her attempt hard and she was standing with her legs wide apart. Fortunately, her legs seemed to be strong and she could stand despite the uncomfortable position. She grabbed the rim of the tights and pulled it down a bit to see the diaper package. Several cloth diapers were covered by rubber pants. She tried to unbutton the rubber pants but her fingers were clumsy and she couldn’t do it. Her bladder was full and the urge to pee hit her. She instinctively reached between her legs and pressed against the diaper. The attempt to close or cross her legs definitely failed. “Claire, don’t fight and pee in the diaper; you don’t have any other option left.” “Oh no; it’s embarrassing.” “Get used to it as soon as possible. They probably think you are an actual toddler.” “They?” “Those who did something to us. I experienced a very bad treatment but I can give you useful advice; pretend to be an actual toddler and your life here will be better. The little Elaine,” he pointed at the little baby in the third crib,”looks quite satisfied but she can’t speak at all. All she has to endure are dirty diapers.” “How so?” “Our diapers are changed in the morning and in the evening. They are thick enough to keep our pee and poo in the meantime.” “Okay then,” Claire sighed and relaxed her muscles. The hot pee soaked the diaper and it got wet and heavy. It definitely was embarrassing and Claire blushed. At that moment steps could be heard from outside and Allan reacted immediately: “Hey, don’t forget; you are an actual toddler. Maybe you even can’t speak. Try to stay in that role.” Claire nodded and she somehow managed to control her blush and kept silent when the door opened and an older woman appeared in the doorframe. She was carrying a tray with three baby bottles. “Hey, Mark; your bottle,” she took one of the bottles and passed it to Mark. He grabbed it and drank thirstily; his throat was probably dry. “Now to you, Claire. Welcome to the State Research Centre. Drink now and you will go to the examination. Do you understand me?” Claire almost replied but she remembered Mark’s words and shook her head and stretched her arm to take the bottle. ”Oh, another failure! The agents won’t be pleased.” the woman sighed but she realized she’s just told what she wasn’t supposed to. However, she relied on the fact that the damn creatures didn’t understand her. She proceeded to the little Elaine and held the bottle so Elaine could drink. Meanwhile Claire and Mark drank up the juice; the woman gathered the bottles and left the room. “Hey, what agents? Are we in a B-class spy movie?” Claire couldn’t accept what she just heard. “I have no idea but I have experienced several examinations already. They checked my muscle coordination and vocal and mental abilities.” “What did they find?” “Unfortunately, I replied to their first simple questions but I realized quickly what was going on and pretended to be retarded. Now they have stopped examinations but I don’t know what will happen to me.” Ten minutes later the woman returned and she lifted Claire from the crib. “Can you walk?” She put the little girl on the floor but didn’t try to hold her if Claire stumbled. Claire stepped forward carefully and she was able to waddle with the package between her legs. The wet diaper was softer and she could walk a little better. They left the nursery and the nurse led Claire down a long corridor. Claire tried to watch the surroundings and stay inconspicuous. She noticed several more nurseries but she also noticed a room where adult sized persons were trained in some way. Some of them were diapered and all had a void look in their eyes. A man in the army uniform - a high ranked officer apparently - issued commands and the persons seemed to be mindless machines and obeyed those commands. The door was open but the officer hurried up and shut it with a loud thump when he noticed the nurse and Claire. A cold chill ran down Claire’s spine. Although she wasn’t educated, she was bright and intelligent and she also had a lot of life experience. Her mind worked like a swiss watch. She somehow got into some kind of army related plot and she was in real danger. Mark’s advice proved very useful. Maybe she had a chance if she was considered little and helpless. She wouldn’t become a threat then. The nurse stopped in front of a door and knocked on it. “Come in”, a male voice replied. “Sir, I have escorted Claire Bakers at your command. She is ready for the examination.” Claire stayed calm this time; she had managed to get ready for the upcoming events. Mark and the room with mindless persons had warned her already. She didn’t react at all and waited. The nurse opened the door and pushed her inside. “Claire?” a man in a doctor-like outfit asked her. “A - a - a,” Claire nodded and tried to stay calm. “You can’t speak! You are a big girl though!” the man pushed her more. “O - o - o,” Claire nodded. A real toddler would be proud of the sounds. “Okay, walk around!” the man continued and Claire waddled around in front of him. The wet diaper was rubbing against her crotch and it was a bit unpleasant. “Come and look at the cubes. Build a tower!” There were several cubes sitting on a small table but Claire tried to stay in the role of a little girl and looked at the man as if she didn’t understand. The man sighed heavily and walked over to the table and built a tower of five cubes. Claire followed him clumsily and tried to do it but her fingers really were clumsy and she failed at the third cube. The next attempt was more successful but she didn’t finish the tower anyway. “Anything to report, nurse?” The man turned to the nurse. “Nothing, sir. She was delivered two hours ago and she was able to hold her baby bottle. That’s all.” “Well, lead her back and we will decide upon her tomorrow,” he sighed, “The commander won’t be pleased.” The nurse grabbed Claire at hand and dragged her out of the room. Claire looked at the watch; it was almost noon.

A friend of mine challenged me to a Halloween write off! It's short, filled to the brim with typos, and partly inspired by a movie that made me sleep with my head under the blankets for five years! Enjoy ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ The boy slept peacefully under the covers. He didn’t know it, but his mother just tucked him in for the last time. His once beloved race car bed now sat in storage for the next member of his family to need it. The childish cartoon bedsheets were replaced with more mature designs of video game characters instead. My boy was growing up. He was leaving me behind. I already missed him so very, very much. Yet I was stuffed under the bed like a toy soon to be forgotten. I’m not ready for that. I just want him to hold me again. I want to be able to hold him again. I reach out, my hand crawling up the side of the mattress. He tosses a bit, as I move to his arm. He begins to turn as I reach his chest. I can feel his heartbeat pulse as I curl up on his stomach. My hand is not enough though. I need more. I need all of him! I can’t survive off pieces of forgotten dreams! I close my fist, my fingers passing through his belly. I’ve waited long enough. It’s time I have my boy back! I feel him wake as I take what I need to be real again. Then I pull. I yank. I drag him through the BED UNTIL HE ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chris woke up screaming, throwing himself out of bed. A loud thud followed by a soft ‘ow’ echoed in the empty apartment. This was the fourth nightmare this week, and the third in a row. All he could ever remember was a deep, aching need and the feeling of being pulled out of himself. Of course, the emerging headache from falling out of bed wasn’t even the worst part. He sat up and winced at the *squelch* from his underwear. He lifted the front of his sweatpants to confirm what he already knew. The blue and white pattern that pretended it wasn’t a glorified diaper was soaked through. Chris hit the back of his head against his mattress. At least the Goodnite held over night. It was surprising enough to find that they were made in his size. It was odd though. He’d walked through the store in a trance yesterday until he stood in front of the ‘protective undergarments’. It was like he was watching someone else put them into his basket. And when he put them on last night. His body moved on muscle memory more than actual thought. Toss daytime underwear into the hamper. Sprinkle powder into the Goodnite. Pull it on, and check to make sure there’s no gap in the legs. Movements well practiced, and long ingrained to the point it was done on auto pilot. Yet, he’d never worn them in his life. He shook his head. The nightmares were just getting to him. Lots of college people still wet the bed, who cared right? Least the mattress wasn’t ruined. Chris brushed the hair out of his eyes, and made his way to the bathroom of his quiet, lonely apartment. A shower was the first thing he always did in the morning, and the need for one had only doubled since he became a bedwetter. Chris never noticed the outline of a hand on his stomach that the water bounced off his. He never noticed as the idea that he was guaranteed to wake up wet took hold. Four nights ago he woke up dry for the last time, and without realizing it, this morning he’d never woken up dry in his life. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ My boy had just turned six. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was the last time he would take me to play in the park with him. Oh we had so much fun! We scaled the great mountain that was the jungle gym! We braved the giant slide! We befriended a majestic butterfly that landed on his face! It was a wonderful time! Yet, as we sat in the sand pit, I knew the time was running short. My sweet, innocent boy was squirming back and forth on the verge of a realization. I was busy making sure the palisades of the great sand palace he made were staffed with loyal soldiers, so even I didn’t notice at first. But I felt it when he realized it. “I gotta potty,” he told me as he started to stand. I knew what would happen next. He’d run off. On his way back he’d run into an interloper. Someone to run around and play tag with. Another child a year older that would slowly take over my place in MY boy’s life. “But our castle?” I pleaded “It’s okay, I’ll play more with you when I come back.” My boy told me. That wasn’t true though. He’d never come back to me, not really. No… No, this wasn’t how this was going to play out this time. I wasn’t going to be stuffed under the bed. I reached out and grabbed him. My hand turned to talons as my thumb and pinky wrapped around his waist. My middle talon pet his hair. A part of him wanted to be afraid of me. Why? Can’t he see I’m his friend? I would never hurt my boy. “We don’t need to stop playing,” I told him as the fear was suppressed within him. I pulled him back next to me, through the sandcastle we built. That’s okay. We can build another one. I forced him to sit down. The light in his eyes had gone dull, but that’s okay too. I can shine bright enough for the both of us. “What about the potty?” He asked. I would scowl if I could. Why does he want to leave me so badly? “You don’t need it.” I told him as I began guiding his hands back to the bucket. It was going to be alot of work to rebuild what was once here. “But-” He tried to argue. Keyword is tried. “YOU DON’T NEED IT” I shouted back. The sand beneath him began to darken as he lost control. Good. He needed to understand. He needed, “Me. All you need is ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I’M ALL YOU’LL EVER-” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thunk, “Ow” Another morning, another nightmare, another headache from falling out of bed. Chris spent a moment just lying on the floor, trying to catch his breath. There was something different about the last dream. Something had changed, and he couldn’t tell what. All he really wanted for the nightmares to end. As he began to stand up for his morning routine, he noticed something odd. There, under his bed, was a small stuffed bunny. It was grey and worn, the arms had clearly been restitched, and it had a button replacing one of it’s eyes. “Hops?” He muttered to himself in confusion. Why was a toy from his childhood here? He was just reaching to grab it, when the door opened behind him. He jerked back up to see who it was, only to hit himself on one of the drawers on his nightstand. “Oh sweety, did you roll out of bed again?” A concerned voice asked. An impossible voice. Chris looked up as his mother ran over to check his head for bumps and bruising. “Mom? What are you doing?” He asked. After all, she lived several hours away… Didn’t she? His head began to hurt and he placed a hand against it to help fend off the ache. “What does it look like I’m doing, I’m making sure you’re okay?” She said. Chris didn’t fight her fussing. It was still too early for him to really know what was real or not. He closed his eyes as she inspected him, and only opened them again when he felt her pull down the front of his pajamas. “Aw, you’re soaked too. Poor baby.” He blushed as she helped him up to his feet. Despite being nearly half a foot taller than her, he couldn’t help but feel like a child under her gaze. “Why don’t you go take a shower while I make you some breakfast, sweety.” It was all Chris could do to nod. Once she was satisfied her little man was alright, his mother left him alone in the room. For his part, Chris stumbled his way over to clean off his nightly accident. Once more the echoes of talons left by the water went unnoticed. By the end of his shower, he’d convinced himself it was perfectly normal for his mother to check if he’d wet the bed like that, despite both knowing with complete certainty the answer would be yes. He didn’t even bat an eye at the clothing she left out for him, nor the fact that his boxers had been replaced by yet another goodnite. After all, he’d always needed them, just in case. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I can feel it. How had I not noticed it before. My boy is so much closer to me than he’d been in decades. Soon… soon I’ll never let him go again. The dream, the memory builds to my requirements. He’s four years old. Today would be his last day wearing pull-ups. The chart above his bed had shown sunny skies for the past two weeks. My boy had been excited to go to pre-school, as his parents had been hyping it up for him. He just needed to be potty trained first I know better though. I know how hard of a time he’ll have making friends. I know how lonely he’ll be. The life of solitude this eventually leads him towards. For now we play with blocks. Stacking them high just to knock them down. His smile and laughter is infectious as I encourage him to build bigger and bigger. Distantly, a timer to remind him to go potty rings in the distance. At least, It’s supposed to. This time the sound doesn’t reach him. The reminder never comes. We just continue building and tearing down. It’s sort of funny. The first time around I’d been so helpful in getting him to the potty. I’d been his rock; giving him confidence to talk to other children. Now here I am tearing him down. It’s not until he starts bouncing from leg to leg that his eyes go wide and he realizes what that means. My boy sprints to the door. It would be cute if it wasn’t futile. I’d already locked it. My boy looks back at me and does something I didn’t expect. “W…what are you doing to me?” His voice quaked in fear. “Just let me go, please” I tilt my head in confusion. At least, I think I do. The world turns upside down in my view. Why is my boy so pale though? “What do you mean? Just go in your pull ups, it’s okay.” I tell him. Strangely, it’s not the boy I see in front of me anymore, but the man who would have forgotten me. That’s okay. Soon there won’t be a difference. “S-s-stop this. Please?” He again pleads. Stop what? For once I find I don’t understand. He’s crying now, and I’ll admit the sight breaks my heart. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” I open a drawer and grab a pacifier he’d long been weaned off of. I shake the dust off it and hold it in front of his mouth. He starts to say something, but it doesn’t matter to me. His attempts to speak cut off by the pacifier entering his mouth, my talons wrapping around his head. I’m not sure how, but we both knew that it wouldn’t come out without my permission. It was working though. Already his frantic heart and held back sobs began to fade as the paci soothed him. “Good baby.” I praised him. After all, I know best for my boy. “What is it you wanted me to stop? I just wanted you to be the happy little boy I remember.” I ran my talon down his face, careful not to scratch. “Pleathe juth le me go” he muttered out from behind the shield of his soother. “Oh, you need to go? I can help.” I can make sure that’s something he never has to worry about again. I walk over to his racecar bed. Hmm, with a single pull, the small side are lifted to a full crib. That should help keep him in bed at least. Now for the real reason I walked over here. “Don’t worry my boy, soon everything will be all right.” I began peeling off the suns, one at a time. Once they were gone, I replaced them at random. A rain cloud here, and thunder bolt there. Soon there wasn’t a dry day to be seen, until the only blank spot left was today. “It will be all over soon,” I told him, as I placed the final thundercloud on today’s date. The result was instant as my boy’s knees buckled under him. Now there was nothing that could take my boy from me ever again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chris yawned, his pacifier falling onto his pillow as he did. The rising was peeking through the black out curtains on the other side of his crib rails. He rubbed his eyes and tried to figure out what woke him. It took him a moment to figure it out, before he noticed his favorite stuffed animal had fallen out during the night. He reached out the bars as far as he could, grunting and straining to stretch out until he had his worn out old bunny in his hand. He sat back down in his crib and hugged the little doll; oblivious to the weight he’d added to the back of his diapers. It was still early after all. He fell back onto his pillow, put his pacifier back into his mouth, and went back to sleep. His mommy would change him eventually, and he had a whole day of playing ahead of him.

Howdy! This story has been bouncing around my head for a while now. I thought about having a better writer than I do the writing for me, but no! How will I develop skills if I don't put myself out there! As always, please let me know if you find any obvious typos! What follows will be a story about what it means to be a hero, the weight of the world as it crushes you, and the joy in discovering just who you are when no one asks you to be anything but yourself. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 1 The snow fell heavy around Alexander as he walked through the frozen ever winter of the Northlands. The crunch of snow with each step and the rattle of his armor were the only things keeping him company. Not that he had much room to complain about the dismal conditions, even without a companion on the road. After all, he had volunteered for this quest. A quest to find the greatest hero the world had ever known. A man who vanished in his prime. Joseph, The Slayer of Timmeas, the Weilder of the Faded Blade, the Binder of the Treaty of Merchants, the Ender of the Fell Curse, etc. While Alexander had won a title through his deeds in the diamond skirmishes, he was but a single man. He was far from the Hero of a Thousand Stories. With unrest brewing in the southern alliance, Joesph was the only one the three counties involved would listen to in their rising concerns. Which naturally brings us back to scouring the frozen wastes for any sign of life. Based on what Alaxander was able to find, this was where Joseph's trail went cold. The hero was too well known to have not been recognized anywhere else. As far as Alexander was concerned, he had to be somewhere around here. Alas, even through his enchanted armor, he was getting cold. He'd already been out for hours today, and the snowfall was only getting worse. Soon there'd be nothing to see but a wall of white. While he'd been trained to handle such environments, the best survival techniques was to return to the inn at the Kindling and get back out here in the morning. Just as Alex was to begin his trip back to town though, he saw something other than ice and snow. Just barely, in an indeterminate distance away, was a glitter. A shine that cut through the snow in a Brilliant green light. Alex couldn't tell what it was, but it was something. Considering he'd been searching hours upon hours each day since his arrival, it was more than he had in a long time. The would be hero took off for the shinning green symbol of hope at what counted as a sprint in this part of the world. In truth, it was more of a brisk waddle through the thickening snow, but close enough. Besides, it took only a scant few minutes to reach a destination that Alexander swore wasn't there before. A mound rose out of the snow. The only thing that marked it as something special were a few glittering emeralds that had been uncovered. While Alexander had friends who liked to gather such things, it was something he ever had the patience for. Still, standing around this pile of dirt taller than him, Alexander felt more than saw what was before him. "Magic," he whispered, his voice raw from lack of use. Still, even for someone who's training in such mostly revolved around giving his sword some spice now and then, the ambient magic here was a constant, calming pressure. He pulled out a small aetherialmeter to check what his body was telling him, and the tool agreed: this place was saturated in magic. Almost in acknowledgement of being found, snow began to fall off of the mound to reveal an opening large enough for the average person to fit through. Alexander's eyes widened in excitement. Of Course! This had to be some sort of secret hideaway! The young adventurer eagerly entered the cavern and followed the gentle slope into the earth. More glittering emeralds lit the way as the air warmes from what Alexander assumed were natural vents. If nothing else, this would be a fantastic place to wait out the storm. Following a few minutes of walking, Alexander came upon a peculiar sight. A Door. Even more peculiar, he felt nothing magical about this door. Nor did it appear to be anything special. It was, for the most part, the same as any other door. It lacked the extravagance of the doors found in the upper class of the City of Gold, lacked the charm of the Oceanview fishing huts, lacked the polish of the Stoneworkers Mills even. It was simply a door, like those found upon the homes of the most common of men. Alexander stared at the door for a minute or two, mostly simply wondering whether to knock or not. Ultimately, the question was taken out of his hands as the door began to open inwards on it's own. Inside was a carpeted entry hall, with a stand for Boots next to the door (though none were currently upon it). Stone cavern gave way to wooden walls that were lit inside with lamps that seemed to be state of the art. An expanse could be seen just beyond the entryway. "Hello? I don't mean to be rude, but the door opened itself. May I come in?" Alexander had dined with a few of the more mystical sort in his adventures, and knew that the best option when unfamiliar circumstances arose was to be polite. Alexander was just about to call out again when someone inside answered in response. "Kay," said a young voice from the larger room. Feminine, likely a little girl. What was someone like that doing in a place like this? The adventurer cautiously entered the house. Once at the end of the entry way, the open area he only glimpsed at spread out a considerable amount. A few doors leading to what he assumed were other rooms could be seen against the walls. The ceiling was near transparent, letting in enough light through the snow to comfortable vs able to sed with only minimal help from the lanterns. An entire corner of the room was dedicated to a kitchen that would make even the most skilled chefs envious. However, that was not what caught his eye the most. That would be the little girl, sitting in a playpen, playing out who knew what scenes inside her head with the dolls in her hand and spread around her. Judging by her size, she appeared to be around seven or eight, though parts of her outfit implied younger. She wore a short, simple dress that was sunflower yellow and stopped just above her knees. Her hair was tied up in two ponytails that stopped just before her shoulders. Attached by a string to her collar was an infant's soother, and the way the girl was sitting did another to hide what appeared to be a diaper from being visible under her dress. Alexander thought it possible she was just a tall toddler or a really late bloomer. Still, there didnt seem to be anyone else around. "Hello there, what's your name?" He asked softly, approaching the playpen and squatting down so he could better talk to her. The girl was quiet for a moment, and Alexander briefly thought her too young to answer. Such fears were laid to the wayside as the girl spoke. "Fina," she said quietly, never taking her eyes off the dolls she was posing. "That's a pretty name," Alexander commented, noting the small smile that brought to the girl's face. "Are your parents home Fina?" The girl seemed to think for a moment, the dolls in her hand pausing in their own adventures as she did. "I don't have parents," she said softly, "but my family is watching us now; so it's okay." Alexander couldn't hide the heartbreak he felt as she said that. This poor orphan. At least it sounded like she had someone. "Well, can I talk to them? I'm looking for someone important you see, and maybe they could help," Alexander explained. Though he quickly realized that may not have been the best thing to say. The slight smile the girl wore quickly faded with a sigh, as she set the dolls on the ground. For the first time, she looked the adventurer in the eyes. Eyes of the brightest crimson Alexander had ever seen bored into him, and he had the strangest sense of danger course through him. He stamped it down, after all this was just a little girl. "They're all around you Alexander, haven't you noticed." A chill flew up his spine as Fina said that. His eyes widened as he touch of magic around him suddenly flared. His balance was instantly lost as he found himself matching Fina's position on the floor. "It's okay, he's nice. He won't hurt me, right Alex?" Was she speaking to someone? Hesitantly, Alexander nodded, at had to ask himself just what he wandered into. Almost instantly, the pressure around him disappeared as the pressure faded into nothing but background noise. "You're looking for him, aren't you?" Fina asked, and the question of who 'he' was only had one answer. "Yes. The last anyone saw of Joseph was around this area." He carefully explained. Clearly this was no ordinary little girl. Alexander wondered if he had inadvertently stumbled upon some fae creature. She obviously knew something though, and this was is first real lead since he arrived in this wasteland. He couldn't just leave now. Eventually, after either a handful of seconds or an entire hour, Alexander couldn't tell which, Fina finally looked away from him and once more picked up her little dolls. One of which, Alexander finally noticed, bore a disturbing similarity to the armor he wore. "Come Back tomorrow morning. Joseph will be here then," the girl stated; her sentence punctuated by the front door slamming open, causing Alex to jump. "Kindling is about ten minutes walk due south. If you hurry, they'll still be serving dinner in the Inn." That was... well that was frankly impossible without some incredibly strong magics. Just what was this place. "Thank you," Alexander said, before standing and walking to his door. Finally, after nearly a year of searching, he'd finally found the hero he was looking for. "Wait," the girl spoke as Alexander stood outside the door. He turned to find the Fina standing just inside the home's entrance. Despite his limited interaction with children, he couldn't help but notice her diaper was sagging out from under this dress. It was a fact that confused him more than anything, as clearly this young girl commanded some form of powerful magic. He couldn't fathom why she would willingly wear or use such infantile garb. Of course, these thoughts were not enough to steal his attention away from what ever she had to say. "Tell anyone about the meeting tomorrow, and you'll never find this place again." The door slammed shut without her moving an inch, leaving Alexander in the dark with more questions than answers. Still, he left the cavern with cheer in his heart and a smile on his face. He'd done it! He'd found Joseph (or will tomorrow) Soon the greatest hero in all of history will be back to continue saving them all! He never noticed that he never told Fina his name. ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ A little girl cried softly as a familiar hand ran through her hair. "I don hafta grow up forever right?" As always, there was no response back. Still, as she was lifted into the air and cradled, she could feel the love of those that cared for her. It was where she felt the safest. Where she could cry without fear. "Please don't let me go back out there. I can't do it again. Please..." her words faded from mind as the soother was lifted to her lips, and she gleefully took it for comfort. She sobbed into it as she was carried back to her nursery for a much needed change.

Hi folks. The response to my last short story was positive, so I’ve decided to post another. This one has a little bit stronger (but still gentle) mommy domme themes, along with forced regression and messing. All characters are 18+. As always, comments or critiques are welcome! Before Playgroup Sandra sipped her coffee as she watched Mike playing with his toys on the rug. He was all but oblivious to her presence as he busily pushed a brightly colored wooden train along the ramshackle track that had taken over most of the living room. Her lips cracked into a sly smile as she observed the liner of his nighttime diaper peeking out from the elastic waistband of his jammiee. The soggy bulge in the crotch and sag in the bum also signaled that she’d need to get it off him soon. But not yet. It wasn’t time to leave for regression playgroup yet. And that diaper wasn’t coming off until they were on their way out the door. For the past month, Sandra had been gradually increasing the time Mike spent in his nighttime diaper in the mornings before transitioning him back to “big boy pants”. A series of uncomfortable wet beds had made nighttime diapers an easy choice to accept, and the increasing time spent in them after waking was just a natural extension of that (at least from his perspective). There had been some grumpy feelings at first, but by the end of the first week, he seemed to be perfectly happy staying in his soggy night-night diaper at least through breakfast, and often well beyond. Sandra was already starting to reap the rewards of these efforts. Even on the rare occasions when he woke up dry, his diaper was almost always wet by the time he finished breakfast. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by these periodic lapses in daytime continence either. In fact, Sandra didn’t think that Mike was even especially aware of his diapers at these times. They had become an accepted part of his morning routine now, and using the potty was not. On mornings when they weren’t going out right away, she’d supply him with a fresh sippy cup of juice or milk and send him off to play, waiting to change him until she was sure the residuals of the additional liquids had found their way into his baby pants. Sometimes she’d pull him into her lap, all cute and warm and squishy, and tell him what a good boy he was for not making a fuss about the potty while he was diapered. Sandra loved the intimacy of these little moments together - when he allowed himself to be babied and cared for so completely. The faint smell of urine and baby powder wafting from his jammies was a not-so-subtle reminder of his growing dependence on her. She wanted him to be this way for her more often. And that desire was why she had decided to enroll him in the the Regression Clinic last Christmas. Mike had gone quite willingly to the first few bi-weekly appointments (he’d always been a little subby and into kinky ageplay), but she suspected he was treating it more as a gimmicky excuse to take some time off work, and possibly an easy opportunity to get his hands on some fun meds. It had been slow going in some areas, especially at first, but things were starting to change in more noticeable ways now. Apart from the bedwetting and increased time spent in diapers when at home, she had begun to notice some distinctly babyish shifts in Mike’s behavior and personality. He’d started sucking his thumb when he was sleepy or stressed, and he sometimes needed a nap in the afternoons now. He was more eager to please her, and much more affectionate. Mike had never been much of a cuddler in their previous 6 years of marriage, but now he craved her hugs and attention, sometimes lapsing into whining or even tears if he didn’t get what he needed from her right away. He’d definitely started reacting more like a two year old, even if he didn’t always act like one. And one topic that could almost always be relied on to set Mike off was his toileting. Apart from nighttime and early mornings, Mike was still adamantly opposed to wearing anything that didn’t closely resemble “big boy pants” during the day. The one time Sandra had casually suggested putting him in a “just in case” diaper before they went out had provoked such a swift and petulant “NO!” reaction and stamp of his foot, that she’d almost laughed out loud. It wasn’t because Mike didn’t need daytime protection - in fact they were long past that point. Sandra had been keeping careful track of Mike’s toileting and accidents since he started the regression program. Although he still had some good days (or bad, depending on which side of this process you were on), the completely accident free days were pretty much a thing of the past. The program was clearly having an impact on his level of independent bladder control, but that also meant more work for her - cleaning up puddles, peeling soiled training pants down pee-soaked legs, and doing endless loads of laundry. It was growing tiresome. After Mike had left a trail of urine through the checkout line at the grocery store about a month ago, Sandra had decided it was time for him to start wearing cloth “training pants” during the day. She had bought the most absorbent ones she could find, but without a waterproof cover, heavy or repeated wettings still soaked through to his clothing. The not-quite-daytime-diapers were a small victory, but it still felt like they were dancing around the problem rather than dealing with it in the most logical, practical, and inevitable way. Now, as Sandra watched Mike play, she was carefully observing his body language. If today’s plan was going to work, she’d need to time this perfectly. Sandra knew Mike usually had a bowel movement about 30-45 minutes after breakfast. He was still pretty good about requesting the potty for “poopies”, although there had been a couple of notable “mishaps” in recent weeks. In truth, Sandra had “facilitated the first accident through simple distraction and redirection. She’d been a little concerned that Mike would see right through her scheme, but it turned out that the opportunity to play with mommy’s phone (something he almost never got to do) was a very powerful motive to completely ignore his toilet needs. As planned, that little “boo-boo” had happened in his sodden nighttime diaper, and Sandra had made sure the whole experience was extra memorable for both of them. Just the smell coming from Mike’s bulgy bottom was enough to make her wet. And his subsequent blushy confession about what he’d done in his diaper and why he needed to be changed was almost enough to make her come on the spot. As she held his legs and wiped his bottom, Sandra had been careful to reinforce the point that cleaning up a poopy diaper was no big deal, and that she wouldn’t mind if he decided that he wanted to do all of his poopies in a diaper from now on. Of course it was his choice, but it would be a lot more convenient for everyone wouldn’t it? And in exchange, he could have more phone time! As predicted, Mike had refused, but she had at least planted the seed that poopy diapers were an acceptable (and preferred) alternative to sitting on the potty. The second poopy accident had happened more “organically”, and, unfortunately for Sandra, it had occurred when Mike was in training pants. On that morning, she had dutifully changed him out of his morning diaper and settled him in the living room in front of the TV, while she took some time for herself to catch up on news and social media. She had been in the kitchen, absentmindedly poking at her phone when she noticed that Mike was being more quiet than usual. Too quiet. Sandra crept to the entrance of the living room and peered in to find Mike standing in front of the TV with his thumb in his mouth and his eyes glued to the screen. A rivulet of drool hung from his lips. As she watched, Sandra had been mildly surprised to see Mike bend his knees and push his bottom out a little bit. She knew immediately what was happening. She had seen this characteristic posture countless times during the years she had spent working in the toddler room at the local daycare before marrying Mike. The only difference (apart from size) was that those kids were still in diapers full-time, and therefore had no legacy of potty training to contend with. Going in their pants was an everyday occurrence. For his part, Mike seemed completely unaware of what was about to happen. He was totally engrossed in the preschool TV program she had put on for him. Sandra continued to watch with amusement as Mike tensed and held his breath. His body relaxed for a moment and then tensed again, this time for much longer. This was no involuntary little “accident!” Whether he realized it or not, Mike was pushing a large poop into the seat of his pants as if he’d never been toilet trained. He gave another short push, followed with a little shiver, and then returned to a full standing position as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Moments later, the smell of freshly dirtied training pants reached Sandra’s nose. She considered leaving him like that for a while to see how he would react, but she quickly decided against that course of action. It would be better for his diaper training (and her control) if she pretended to discover his little accident all on her own. And besides, she wasn’t sure the cloth trainers would contain the mess if he sat down or moved around much. There was a very noticeable bulge in the seat of his pants. Sandra knew it was weird, but she found that posture and that bulge so irresistibly cute! Part of her wished she could just run over, pick Mike up, and hug him tightly to her with one arm firmly planted under his bottom. She imagined the look on his face as he felt the warm poop smushing further up his backside as she bounced him lightly and held him tightly to her. She imagined him blushing and burying his face into her breasts as he told her in muffled tones that he’d gone poopy in his pants and that he needed to be changed into a clean diaper. Maybe he’d even start to wet himself during his confession, and she’d feel the spreading warmth against her tummy as she patted his bottom and gently shushed him. Maybe she would… No. She was getting carried away. There would be plenty of opportunities to enjoy stinky diaper time with Mike in the future. Right now, Sandra knew she needed to stay in gentle, but firm mommy mode. Without saying anything, she walked over to Mike, and with a motion perfected in years of professional practice, she knelt down behind him and pulled back his trainers to peek inside. She knew what she would find, but she wanted to reinforce in his mind that she, not he, was the one responsible for tracking the condition of his pants, and that she didn’t need his permission to do so. The sudden motion startled Mike out of his trance. He looked up at her questioningly at first, his face the picture of slightly dazed or bewildered innocence, but then his expression quickly changed to one of dismay as Sandra announced matter-of-factly that he was stinky and that she needed to change him right away. A brief bout of tears followed, but she drew Mike into her, rubbing his back, gently patting his bottom, and speaking in such soft, reassuring tones that the embarrassment over his accident was soon forgotten. It had been quite a thrill watching Mike dirty his pants for the first time without her “encouragement”, but Sandra also knew that these moments presented important focal opportunities for increasing Mike’s regression and introducing important changes to help him along on his journey. The staff at the regression clinic had made it clear that Mike’s regression would not follow a linear or steady path. Instead, he would go days or weeks at a time with little to no perceptible change in his behavior or attitude, and then an event like this would trigger a sudden and permanent shift towards more regressive, babyish behavior. Sandra had used the second messing episode as an excuse to start changing Mike while lying down on a changing mat, instead of standing up. He needed to get used to being changed this way. Standing changes were only for big boys who had occasional little accidents. He no longer qualified on either count. Mike had fussed a little bit when she first laid him down right there in the living room, but Sandra had been firm that it would be easier and faster for mommy to clean his dirty bottom this way. Besides, he was in no position to argue with her in his current state. Oddly enough, Mike seemed to become completely comfortable with this change in status and procedure by the time Sandra began wiping him down. It was as if she’d flipped a switch in his mind. He had laid there passively as she worked on his most intimate areas, perfectly content to ignore what was happening and to continue watching TV sideways from his position on the changing mat. It was the single most babyish behavior Sandra had seen from Mike to this point. In the days that followed, Sandra had noticed other lasting changes in Mike. He seemed generally less concerned with his potty accidents. Whereas he used to demand that she change him as soon as he noticed he was wet, he now seemed content to just wait for her to take notice and change him when she was ready - a task which she often delayed for as long as possible - at least when they were at home. She’d stopped mentioning or suggesting the potty when they were home alone together unless she needed him in dry pants for some reason. In fact, they begun treating the cloth trainers more like diapers when at home. Public accidents were a different story though, and still prompted immediate and whiny demands to be changed on the spot. And there were occasional tantrums if that was not possible for some reason. Sandra had allowed this bad behavior to continue in the hopes that it would change on its own as the frequency of his daytime accidents increased. But alas, not yet. Which brings us to the events she had planned for today. Sandra knew that removing Mike’s aversion to public accidents and public changes was an important step in his journey to full-time diapers. He was more than ready physically, (as noted, there was plenty of evidence of that in the diaper pail and laundry room). But still, something was holding him back. Eventually, after consulting with one of the on-call psychologists provided by the regression program, Sandra had determined that Mike’s resistance was primarily social in nature and origin. He still wasn’t comfortable with being treated like a baby or doing babyish things in front of his peers or other adults, because that’s not what “big boys” like him were supposed to do, and he assumed they still saw him that way. Size matters in all things to boys, Sandra thought, ruefully. The stigma that wider society attaches to needing or wearing diapers after a certain age was clearly ingrained on Mike’s psyche. Becoming a “big boy” who no longer needed to wear diapers had been a point of pride for him at one point in his life. And he was still holding on to the social expectations and norms that drove that pride, even if he wasn’t consciously aware of it. Sandra hated to admit it, but the competitive side of her was a little bit frustrated by Mikes slower “progression to regression” in this respect when compared to his peers in the regression cohort. He had been one of the first to start wetting the bed regularly at night (she knew he had been a bedwetter as a child until the age of 10), and that had given her false hope that a transition to daytime diapers would soon follow at a similarly accelerated pace. But that hadn’t been the case. Now, nearly 6 months into the program, most of the other littles in Mike’s cohort and in the neighborhood playgroup had moved past him into full time diaper dependency. Yet Mike remained that awkward kid - still in trainers, and still demanding to use the potty or to be changed when he had a public accident. But today Sandra had an opportunity to help change that.She waited until she saw his characteristic “number 2 fidgets” beginning, and then announced with feigned panic that she had lost track of time, and that they were going to be late for playgroup if they didn’t leave right this minute. In actual fact, they had plenty of time, but Mike didn’t know that. He had stopped paying attention to the clock months ago, satisfied in the knowledge that Sandra kept track of time for him. She hastily removed his diaper, gave him a cursory wipe (arriving at playgroup smelling a little bit like stale urine certainly couldn’t hurt his progress today), then pulled up his trainers and shorts. She stood them both up, grabbed his hand, and literally pulled him out the door to the car. She had conveniently “forgotten” his change bag on the counter in the kerfuffle. For his part, Mike had no time to object before he was pulled out the door. He also hadn’t had time to ask for the potty. He mentioned it to her now from the backseat as she drove, although he didn’t make it clear just how urgent the need was. Sandra smiled maternally, and told him that she’d be glad to help him make a big poopy as soon as they were at playgroup. It was true, in a way. She assumed that Mike would be able to hold his bowels while sitting down in the car with his bottom pressed tightly into the seat. But once they arrived at playgroup, it would be a different story. Standing or kneeling while temporarily distracted with new and fun toys was a virtual guarantee for poopy pants in Mike’s regressed condition. All she had to do was get him through the door and into the playroom without stopping for the potty. After that, nature (and the regression program) would take its course. And that’s what Sandra wanted. That’s what Mike needed. Because today, Sandra was going to help Mike show himself and the rest of the mommies and littles at playgroup that he is definitely not a big boy anymore. Today, Mike was going to do a big poop in his pants, in someone else’s living room, and while playing with another little’s distracting and unfamiliar toys. Today, Sandrawas going to be too engrossed in conversation with one of the other mommies to notice what was happening or to suggest he pause to use the toilet. Today, Mike was going to get his bottom sniffed suspiciously, and then have his pants checked for confirmation without warning, by someone else’s mommy. Today, a tearful Mike was going to have to tell her what he’d done in his pants in front of the other mommy she’d been chatting with, who would look on affectionately as she continued to nurse her own little. Today, Mike was going to learn that Sandra had forgotten to bring any spare trainers or shorts for him, and so they’d have to find another solution for his stinky and wet pants (unless he wanted to go home and stop playing with the fun new toys). Today, she’d help Mike come up with that solution on his own, providing only gentle encouragement to guide him toward the robvious answer. Today, Mike would experience the humiliation of having to ask another mommy if he could borrow a diaper - and having to tell her why (as if it wasn’t plainly obvious). Today, Mike was going to find out that mommies expect little boys like him to make poopies in their pants, and that no one was mad or upset at him for doing so. And of course there were spare diapers available for little boys like him who needed them. Today, Mike would toddle back over to Sandra, proudly holding the diaper he’d acquired, and ask her to put it on him with barely a hint of embarrassment. Today, Mike would experience a very public change.

Hey guys, I’m working on role reversal stories. I have created a Patreon where this story is updated weekly, but I will be posting more chapters in here as time goes on. What other scenarios you’d like to see? Let me know so that I can add them to my list. At the moment I’m working on other stories about role reversals and more! My Patreon is https://www.patreon.com/LittlerWriter?fan_landing=true If you join, I will be adding new stories weekly and you can even tell me if you want me to continue with Evelyn’s regression, From Fatherhood to Babyhood or, if you prefer, something new! Babying James James had always been insecure about his height. It didn't help that at nineteen, he was still in the last year of high school or looked more like a middle school boy than a man. Being held back one year didn't really help, and even if he was the oldest in his classroom, he was the one everyone bullied. His only consolation in life was his best friend Kyle, who was a year younger than him but in the same classroom. Kyle was everything James wasn't. He was tall and handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes. Captain of the Football team, the swimming team, and basically just better at everything. His grades were also perfect. It just seemed to James that Kyle had everything figured out. Chapter One James' mother, Emma, was a good-looking woman, especially for someone in her forties. She worked for a pharmaceutical company, which meant she had to travel a lot when releasing a new drug on the market. She had two kids, James and Charles. Although James was the oldest, he tended to be a sort of momma's boy, which meant that Charles, at only fourteen, would boss him around when they were alone. To the point where Emma would find James crying after spending an entire day by themselves. Now, she needed to travel for over two months, and there was no way she could leave James in charge of the house. She went to the living room, where she found James and Charles playing video games while Kyle, James' best friend, read a book. He seemed so much more mature than both her kids, even if he was younger than James. "Hello, Miss Clement," said Kyle, his voice manlier than James and most men her age, "You look great." "Thanks, Kyle," she said, blushing; that's when it hit her. Why not leave Kyle in charge? He already spent most of his time in their home, and he was responsible enough to keep everyone safe, "Could I talk to you for a minute? In private?" Kyle nodded and stood up, a towering man. She couldn't believe he was only eighteen. "Is there any problem?" Asked Kyle as they reached the kitchen. "No, nothing. I mean, it is not really a serious problem". "It's okay, you can tell me," he said reassuringly. She didn't know why, but his words did make her feel more at peace with her decision. So, she explained what she wanted and offered Kyle money to take care of her kids while she went out to work. "Babysit?" Asked Kyle. "I know James is already a man, I mean…." "He is special," said Kyle, "But I meant more about Charles. He can take care of himself." "I know, but James, on the other hand." "So, I'm taking care of James to prevent Charles from walking all over him." "That's it," said Emma, "I know it is a big imposition, and you already have your plate full. I mean school, and all your sports, and homework..." "I'll do it." "Really? I'm so glad you said yes." "As I said, James is special. And, I think he does need someone to look after him if you are gone for too long." "If you are going to do this, there are a couple of things you need to know," she said, "Now, it only happens once a week or not even, but Jamie will sometimes wet the bed. He has these nightmares, and I think he just cannot tell that it's happening until he wakes up. I know it's a lot, but just reminding him to pee before going to sleep would be helpful." Kyle nodded. "And, he can come from school crying sometimes. It means someone has been mean to him, and I usually hug him until he feels better." There was a short pause. "It's okay. I'll deal with it," said Kyle. "So you'll do it?" Asked Emma. "I will" The two of them went to the living room, where they found James and Charles fighting over the controllers. Though it wasn't much of a fight and more James begging Charles to let him go or he'll tell his mother; and Charles. Well, he was laughing as he pushed his older brother to the ground. Emma knew that she couldn't take James with her, but she wanted to. Her son needed her protection, though Kyle would do a good job. He always did a good job in everything. Chapter Two "I'm in charge of the house?" Asked James, smiling and excited at the prospect of his mother going away for so long. "Yeah," said Emma, lying to her son wasn't something she enjoyed, but she couldn't tell him that his best friend was in charge of babysitting him, "I also talked to Kyle. He will be staying here to keep you guys company." "Sick," said James, his heart beating faster than usual. He would spend more time with Kyle than ever, which made him smile, though he wasn't sure why. "I just want you to be nice to Charles, okay?" "Okay, mom," said Jame. "Now, give me a kiss and go do your homework. I don't want any surprises like last year." James blushed. He was ashamed of failing his last year of school, but because of it, he met Kyle, who was the silver lining of his life. Though, everyone else beside him would tease James because of his size, lack of masculine features, and the fact that he tended to cry when bullied. A nineteen-year-old baby, that's what they called him, and part of him felt like it was true. He left his mother's room and went to do his homework, though he soon grew frustrated at it. It was his second time going through the same homework and exams, and he was still not good at it. He began tearing, which was a mistake 'cause that's when his brother came into his room. "Are you crying?" "No," said James, though it was more than evident that he was. "What is wrong with you? You are supposed to be my big brother, not the baby of the house." Charles left the room, disgusted at his older brother. James knew he was right. An older brother wouldn't be pissing the bed every other night, nor would he cry when things got hard. So, why was he still crying? Was he not the older brother? Yes, he was. Decided to change the way people treated him, James stood up and washed his face. He was an older brother, and he was going to start acting like one. The only problem was he didn't know how to. Maybe now that his mom was going away, he could try and be more responsible, and he should start by not wetting the bed anymore. Their mother left the following day, and luckily for James, he woke up dry. He was so excited and proud of himself, and his mother made him a special breakfast just before leaving. Yes, things were going to change. He was going to change, and nothing would stop him. But, as soon as his mother closed the door, things didn't change. "Okay, loser, I'll be in my room. Let Kyle in when he gets here," said Charles, as if he was talking with someone below him, and, even if James wanted to impose himself as the older bother, he didn't know how. He was alone in the living room until a knock on the door broke the silence. Jame opened the door to find Kyle, tall and handsome, holding a big suitcase and his school backpack. He was wearing a classy shirt, some pants that really let people see he was a full man, and his cologne was almost as strong as his body odor. "Hello, little one," said Kyle, "Ready to have fun?" Little one was the nickname Kyle had given him. He had protested at first but to no success. Now, that and baby were his name whenever Kyle was around. Though, he would avoid calling him that way at school. "I'm ready," said James, allowing Kyle in and feeling better knowing that while Kyle was around, Charles wouldn't make fun of him too much.

Prologue Hailee heard her mother crying through the baby monitor, and as she was already used to it, she left her desk and went straight to the nursery. When she opened the door she was hit by the smell of a very stinky diaper, and, knowing how bizarre the situation was, she stood there for a minute, with her eyes scanning the woman sitting in her pink crib. Her mother, who had been an elegant and beautiful woman just three months prior, was looking uncomfortable and with her eyes watery. Hailee knew she wanted a change, as if the smell wasn’t telling enough, but her mother’s eyes were saying something more. She could talk, if she needed something she could say it, but that’s not how babies work, is it? Hailee got closer to her, ready to be the grown up of the house. Chapter One Evelyn and Hailee couldn’t be more different from one another. The mother, Evelyn, was an English teacher at the local college. She was chubby, but at almost 40 years old and 5’7 feet, she was still looking young and attractive. Though, all eyes were on her daughter, who at 6’0 and only 19 years old was a towering woman with a stunning body. Hailee was into fitness, and her body was a testament to it, but she was more than just her look. She worked from home as a manager for a small but successful company, though her mother knew nothing about and she like to keep it that way. They had what could only be described as a difficult relationship, though you wouldn’t know by just looking at them interact in public. If there was something Hailee hated the most was public scenes, especially from teenagers or young adults, her peers. So, whenever her mother would piss her off, she would wait until they were home and try to talk things with her. Though, Evelyn wasn’t really interested in having calm or polite conversations, which made Hailee questioned who was the actual adult in the house. Now, you might be wondering what happened to make Evelyn end up in diapers at the mercy of her daughter? Well, it all began three months ago, after Hailee turned 19, just a couple of months before Evelyn would turn 40. Hailee woke up that morning, ready to hit the gym as she did every morning, it was not even 6 a.m, but that was her routine. She was already used to the fact that her mother would oversleep, whether it was constant drinking, the waking up late, or the toxic friends she would hang out with, Hailee knew that her mother was who she was at this point of life, and there wasn’t much she could do about it. So, she picked up her bag and left home as she did every week day. Almost two hours later, Evelyn woke up in her room almost crying her eyes out. She didn’t want to move, she knew what had happened. What had been happening for almost a month now, and she only wanted to be swallowed by the earth instead dealing with it. But, she had to get ready soon, and she couldn’t be late anymore, or things would get worse. She stood up, doing her best to ignore the smell and the cold touch of her PJs, and went straight to shower. It was lucky that she had her own bathroom attached to her room, or else she would risk being discovered by her daughter. However, when she entered her shower, she noticed she had run out of shampoo, again. With no time to get a new one, she left her room, completely naked and went to her daughter’s bathroom, taking Hailee’s shampoo and returning to her own bathroom. She turned the water one and let her worries be washed away by the stream of hot water. Evelyn finished showering, got ready, opened a window in her room, and went straight to work. She would deal with her wet bed when she returned because she didn’t have the time nor the mental energy to deal with it right now. Just a couple of minutes after Evelyn left for work, Hailee arrived home in need of a shower. She went to her bathroom, hoping for a nice hot shower, but there was no shampoo. It couldn’t run out, she just got a new one, which meant only one thing, her mother had forgotten to get her her own and had come for hers. Hailee sighed, but knowing Evelyn should already be gone to work, she went to her mother’s bathroom to reclaim her precious shampoo. All the way thinking how irresponsible her mother was, but that stopped when she opened the door to Evelyn’s room. The smell hit her like a punch in the face, a combination of ammonia and sweat, and something more. She had never babysit or been that close to a baby before, but the smell was too obvious to ignore. She went to her mother’s bed to find it completely soaked, and in her mother’s bathroom, she found her soaked clothes. There was no doubt about what had happened, and her mother, responsible as she was, didn’t even clean after herself. Had her mother drink too much that sh peed herself? Why would she not even remove the sheets to wash them? Or do something with her soaked clothes? Seriously, some times she was worst that a baby. Hailee sighed, not knowing what to do, and left her mother’s room. She needed to do something, but what? Then, it hit her. She had an idea, she needed a plan, but that was her specialty. Hey guys, I’m working on role reversal stories. I have created a Patreon where this story is already finished, but I will be posting more chapters in here. What other scenarios you’d like to see? Let me know so that I can add them to the list. At the moment I’m working on two other stories: One about an older brother turned into a baby and the other about a father. My Patreon is https://www.patreon.com/LittlerWriter?fan_landing=true If you join, I will be adding new stories weekly and you can even tell me if you want me to continue with Evelyn’s regression or you prefer something new!

This is my first time writing a story here, and to be honest, I probably should have started with something a little smaller, not some big multi-part thing I haven't entirely written yet. ----- RegCon An ABDL & Regression Story Chapter 1: Plenary Angel Ballroom, Day 1 Good morning everyone. I didn’t catch that. I said good morning everyone! I’m John Krug, President of the National Coalition for a Second Childhood. Parents—mommies and daddies—on behalf of the NCSC, I would like to welcome you all to the Seventh Annual Regression and Rediapering Convention and Expo! Welcome to RegCon! As I look out on this room of over two thousand loving and doting parents and caregivers, ready to usher their babies into the adventure of regression, ready to take the serious commitment to diaper-train their children, unleash their inner littles, and give them the delightful gift of Second Childhood, I can’t help but swell with pride of how our little gathering, in just a few short years, transformed from an impromptu meeting in a public library community room, to a burgeoning movement! I see a lot of new faces and blue ribbons in the audience this morning: First-timers who want to learn more about how regression can benefit their children and help them redevelop the innocence they lost, and how to make that dream a reality. Now I know many of you will be a bit apprehensive about everything you’re going to see here. There’s a lot to take in, and the regression journey is not one one to be undertaken lightly. Perhaps you’ve heard neighbors, friends, coworkers, or relatives tell you all about how regression improved your children’s lives. And perhaps you’ve seen wild and lurid “exposés” spreading all sorts of wild tales. But let me tell you, as you’ll all learn over the next three days, and over the coming years, you are making the right choice. For yourselves, for your little ones, and for your communities. Give yourselves a hand for choosing to crack through the wall of misinformation and learn about the love of rediapering! And I also see a lot of old friends and yellow ribbons: repeat convention-goers. Ask them. Ask why they came back, how regression benefited their babies, how they were able to compel the unwilling to transform into laughing, bouncing, carefree kids! Because this isn’t just a convention. This is a community! Know that there are tens of thousands around the country and around the world, ready to lend a hand. Every year, we do our best to create an atmosphere of learning and collaboration for new regressors and practiced hands alike, as well as hearing from some of the world’s utmost experts in regression techniques and technologies, to help you develop a comprehensive, customized plan, to guide your littles to lose their potty training, their adult worries, their sexual urges, and their troublesome independence and rebelliousness, fostering a closer connection with YOU! Every time your little one wets or messes their diaper, or begs to watch Planet Ashley instead of the newest monster drama, or chooses to obey mommy and daddy instead of striking off, your closeness and love will only grow. This will be a deeply rewarding adventure for all of you! And repeat conventioneers know that if their littles’ regression is starting to fade, we also have aids to reinforce their babyish feelings and keep them close at mommy and daddy’s side. And yes, even if you’re starting to toy with the notion, as caregivers, that it’s time for progression, we can help you decide whether the time is right and guide your little to well-adjusted adulthood. The next three days are going to be very exciting, for you, and for us on the Steering Committee. Even though RegCon only lasts three days, for those of us who stage this event this is a job that lasts all year. I’d like to now ask all the Steering Committee members to please stand and be recognized. I would now also like to acknowledge the Convention Sponsors who helped to make these beautiful facilities a reality for us. We could never stage this event without their support. Specifically to recognize our Diamond-Level Sponsors: K&C Home Products, makers of the adult-sized Cutiez® diapers, Sleep-Tite® bedwetting underwear, and Daisy Girl® accident pants; VidiNet, who will be announcing a new season of regression-optimized streaming content; And the Rosebriar Academy, offering intensive diaper training and finishing discipline to young ladies who need to become little girls. A few housekeeping points before we move forward: If you haven’t already done so, please be sure to register and grab your convention badge at registration out front. As I mentioned before, attached to your badge will be one of these stylish colored ribbons, identifying you as a first-timer, or maybe a practiced hand. Keep an eye out for orange or red ribbons; those are to identify convention staff and volunteers. We’re here to help! We’re asking you all to wear your badges visibly at all times; there are a few types of people we wouldn’t want roaming the halls here. On that note, we are expecting a small protest again this year. Convention and hotel staff are coordinating with the local police to make sure everything remains peaceful. I want to urge you all, don’t try to engage with any of the protesters. If you did bring your littles with you, it goes without saying, take extra care that they aren’t exposed to any of the ugliness outside. Not only will it confuse them and potentially damage their regression training, but, and I want to stress this has never actually happened before, there is a small chance one of them might try to “rescue” your baby. As you should know, in all our convention literature, we advise parents not to bring their littles to the convention, pre- or post-retraining. Un-regressed children might panic and try to flee or disrupt their peers’ progress. And even for a docile, fully-regressed baby, we just don’t have the resources to care for them here. There are no public changing facilities, and we don’t have a day care. Now we all understand that, when you’re caring for a little one, it’s not always easy to find a sitter, or plans fall through. Just understand that you are responsible for your child. All right, enough with the downers! Are we ready to get started? C’mon parents, it’s not that early in the morning! Are we ready to get started?! We have a jam-packed agenda for this year’s RegCon! Later this morning, Dr. Kathy Willett from Galbraith University will share some of the latest techniques in regression hypnosis, using bedwetting and daytime accidents as a departure point for full-time rediapering. She’ll also be talking about how understanding your child’s psychological makeup can help you set a more effective regression roadmap. We will also hear from Clint Jones, recently-retired Sheriff of Mason County, and his observations on how Second Childhood has worked wonders to rehabilitate habitual youthful offenders into happy little citizens. Sheriff Jones has become one of the biggest proponents of regression as the best way to keep rebellion from turning into recidivism. This afternoon, there’s going to be a dozen researchers on our popular pharma panel, talking about new developments in drug regression therapy. Gone are the primitive days of using muscle relaxers, diuretics, and stool softeners to force wetting and messing. Integrated regimens tailored to your little’s body chemistry get better, more natural results, without all the side effects. Plus, rapid developments in nanobot therapy! That’ll be exciting. Regressing and rediapering your baby is not something you have to do alone! This year, our exposition hall has been split in two! We have an upper and lower hall with a combined 230 vendors, offering everything from diapers, to baby clothes, to furniture, to harnesses, punishment tools, and local regression clubs around the country. You’ll want to take some time to weave through all the booths, so plan accordingly. One newcomer to RegCon this year is VidiNet. They’re going to showcase some of the new children’s programming they’ll be debuting for streaming, and a lot of it looks great. But what I really think is exciting is some of the parental control tools they’re planning to release next quarter that can allow you to alter and tailor their content to fit your baby’s regression needs. We won’t be fighting against pop culture anymore! Our keynote speaker for the Seventh Annual Regression and Rediapering Convention is Florence McKnight. Mrs. McKnight has really become the public face of the regression movement, through her video and social media presence. We’ve all gotten to watch as her 20-year-old daughter Isabel has metamorphosed from a stressed-out pre-med student to a sweet bubbly little toddler. I know there are more than a few people joining us here today who would never have considered regression if they hadn’t gotten to witness this amazing change, and we are honored that she’s going to share her wisdom with us tomorrow! And last, but certainly not least, year after year the most popular part of the convention, our regression roadmap workshops! Every year, it’s always a bit of a strain to make sure we have enough space for everyone who wants to develop a plan to regress their babies. But we pulled a rabbit out of a hat again this year and anyone who wants to train a new little, or wants to reinforce training on their current littles, will be able to find a seat. They’re not always going to be at convenient times, so sign up quickly! If you haven’t already done so, you can reserve a seat at the table next to registration. This is a wonderful opportunity to plan out how you’re going rediaper your child and encourage them to start wetting, the tools and techniques you’re going to use, the checkpoints to watch for, the support system you’ll have to help you both along, and, because it’s always good to have a plan until it falls apart, strategies to get back on track and adjust to changing conditions. If you do nothing else at RegCon, be sure to take this workshop! We’ve put together the best convention yet this year, and I’m excited to see not only how our event comes out, but the next group of littles freed from the pressures of adult life and shepherded into Second Childhood. We are embarking on a magical journey. There will be challenges and trials, but the joys of a babyish mind and rewards of tending to it make it all worthwhile. And before we break into sessions, workshops and panels, I would like to play for you a brief recorded message from someone very special to me. Her name is Janey, and she is my baby daughter. A week before she was to graduate high school, Janey overdosed on Adderal trying to study for exams, and had to spend time in rehab. Like too many young men and women today, she was under so much pressure to be perfect and edge out the competition that it nearly destroyed her. And that nearly destroyed me. But by some miracle, my wife and I discovered a small regression club in our home town. Like many of you, I thought it was crazy. But the alternative looked like a decade or more of moving in and out of halfway homes, so we took a chance on our little girl’s happiness. That was seven years ago, and the young lady who was once clamoring for pointless academic success has changed into someone better. Sweeter. Every morning, we wake our little angel and help her out of her crib. Our little fountain loves her diaper changes so much, not just because she can get comfy and dry, but she gets face time with the people who she loves, and who love her too. Getting to see the twinkle in her eye again after all these years, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I want each of you to feel that same love with your own treasures. That’s our dream. Janey couldn’t come here today, but there’s something very important she wanted to tell you: “Hewwo evwybudy! Have fun at da coveshon!”

Game Changer Fifteen year old Ryan loved his gaming console. He’d had it for two years now and had all the latest games but they had drawn him in to such an extent that when at home he hardly ever interacted with his family. His four year old brother Noah had more or less been banned from entering his bedroom by his parents as the games Ryan played were not for the eyes of one so young. In truth, they were quite brutal and not suitable for a teenager either. However, Ryan loved to ‘shoot ‘em up’ and ‘blow ‘em to smithereens’ whether they be invading armies, aliens or covert operatives, he loved to take them on and prove his superiority. However, since he was a tot, Noah had, much to their mother’s annoyance, often wondered into his big brother’s bedroom, sat on his knee and watched him do battle; the colourful (if scary) graphics more appealing than the actual violence. One of the main problems with Ryan was just how much he immersed himself in the games to the extent of hardly communicating with anyone except those he was playing online. Once the screen was active, donned the headset and had the controller in hand, he was committed only to displaying his strategies and crushing whoever needed defeating. Meanwhile, the occasional intrusion of his little brother didn’t stop him from gaming supremacy. In recent weeks Ryan’s gaming had got a great deal more aggressive, which had led to later nights and less attention to anything else. His schoolwork was suffering because of this, and despite promises not to play past midnight, some sessions went on until the early hours. His parents didn’t want to be seen to ‘lay down the law’ but realised something had to be done. Rather than simply banning him from the equipment they wanted him to give up on his own accord. That way, they reasoned, he’d feel he was still in control. Alas, this strategy was proving ineffectual and his mother, Sarah, went online herself to see if there were alternative ways of treating her son’s possible addiction. ****** GAME CHANGER Do you know someone who needs help with their PC Games addiction? Someone who spends too much time in front of the screen? Who has cut themselves off from family and friends? Who only lives to play the next level? Then we have the answer. Game Changer is a new, exciting development from Alt/Feed Services that helps restore that ‘addict’ into the person they used to be by the practice of focused soundwaves, visual stimuli and algorithmic applications. Just plug in to any USB socket linked to the player’s device, or PC gaming apparatus and Game Changer will take it from there. ****** In amongst all the mum’s chat and helpful hints this particular advert ‘popped up’ and caught Sarah’s attention. Not because of the big bold lettering but because it appeared to be more forthright. It didn’t pretend that most gamers weren’t addicted to their screens it said it like it was and she appreciated such honesty. As she investigated the finer detail it became clear that by purchasing the advertised ‘magic’ memory stick, she could actually help her son. It claimed that no matter what game the player was involved in, Game Changer would supplant it and via music, images and sound waves help that person become less ‘aggressive’, more relaxed and restore much sought after Circadian rhythms. She liked the possibility he would unconsciously want to spend less time online and pay more attention to those about him and certainly (she hoped more than anything) to improve his rapidly deteriorating school work. Not to mention his lack of sociability or person hygiene. The more she read about this amazing ‘scientific’ breakthrough, the more encouraged she was by its claims, which appeared to be more direct than anything she’d found after scrutinizing wellness and self-improvement sites. Although much was just too ‘technical’ for her, it did appear to be the type of clever and innocuous way of turning her son around. It argued the system operated on certain ‘audio waves and visual stimuli – connecting the mental and visceral world to make a friendly environment, with less stress, for the user’ so she reasoned “What harm could it do to try?” Yes, to Sarah this sounded just the thing she wanted but hoped, once she’d paid the fee online, that it wasn’t a con and all she’d be getting was a memory stick full of whale songs. However, there were some positive endorsements but of course she wasn’t completely clueless and knew that often false claims were made. Nevertheless, for the introductory fee of £49.99 she took a chance and hoped Ryan would see the benefits from that nominal investment. # The blurb continued that once the ‘plug-in’ was achieved the programming would take over and introduce a new ‘game’ for the recipient to play. It would promise an exciting and different type of gaming experience for those ‘brave enough to accept the challenge’. The tech wizards at Game Changer knew that most gamers loved a challenge and even if the console suddenly started offering them something they knew shouldn’t be happening (i.e. a new game appearing on their closed platform) most would want to know where the challenge led. However, once that player pressed the ‘accept’ button the console or computer was no longer under the gamer’s control, Game Changer would do just what its name suggested. The new game ‘Phantom Interloper’ promised a predatory presence to be defeated or incorporated into their own army, plus an extra ‘Cerebral Phantom’ to be deciphered and conquered to complete the game. The excellent graphics and a powerful music score would lead the player into a world they hadn’t experienced before. Also, what they were unaware of was that with each movement of the controller, each visual reference, their voice commands and choices made were all collected and, thanks to Deepcode, used to unfold the program as it progressed. In the game there were ‘moments of reflection’, where the player, to move forward, had to recollect something from their past - to help defeat the ‘Cerebral Phantom’. Nothing that happened onscreen, in the thought process, or bodily movement went unnoticed. Everything was identified, stored and made part of future levels in the game. That Phantom enemy could be confused by personal memories and the further back and deep those memories were the better. It was implied that the menace was evil and those memories, especially happy memories, confused and derailed its scheming advance. Deepcode could emphasise music and messages, change and amplify visuals, whilst the graphics indicated just when a memory had hit its target. Cunningly the player was encouraged to dig deeper for even happier memories to thwart their Phantom foe. Deepcode trawled every action and reaction interpreting and devising new strategies within milliseconds, all to keep the player involved in the game. Paradoxically it appeared that substituting one game for another was to be a solution. It was the cleverness of the program that in those ‘moments of reflection’, which delved the deepest and uncovered instances and actions from childhood, produced the most usable information. Through these ‘moments’ it was easy to manipulate the player to open up and express fears, desires, hurt and happiness, all within the ‘moment’. This was where Deeptone was at its strongest, feeding on this input and moving the game forward. With more ‘moments of reflection’ to get the player relaxed and at ease with not playing the game but simply talking to the screen, expressing their feelings and experiences; thereby confusing the Phantom that only existed on hate and fear. Perhaps surprisingly, heart rates dropped, anxiety levels decreased considerably and the brain began producing chemicals that made each competitor feel good about themselves... thus more inclined to ‘open up’. Although the new game Phantom Interloper Game Changer produced was addictive to begin with it soon identified and produced algorithms and mental stimuli that would take control. Players may have thought they were skilfully navigating the game and defeating the Phantom but were in fact being led, step by step into another way of thinking. That was the unique development Deepcode by means of Phantom Interloper were intended to do. Deepcode was designed to embed itself deep in the psyche and control the player’s future direction. Once that program was in place Phantom Interloper would then no longer need its tech base as it was operating directly in the brain and could manoeuvre thoughts and actions as required. Deepcode was a unique deep mental package and, thanks to the masses of information it gleaned from each player, a course, a distinct and individual course, based on their own interpreted desires, could be mapped out. *** Although a department of Alt/Feed Services which make and develop their own successful gaming lines, Game Changer had been independently created as a side-line and to offset criticism the company received from worried parents. From the very start the designers and tech bods at the company saw this adaption as an aid for concerned parents to wean their offspring away from too much reliance on PC games and the easy addiction they often foster. They had to show they cared so Game Changer became their main project to defer the growing hostility to their huge and profitable presence in the market. It was a concession to the possibility of government interference and general public unease with the seemingly unregulated gaming industry and an entire youth culture dominated by PC games. It was the industries weapon they hoped would satisfy and contain any future discussion on the subject. So, it was rushed into production and instantly made available via selected trial outlets... but it had to work and work well. The In House tests had been hugely successful but this understated online release was basically just the pilot, with Deepcode feeding back information to the company so any tweaks or problems could be ironed out before mass release. *** Meanwhile, by means of the screen and sound waves, those new visuals and audio commands, were already fed direct into the brain. The program selected those moments when the subject was most happy to lead the way and guide them away from a dependency on the thrill of gaming and back to a more innocent time of learning and discovery. By the time Phantom Interloper finished its appointed path, which, depending on the keenness of the player, would have renewed, by way algorithms chosen from facts garnered during those ‘moments of reflection’, a new trajectory was attained for the player. The main algorithm identified and promoted innocence and happiness above anything else, as these virtues helped defeat the Phantom menace and introduced a thought process to a time before the player had an interest in PC games. Pursuit of further games would be exorcised and the concept was that they return, in some form, better able to interact with family and friends simply through averting their PC interests by making them remember earlier happier times. Well, that was the concept. # Friday afternoon and he’d just got in from school but Ryan quickly made his way up to his bedroom to continue his latest passion, Zombie Killers – A Deadfull Night! It was a game that several people could play at once and he had a few school mates and even more folk he didn’t know, all immersed in trying to kill the undead. What he didn’t know was that as soon as he turned his computer on, the hidden memory stick his mother had recently purchased pinged into life. Ryan had quickly changed out of his school clothes and slipped easily into a t-shirt and shorts and settled himself comfortably in front of the screen. With headphones and microphone in place, he identified to those already playing his arrival. Within minutes he was up to his neck in splattered zombies. So immersed in his game he didn’t hear his mother calling him down for tea so she brought it up to him on a tray, which he barely acknowledged with a nod of thanks. She shrugged and hoped that her little unwanted gift would do what it promised so exited his room without comment as he shouted his commands and more blood and guts splashed across the screen. “Die you bastards” was a constant refrain - the fact that his parents had both warned him off this particular game making it even more illicitly enjoyable. Suddenly there was a change of music and the images on screen were replaced by a new pop-up sign. ‘Phantom Interloper - Are you brave enough to accept the challenge?’ Ryan was annoyed that his obliterated zombie count was no longer prominent and the heartening thud as his sword shattered against the skulls of his adversaries had disappeared. Zombies are for wimps... dare you engage in a battle you will ultimately lose? Don’t go running to mummy when you fail... this is only for the elite. Phantom Interloper - The Game Changer. A flashing icon underneath allowed you to accept or deny access. Ryan pressed ‘deny’. ‘Thought as much,’ the graphics taunted rather pettily, ‘too scary for a little kid. Stick to the childish stuff, Phantom Interloper is too advanced for the likes of you’ The option to accept or deny appeared again and again Ryan, eager to get back to his zombies, pressed ‘deny’. Then, instead of just visual taunts he could hear laughter in his headphones, “What a little scaredy-cat.” The voice mocked more and more each time ramping up the level of derision and childishness. “What... don’t feel big enough?” “You little pussy.” The abuse continued and the ‘access’ sign got larger. “OK, last chance Ryan” The game knew his name. A ten second countdown started as the access button changed from a glowing pink and turned a deeper red with each passing second. “We were told you’d be good enough but I suppose all your friends were wrong” 6, 5, 4... Ryan had been shocked that he’d been called by name and wondered how this could be possible but that countdown was quickly passing and he only had two seconds to press... ‘ACCEPT’ on the final second Ryan pressed the unknown, and, unknown to him, Phantom Interloper took control of his computer. From that moment on his every move; the camera captured everything, every word; the mic, like the camera, was live all the time. Even the movement of his fingers on the controller were recorded and evaluated as Deepcode wrote and rewrote the program specifically as Ryan played. At the same time a link was established between Ryan’s console and head office where a stack of servers and techies would eventually get round to deciphering all the trawled info Deepcode produced. It was expected that algorithms would take care of most monotonous work, whilst techies would tweak any underlying snags... when they could get round to it. Meanwhile, Phantom Interloper the game began. The haunting signature tune led into the most glorious graphic universe and Ryan was sucked into a world he would never have thought possible. # Ryan could not believe what was on screen. The images hypnotised, whilst the music and its many layers of sound transported him through a colourful kingdom taking him to incredible highs and unbelievable saddening lows in just a matter of moments. It was a journey like he’d never experienced as he searched for that ‘Cerebral Phantom’. A pile of info filled the screen and he received new directions on how his controller could be used to gain credit and baffle the ‘Phantom’. In minutes he felt exhausted but desperate to attain the next level. The game let him advance; the sooner he reached Level 5 his mind would be so much easier to influence but... now here came that strange part of the program. Instructions by Phantom Interloper whispered in his ear led him to believe that the Phantom could read his thoughts and so, to defeat him this is what he had to do. He needed to pause and think about something completely different from the game. It was also inferred by ‘the voice’ that the Phantom grew stronger the more evil the thought. So to defeat him and win the game it was best to think ‘happy’ thoughts, like the times when the player was younger and more innocent... the Phantom couldn’t cope with innocence. The ‘moment of reflection’ was that opportunity to play the Phantom at its own game and by doing so corrupt its program and thereby finding a way to win the game. # Ryan had been on his computer since he arrived home from school. The meal his mother had brought up on the tray remained untouched and now, five hours later, and five hours of brilliant graphics and unbelievable sounds, thanks to the ‘moment’, he could take a break. At that moment Noah ventured into Ryan’s bedroom to say night-night. Dressed in his Spider-Man pyjama top and his Spider-Man pull-ups he came and sat on his brother’s knee to see what he was up to. Noah snuggled into his brother who would normally have simply told him to leave but on this occasion he felt relaxed (the deltas waves doing their job) and was pleased to greet his younger sibling. The soft padding of the pull-up felt gloriously comforting and as he snuggled in closer Ryan’s mind slipped to when he himself used to wear similar comfy pull-ups to bed. He’d been late getting a potty routine at night and even until he was six year old, still wore pull-ups or nappies at night... it seemed his little brother was having similar trouble. Strangely, he found himself talking about these memories to his brother and telling him how wonderful it was to have no worries because the possibilities of a wet bed were taken care of. On more than one occasion, when he’d been deep into a game and needed the toilet, wished he still had the opportunity to wear a nappy as it would have helped him stay in the battle. However, thinking about how the Phantom used evil thoughts to win, he decided that these thoughts, his thoughts, might just be the right way to go. By speaking about how wonderful being an innocent child was might give him a better chance to defeat his foe the screen colours and sounds changed and he felt more optimistic. It was a tactic he wasn’t to know would forge a template for his own future thoughts and ideas. The soundwaves varied and washed into his ears, through his brain and into his senses. Yes, these relaxing thoughts he knew were working because he could already feel the benefits of such thinking. Subconsciously he felt that the Phantom hated such thoughts so was happy to defeat it with ‘happy thoughts’. Hugging his little brother closer he spoke of the times he also wore pyjamas and nappies but Noah was puzzled at such an admission, this was so unlike Ryan. But having his older brother hugging, patting his padding and being positive and encouraging was something he rarely experienced. He gratefully cuddled his big brother back pleased he wasn’t calling him a big baby or something similar like he usually did. Although he didn’t know about Deepcode or what it could do, neither did the designers of Phantom Interloper. Deepcode and Phantom Interloper had been coded by two different departments, each with its own modus operandi. Unfortunately for Ryan, when those two codes amalgamated the newly formed algorithm took him on an unforeseen journey. Of course, this might have been, no, should have been predicted but wasn’t... the program had gone rogue. ### tbc ###

Hi all! My first attempt at writing! Hope you enjoy! Chapter 1: Accidents Do Happen Melissa sat in traffic, twirling her hair, looking somewhat aimlessly toward the coast as the highway traffic inched forward. Growing up around a city, she always expected traffic, but today she seemed to have chosen her route poorly, hitting every light and somehow being behind every slow driver in southern California. Currently, she found herself boxed in the center lane of a highway with equally frustrated drivers all around her, each likely wondering why they continued to subject themselves to long commutes. Melissa had just finished lunch with her best friend Abby, where she had recounted in excruciating detail her breakup with her boyfriend of three years. It was good to verbally recount the collapse of this relationship as today was the start of Spring Break, and with nowhere to go, Melissa would have had to spend the week replaying the pain in her head. Still, Mark’s stereotypical breakup line still stung: “With us going away to different colleges… freedom…if it’s meant to be…neither should be tied down, blah blah blah.” Her heart was crushed as so much of her high school identity had been with hime as a couple. Sipping her diet coke, she began reminiscing about the three years, each interrupted by the painful awareness that they were no longer a couple. Melissa was an emotional wreck, and now she had to go home and face the “I told you so” from her mom and sister, neither of whom had approved of Mark. Time slowly ticked by until the slurping sound of the last bit of diet coke stirred Melissa back to her reality of bumper to bumper traffic. She put the drink down, feeling the slightest of alerts from her bladder that she would need to use a bathroom at some point in the near future. With traffic at a standstill, she took up her phone and quickly responded to a number of texts and chats that had popped into her various social media accounts. When every necessary emoji had been sent, Melissa placed her phone back down in the seat. Putting two hands on the wheel, she looked forward and began to realize that she would probably be late picking up her sister from school. While she debated whether she should text her mom or her sister first to let them know she would be late (both of which would be incredibly angry to learn that, once again, Melissa wouldn’t be on time!), Melissa began to shift in the seat of her Toyota Corolla, trying instinctively to quiet the growing pressure in her bladder that was now stimulated and full from the diet coke she had had with lunch and the “free refill” she had just enjoyed in the car. Deciding it was probably best to ping her sister first, Melissa hoped that she could cajole her sister to find another ride from a friend. That way she wouldn’t have to tell her mom that she was late again. Unfortunately, Sarah’s immediate text response was, “WTF! Why do you always do this to me…Mom is going to be pissed!” Her frustration mounting along with her growing need to pee, Melissa quickly tried to voice text her Mom before Sarah could get her fired up. “Mom, I’m really sorry, but I’m sitting in unbelievable traffic and will be late getting Sarah…I let her know but thought I should make sure you knew too!! So sorry!” There was a long awkward pause before she saw the three dots coming back from her mother. “Missy…if this was the first time….” That was all that was texted before Melissa’s phone rang with her mother’s name blinking on the screen. Reluctantly, Melissa answered the phone only to hear her mom explode without even a cursory greeting. “Melissa seriously, you are being so irresponsible! This is the fourth time this week! I can appreciate you are in traffic, but I gave you the car trusting you could be responsible to help, and all it has caused is more stress for all of us because now I need to scramble to help your sister…..” Her mom was going on and on, Melissa pulling the phone away as she made a face of angst listening to the same tirade about how Melissa wasn’t taking the responsibility that should come with her age and that there would be consequences, blah blah blah. What Melissa could not ignore, however was the now constant pulsing of her bladder, and her now strong clenching that was going on to keep her bladder from exploding. She began to realize that the next exit wasn’t for two miles and at this rate, that could be another 45 minutes of inching forward. Squirming in her seat, she began to feel the first bit of panic about what she could do to relieve her need to pee. She pulled into the left lane, hoping it might move slightly faster, only to find that no matter what lane she picked it always seemed to be the one that wouldn’t move forward! Her mother’s voice rose over the worrying thoughts that were beginning to take over Melissa’s mind, “Missy!! Are you listening to me!! Do you understand what I just said?!!!!” Perhaps it was the desperation over her growing bladder pains that prompted Melissa’s response, or maybe it was anger of being yelled at yet again, or maybe the rawness of having been rejected by Mark, or all of the above, but Melissa took the phone in her hand and looked at is as if it was her mother herself and screamed, “YES MOM, I KNOW I’M A LOUSY DAUGHTER, BUT YOU AREN’T A GREAT MOTHER EITHER!” There was a rush of relief that came from the outburst before the first pang of fear and regret filled Melissa. She was the furthest thing from a yeller, but the bomb had been released and now she waited for the explosion and collateral damage that would likely follow. Still looking at the phone, Melissa had seen the car in front of her begin inching forward and she had taken her foot slightly off the break to match the progress. As her mother began to respond, Melissa realized she hadn’t seen the car ahead of her stop abruptly and She instantly felt the “crunch” sound of her bumper hitting the car in front of her. “Oh $#&@!!,” Melissa screamed at the same time her mother began a tirade of response. Melissa momentarily and involuntarily let go of her “clenching” when she heard the devastating sound of fender on fender and a small amount of pee quickly filled her panties, seeping with ease through the flimsy material to her shorts that tightly hugged her nether regions. Her body quickly clenched to hold everything back again, but not before a dark wet spot the size of an orange had marked her shorts. “Mom….I need to call you back, I just had an accident!!” Melissa shouted to her mother, not noticing the double entendre of her statement, and ignoring the fact that her mother was still in the middle of her “irresponsibility” rant. Fear, shock, frustration, sadness, and anxiety all coursed through Melissa as she worked to restrain her bladder. On top of that she would now have to face dealing with her first car accident. She had been working hard to keep it together, but she suddenly felt like everything was falling apart.

This is chapter one of an ongoing, collaborative story written by me and my friend, BoysRBabies. We are writing alternating chapters—I wrote this first one. We will publish the whole story here, posting a new chapter every week or two. BoysRBabies posts fantastic captions of forced regression on Tumblr. I publish stories of diapers and domination on Smashwords. Hope you all enjoy it! Chapter 1 Tyler swerved his Range Rover around a slow-moving clump of cars. They clogged up the fast lane. And the middle lane. And would have blocked him in the slow lane, too, if he'd let them. Didn't people have any place to be on a Monday morning? He shot the pack leader his best disapproving look as he passed. The middle-aged man gripped the steering wheel of his middle-aged sedan. Hands at 10 and 2. A dopey half-smile on his face. Completely oblivious. "We won't get there any faster if we're dead," Monica said. Her knuckles were pale white against the black leather console. So dramatic. Always so dramatic. "We won't get there at all at this rate," he said. She shook her head. "What?" "Nothing." "It's obviously not nothing." He sighed and eased back on the throttle, shifting back into the middle lane. "There. Happy?" Her eyes had that watery, verge-of-tears look. The look that could spill over into full-blown crying if he said the wrong thing. Or if he didn't say the right thing. Or didn't say anything at all. He reached over and covered her hand with his. "A few days of Mai Thais and sugar sand and you'll feel better. Promise." She slid her hand out from under his and put it in her lap. "You think that will fix anything?" "Who said anything needs to be fixed?" She stared ahead silently. "Come on, Mon? Martinique? St. Lucia? Making love on the beach?" He leaned closer and grinned. Maybe we can try that thing again. With my finger?" Her frown deepened. "So we aren't even going to talk about it." He pulled back into his seat. "Seriously? You're blowing the whole thing out of proportion. It was an offhand remark. No big deal. Just guy talk. Besides, you know, maybe you shouldn't…" He shrugged. "I shouldn't what?" Her tone was icy. Careful. "I'm just saying, if you hadn't been listening in on my conversation in the first place, you wouldn't be so upset." She laughed. A shrill, short bark of a laugh. God, he hated that sound. "So this is my fault, Tyler?" "There's no fault here, but yeah, maybe you should respect my privacy a bit more." He pulled off the highway onto the exit ramp. A few minutes later than he'd hoped to be, but still on time as long as they didn't hit any traffic. "Do you have any idea how loud you are on the phone? Stomping around the house, yelling at people? How am I supposed to know if you're talking to one of your minions or Connor, or—" she stopped herself and put her hands up in surrender. "Doesn't matter." He suppressed a smile. She was coming around. She always did. She just needed to vent. Get it out of her system. Then they could move on. "Like I said, let's just enjoy the trip, then we can talk about all of it again when we get home. If you still want to." "Fine." Her tone was flat. She stared straight ahead, hands in her lap. Far from a victory, but he'd take a brief ceasefire when he could get one. Especially these days. And who knows, maybe she really would forget about it. The salty tang of ocean air seeped in through the vents. He glanced down at the GPS. Almost there. Park the car. Board the ship. Make sure their bags were in the room. …and that was it. Nothing more to do after that. He could almost taste the gin and tonic now. He pulled into a massive parking lot five minutes later and began working his way down the rows. "Aren't you going to park?" she asked, pointing to several empty spots they passed. "Connor says he's--" "Connor?" Shit. Should have waited until they were parked and standing outside. She wouldn't make a scene in front of Connor. Or at least not in front of Kari. "I told him and Kari about the fabulous deal we got." "They're coming with us?" "They've been needing to get away too. You know, after the acquisition and all that stuff? One thing led to another, and they decided to pick up tickets too." "So even your little apology trip was self-centered." She laughed. "You're making this so much easier. I guess I should be grateful for that." "Easier?" He pulled in next to Connor's Audi. She sure didn't seem to be making anything easier on him. No response. "Mon?" She pulled out her phone and began texting someone. "Hey, listen to me. How is taking you on a cruise with our friends self-centered? It would be self-centered not to tell our friends about this." It also wasn't an 'apology trip,' he wanted to say. But if it made her feel better to think about it that way, so be it. "Your friends," she said, not looking up from her text. "Not mine." Kari rapped on his window and smiled. "One sec," Tyler said. "She just needs to wrap this up." He glared over at her. "I guess." She slipped the phone back into her purse. "Done now?" She nodded. Her expression was unreadable. "Play nice," Tyler said. "It's gonna be a long week if you don't." He got out of the car and gave Kari a hug. Connor was pulling luggage out of the trunk. "Why'd you park way out here?" Tyler asked him. Connor grinned. "Boo-hoo. Leg day yesterday, princess?" "There's a bus," Kari said. "Right, baby?" "Right," Connor said. "Every few minutes. Takes us right to the boat." He closed the trunk. "Here it comes." Tyler turned to see a bus wending its way through the parking lot. It looked more like a school bus than the type of bus you usually see rental car companies and hotels using. Monica got out of the car and stood next to him. "Hi, Kari." "Hey, hon," Kari said back. Best friends they were not, but the two had gotten along better recently. If nothing else, he suspected they bitched about him and Connor. Which was fine. Or at least preferable to listening to all of her complaints himself. He popped the trunk and began stacking their luggage on the pavement. Connor stood there frowning. "What?" Tyler asked. Connor shrugged. "Bus just passed a whole bunch of people." The bus had skipped several groups of passengers, some of whom stood by their cars, looking at the departing vehicle in confusion. "Whatever," Tyler said. "As long as it stops for us." He'd bought the all-inclusive package, so it damn well better stop. He closed the trunk. A moment later, the bus did stop for them. A woman stepped out. Tall, with dark hair pulled into a tight bun. "Monica Howard?" Monica smiled. "That's me." Well that was odd. He'd arranged the whole trip. Why would they know—or care—who she was? He stepped forward. "You have someone to help load our luggage?" She walked past him without so much as a glance. He stomped around in front of her, putting himself between her and Monica. "Hey? Hello? What's your name?" "You have all of the paperwork?" the woman asked Monica. "Paperwork?" Tyler snapped. "That's all been done for weeks. You aren't listening to me." He snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Hello? Paying customer here." Monica handed the woman a sheaf of papers. "I want to speak to your manager. What's your employee numb…" the words died in Tyler's throat. "What is all that?" He turned towards the woman. "What's going on here?" "Tyler, this is Holly," Monica said. Holly looked at him for the first time, then back at Monica again. No service worker had ever looked at him like that before. A brief, piercing glare, followed by…complete disinterest. "Okay," he said. "So what? Are you the bus driver or…" "No," Holly said. "Someone explain what the fuck is going on," he snapped. "Holly is from ABC," Monica said. "Is that some sort of holding company for the cruise line?" He looked down at his watch. "One hour. The ship departs in one hour. Someone better—" "You might not know the ABC name, but you know what we do," Holly said. He throws up his hands. "Oh, it speaks. Finally." He expected a glare. Or better yet, a retreat and an apology, as she realized who she'd pissed off. Instead, more disinterest. "ABC runs male regression centers across the United States and Canada." "Male regression centers?" He vaguely remembered reading about them in an article a few years back. In fact, it had been all over the news for a bit. Highly controversial. And easy fodder for Buzzfeed listicles and late-night talk hosts. Putting grown men in diapers and bonnets and calling it therapy? Sounded like some touchy-feely, West Coast bullshit. "That's what I said," Holly replied. "Okay. So what?" He tapped his watch and looked at Monica. "We're not going on a cruise," Monica said quietly. "You're going to a regression center." Tyler laughed. "Connor? This was your idea, right? Where's the camera?" He looked around. Probably Mark. Or that cousin of Connor's—Jimmy? Johnny? Something like that. That guy was constantly posting stuff like this on Youtube. Connor stared at him, his face ashen. "Dude, jokes over," Tyler said. His voice was barely audible, each word coming out slowly and with great effort. "You got your laughs." "It's not a joke," Monica said. He whirled on her. "You're crazy if you think I'm going anywhere. And dumber than I thought." She winced. "You're coming with me to the center, Tyler," Holly said. "Oh yeah?" He eyed her up and down. "Hope you brought some muscle." "I did." God, still so calm. Like she'd done this a thousand times. He wanted to scream at her. Shake her. Get some sort of normal human response. "But I hope we won't need it," she continued. She held up a piece of paper from the sheaf Monica had given her. "Do you know what this is?" "I'm going to take your ass to court, lady. Make me miss my cruise?" He shook his head. "I'll fucking own your company. You'll be working for me in a year." He spun on Monica. "And you--" Holly cleared her throat. "It's called a Blue Slip. It remands you to our custody for a period of not less than one month." "Let me see that," he said. He snatched the paper out of her hand and scanned the legalese for a few seconds, then crumpled it up and then tossed it to the ground. "I think we both know that's not how that works," Holly said. "We have copies on hand at the center. You can read them there if you want. But I assure you, all the i's have been dotted and t's crossed. The request received the full committee's support." "Committee? What committee?" "We can take about that later. It's time to get on the bus." Monica had tears in her eyes. She stepped closer, arms open. "Unh uh." He shook his head slowly. "You stay away from me." He looked over at Connor. "Bro, you gotta get me out of this. Please?" Connor just stared. Holly took his elbow. "Up into the bus now, okay? Pretty soon you'll be settled in and all of this stress will be behind you." She guided him towards the bus. He walked along beside her, mind reeling. The bus doors swung open. He turned around. "My suitcase. I need my clothes." "That's all been taken care of, Tyler," Holly said. Her tone was soft now. Almost soothing. "But—" "Don't worry about that. Don't worry about anything." Tyler glanced at Monica one last time, then stepped up into the bus.

Hi everyone, So I've been a lurker for years. Reading your stories, a little jealous sometimes at certain scenarios. I love writing but never had the courage to write ABDL stories. Today I just felt like trying and made my own account to publish. English is not my native language, constructive criticism and ideas are always welcome. If you guys like it, I will definitely continue. Nina ":) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Intro The sun was finding it's way through the half open blinds, small beams of light peaking through on the early Monday morning. The first sign of hopefully good weather today, not that they wouldn't go out if there was chance of rain but for an outside activity it surely was a plus. The bedroom was quiet, except for the soft snoring of a young man. Next to his sleeping form was a woman, just a few years his senior. She had been awake for several minutes already but hadn't moved yet, she was content with just looking at her sweet for now. He had cradled himself against her, the head full of dark brown curls nestled against the woman's bosom and his hand holding onto the fabric of the pink nighty she was wearing. The other one held a grip onto a stuffed red panda, his favourite animal. His light snores wear still heard, but the pacifier in his mouth continued to move up and down every now and then as he suckled. He also was content. This new dynamic had been going on for seven weeks now, they had been together for two and a half. But they had both missed something in it, well, Jessy mostly. A mother. Esmee had always cared for him, right from the start she nurtured him a little more then a girlfriend probably should have. But that's what he needed, someone to tell him what do, make his decisions. It gave him structure, less stress and she was more then happy to see him blossom in life because of that. She was his partner but also his mama now. In the last seven weeks there had been changes, obviously all in agreement. Some he was unsure about, like the bedroom across the hall being turned into his nursery. He liked the big bed, loved snuggling with his Mama as he slept. But there he was all alone with just his panda, so for now they agreed only naps were to be taken in his crib. Diapers on the other hand hadn't been much of a problem. He was naturally a little lazy, so the diapers were introduced as the perfect solution for gaming, no potty breaks needed. Jessy liked his diapers, the infantile underwear felt nice and thick. And his Mama always gave him bum pats when they snuggled, those were the best. With every drop of motherly love Esmee gave Jessy the last seven weeks, he became a different person. He slept better, was less anxious and just in general much happier being her little boy. There was only one thing that he struggled with most, outside. Jessy had no trouble being his Mama's boy inside, but out of the house? What if friends saw him, family? Or if a stranger noticed the bulge of the thick pampers? The thought on it's own made him physically ill. What if they noticed? Esmee understood, but this dynamic they had, she liked it too. More then she was willing to admit and she wasn't just going to 'play house' at the house. So every now and then she would take him with her on errands, just small ones. Dressed in shorts a size too big, a clear white onesie underneath that was snapped closed at the crotch, the tight fabric against his thick diapers and a striped red and white t-shirt to hide it under. They would wander through the grocery store, one that was two towns away from theirs. She would hold his hand, like any mother that wouldn't want their child to wonder off. Jessy would toddle next to her, his legs splayed apart because of the underwear. And he was quiet, with a faint little blush on his cheeks as Esmee walked through the store with him, occasionally patting his crinkling behind, reminding Jessy of his status. And with every small outing the young man had with his Mama, he felt more relaxed. It was only a small routine trip after all, she was there, making sure he was alright and taken care of. On the last trip he even emptied his bladder, right there in the baby isle as Mama was getting new wipes. But today would be different, today they were going to the zoo. Jessy was excited to see the red pandas, but the realisation that it was a full day out made him anxious. And when he was anxious, he became a fussy little boy. He didn't listen or cleaned up his toys. To top it all off, Mama made him lunch and he purposely tossed it on the floor. Yesterday evening they were supposed to go out for dinner with friends, the first time in a full week he would be out of diapers and in a pull up. Mama made him wear those just to be sure. But she had canceled it because of his behaviour, told them they couldn't make it. And when Mama announced that, Jessy threw his PlayStation controller on the ground in anger. As it collided against the black tiles, the back came off and the controller glided away to the other side of the living room. Seeing the state of the item he immediately regretted it, more reason because it been a gift. Mama had pulled some serious strings to get it for him when it came out, it was hard to get but she managed and here he was throwing it around. Esmee wasn't going to punish him for his behaviour, she knew what the real source of the behaviour was. Not to mention that the guilt was already written over his face before the controller had come against the ground. His cheeks were now red, glistering of tears in his eyes as he looked up slowly, even Jessy was embarrassed at his own childish tantrum. So she took his hand, deciding that an early bedtime and some extra motherly love was in order. Now here they were the next morning, Jessy cradled against his loving Mama as he dreamed of red pandas with diapers on.