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

“DAAAD!”, Mikey whined, almost crying, “Suzy spilled the baby powder!”. She had been arguing with him for the iPad and when he yanked it out of her hands – she grabbed the bottle of baby powder and threw it at him – it had hit him and burst everywhere. “Suzy! That’s it! Now you’re gonna get it!” said Daddy sternly. Mikey and Suzy we sitting on the floor on the colorful Winnie the Poo carpet surrounded by playthings, cribs, a diaper change station and a pile of baby cloths. They were both just in white puffy adult diapers and nothing else, Suzy’s small breasts exposed as she sat defiantly and frowned at Mikey. This was all an act by them for Daddy, but lately they had both been feeling more and more as if this was all reality. Mikey was 22 and she was 20. They had both dropped out of college a year ago and were broke and flailing in downtown Minneapolis with no real hope - and kind of resigned to their fuck up fate as they were lazy and had no real prospects. They were quite good looking and not above turning tricks for money. About 6 months ago they had answered an Ad in the local alternative paper posted by a sugar daddy, looking for male and female adult babies/ Diaper lovers to take care of indefinitely – all expenses paid in a luxury high rise penthouse. Neither had any interest in this fetish but, in their desperate state, they jumped at the chance. They were both pretty and had slight builds, They were very skinny, tattooed, pale and undernourished looking when they arrived, but now had cute baby pot bellies now that Daddy had fed them so well since. Suze had small almost non-existent breasts and Mikey had a very small penis- they had shared naked photos with “Daddy online and he had accepted their application saying the were “perfect”. They both had dark thick unruly hair, on their heads only - as they were completely waxed and shaved smooth everywhere else on their bodies. “Daddy’s got a special punishment for YOU little girl”, Daddy said as he crossed the room towards her. He pulled her up to her feet. Daddy was a very large muscled and heavy man, he towered over both of them and maybe had 30-40lbs over both of them combined. He put is big hand down the back of her diaper. “Ah, you haven’t done your poopies yet today, hmm? But I bet you need to soon, don’t you?”, he asked. They had both heard her tooting a little and squirming on her bummy on the floor a few times about 10 minutes ago. “Well, DADDY has to go too!”, he said as he laid her down on a blanket and started tearing the tapes on her wet diaper. She wasn’t sure what she was in for - daddies punishments had progressed to ever increasingly imaginative tortures in the last couple months. She accepted them all willingly and found that she enjoyed the depravity and humiliation more and more. She shuddered and gasped a little as the air hit her bare, hairless, pee wet pussy. He pulled down his boxer shorts and squatted over her open diaper facing her. He started grunting as he pushed out his big turd. “Uh…. You’ve been a very …Uh….BAD girl”, he struggled as he strained and closed his eyes. “No Daddy, No”, she whimpered quietly, but accepted her punishment, spread her legs wide, and tucked them up towards her chin… her face turned away and blushing. Daddy’s thick hard log dropped slowly between her legs. It was huge and she felt the heat of it near her exposed pussy lips. The tail end of it fell against her inner thigh and she whimpered again. He finished, sighed happily, and wiped himself with one of their baby wipes then threw it on her lower belly. “Lets get you aaaalll fixed up now”, he cooed deviously. Daddy then took the sides of her diaper and refastened the tapes, making sure to tighly smush the mess against her lower parts. He grabbed a pair of latex panties from the baby change station an pulled them over her diaper – the panties were very tight and had longer legs and waist section, which tapered to prevent any leaks from escaping. She gave a shuddering moan as daddy’s hot load pressed firmly up against her pussy and bumhole as the plastic pants tightened around her. The massive poopoo was very dry, hard and lumpy… and when she squirmed sightly in the plastics, it slid over her clitty in a not unpleasant way. “aaaww, daddy”, she moaned whimperingly as tears came to her eyes. He picked her up, carried her to her crib, plopped her down hard into it (delighting in her gasp as the log pushed inside her slightly) and locked her neck collar to the side of the crib. He put a ball gag in her mouth, and locked it around the back of her heads o she could only moan and whimper and not give him any guff back. “There you go naughty girl – you just think about what you’ve done.”, he smiled. She tried to get comfortable – but any move she made only pushed the stinky daddy poop more against her lower regions. There was no room it the skin tight plastic panties pressing her overfull diaper so snuggly against her. She also knew she was about to poop her own diaper right before this incident occurred, and since she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, had probably kept it in held in too long. She really had to go now, but there was no room left in the diaper. She tried to push - but her poopoos wouldn’t come out against the pressure. Mikey watched her face go red with exertion trying to push her girl poopie out against the tight diaper. He always liked watching when Suzy did her diaper poos, it turned him on to see her face contort and concentrate - then catch a wiff of her stinkies as it filled the room – then the satisfied relaxed smile and glazed eyes as she finished and noticed him looking….. His little peepee would be standing straight up in his diaper and he’d have to go over to his stuffed animal toys and do rubbies against them until he made cummies in his diaper. Daddy FORBID them to touch themselves or each others privates – so they would have to do what they could against objects in the playroom INSIDE their diapers. He little boy clit was hard as he watched her struggle and contort her body trying to find some room for her morning poopoo in the destroyed sealed diaper. Daddy was watching this too – and Mikey saw the bulge in his boxer shorts as his 10” big daddy cock stiffened and he started rubbing it. She tried every position but it only pushed against her little open bumhole harder. She was sweating as she settled on lying on her back and arching to try and squeeze out little nuggets of poo at a time. As she pushed her poops out little by little, it just increased the pressure of daddy’s hard packed log against her pussy – making her gasp with an almost orgasm every time she pushed out a little piece of her massive poo. “Ahem! It takes TWO to tango young man!”, Daddies voice startled Mikey out of his horny trance staring at Suze. He saw Daddy staring hungrily at him and his stomach shuddered. “Daddy needs to punish his little naughty boy too!” His little hard peepee faltered a bit, and a flood of warm pee escaped into his nappy as he knew what was next. “OK, Daddy.” He whispered submissively. Daddy pulled the cushioned foot stool directly in front of Suzy’s crib and motioned Mikey over to it. Mikey crawled, like a cowering puppy that had just pooped the floor, over to stool, bent over it facing the struggling and moaning Suzy(in her own poopy nightmare and not noticing anything else around her), and pulled down his freshly wet diapy - exposing his smooth tight bummy and pink quivering boy pussy towards daddy. His little excuse for a cock had shrunk to its normal 1/2”, and his little rosebud pucker was clenched and expectant. Continued in Chapter 6….

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.

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

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

Hi! My name is Allycat, and this is my short story "A Little Trance." The story is about a college-aged couple--Riley and Sonia--and Sonia's little weekend to herself. With all her roommates away, Sonia finally has time to fully regress! ...with only one small hiccup beforehand: Riley walking in as she's putting away some of her little stuff. Now Riley knows (and wholeheartedly supports!), and Sonia still has the time to herself! Just with one person knowing, and caring an awful lot. Anyway, this is the first chapter! I'm not sure how many there will be, but it'll get done Eventually(TM). I hope you enjoy : ) Chapter One “I’ll see you Monday, Maddie!” Sonia called from her bedroom, “See you then!” her response. A quiet exchange of murmurs and a pregnant pause filled the gap, punctuated by the door finally shutting. From her bedroom Sonia couldn’t see what held it open for so long, but she didn’t care. She had to clean before Ri- “Hey Sunnie, how’s my girl doing?” Riley swung open and leaned on the door frame, staring at Sonia’s back. Her face flushed pinker than the pacifier sat plainly on her nightstand, now swooped up and shoved away into a drawer as the door swept forward. “H..hey Riley! I thought you were gonna text first before you came in! How did you get in?” Sonia’s voice warbled and stammered, anxious and rushed out. She layered her worries with a smile, one that Riley read through easily. Her eyes betrayed her, imbibing like a doe’s in dusk traffic–Riley honestly felt bad. “What were you uh…what were you shovin away?” Riley inquired, trying to peer around her girlfriend’s shoulder. Instinctively, Sonia’s hands swung behind her and pressed against the handle as if to glue it in place. “N…N…nothing! Nothing nothing nothing! Just had to tidy up!” “Well, in that case, that’s not nothing, is it now?” Sonia’s face turned a shade redder than her comforter, in which she wished she could curl up and die. Sadly, Riley could bound the four steps over to her drawer, then turn and jump on Sonia if she began to melt away into shame. She would have to tell her. “Listen, Riley…” Defeat. “Yes…?” Concern. “P…please, can you just drop it? It’s nothing bad, I promise. Please.” Palpitating. “Sonia, listen…” Soothing. “...” Descending. “You don’t have to look at me. But I want you to know that whatever it is, I won’t push you on it. Though I’m sure that talking about whatever it is will be helpful. I promise I won’t judge you.” “...” Considering. Riley stepped forward. “ I think this is the perfect opportunity, Sunshine.” Careful step after careful step, covered by careful words. “It’s your choice. In fact, I won’t ask a single follow-up question. You tell me what it is, we’ll drop it and move on.” “...” Ascended. Riley picked up Sonia’s hands, now gently resting at her sides. They floated between their chests parallel to each other; unparalleled relief pouring through Sonia’s heart. “I love you, Sonia. I don’t want you to think there’s anything I’d judge you for, or anything I couldn’t look past.” Sincere. “...” Preparing. “A pacifier. An adult, pink, pacifier.” Pacified. … Severe, unadulterated angst. A quiet beat, followed by a shrug. “Okay!” Riley chirped, roosting the two atop the bed. “So you got the place to yourself this weekend, huh? Anything fun you got planned?” Sonia stared, dumbfounded. “That’s...that’s it?” She sighed. “That’s all you have to say?” “Oh, my bad! You said no follow-up questions. But that shouldn’t count as a follow-up question, should it? Does that count as a follow-u–” She stopped, slyly alert. “These do not count as follow-up questions,” She smugly tapped her forehead twice, then slightly dropped the act. “Unless you consider it such. Then I’m sorry.” Sonia blinked hard. “No, not that. I told you I have an adult pacifier in my drawer and you’re not even weirded out by it. Why are you so co “I told you, I wasn’t going to ask any follow-up questions. I think that was a fair compromise to offer, you know how I feel about this kinda stuff. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me about stuff. If I’m being honest, I’d feel weirded out if you didn’t tell me what it was.” She paused again, delayed in tossing her hands and eyelids up in panic and shock. “Not that that wouldn’t be okay! But the imagination is a wondrous place. I would have had to assume it was like, a doll’s head or something.” Sonia couldn’t help but smile. “I think you want me to, though” Smirking. Sonia now couldn’t help but stutter. “I I I n n no! No! I just want to ke… Sonia jumped upward, trailed by Riley’s hand. “Hold on there, dear.” Riley held Sonia dead in her tracks. “We’ve been dating for a year and a half now. You only clam up like this when I’m right, and when you’re unbelievably embarrassed. And for the last year and a half, every time you’re wrong you’ve been the latter, too! So, admit it! You want me to ask!” “...” Desce Riley stuck her finger out toward her lowering chin. “Uhp! Not this time! Look at me and admit it, Sonia. You want me to ask questions.” Sonia strained her eyes slightly upward because she refused to move any higher, forced into meeting her supposed sharp stare. Eye contact stung like a knife’s edge, making her bleed into her cheeks. “Is it healthy for this much blood to be going to your face in one afternoon?” Sonia squeaked and buried into Riley’s chest like a toddler. She needed to get away for a minute, her object permanence regressing. “I’ll admit something first,” Riley replaced her hands onto Sonia’s back, holding her softly. “I’m dying to ask questions. But I’m not going to until you give me the go-ahead. It seems like this is something you’ve been wanting to tell me, but haven’t had the opportunity to. Or, rather, you’ve been too flustered thinking of it to even make an attempt. Based on this reaction? “It’s the latter again.” Soul-piercing. “You know, your blush really brings out the blue in your eyes.” “YOU CAN ASK QUESTIONS!” Sonia muffledly screamed without missing a beat, having had enough of this embarrassment. Quietly, she quivered in Riley’s bowed arms, her arms quavering as she grasped her shirt. “Okay, what’s it for? Tell me everything.” Empathy. Compassion. Love. Sonia stilled, cooling into the comfort.

Hi folks! I have posted my stuff on other sites, notably Reddit and Wattpad. Someone recently encouraged me to post here, and I thought I would give this community a try. I have a fair backlog of stories, but I won't be posting them all at once on here. That seems spammy and rude. Plus, I think it's fun to have regular content to look forward to. For the medium-term, I'll be posting one chapter of a story a week on here, starting with my short novel "Baby Briana". It has twenty six chapters, so we'll be a while on that one. I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to comment, ask questions, and otherwise talk to me in this thread. I don't know how often I will be checking my inbox here, as I already have a lot of inboxes, so my story threads are probably the best place to talk to me. Content Warnings: NSFW content including sex scenes. Spanking and discipline. Consent is not explicitly spelled out; a person acting as a child is considered to be giving implicit consent to be treated as one. Without further ado: Chapter 1 of Baby Briana. Brianna lifted her head and let out a yawn that stretched her jaw. Discomfort made her squirm in the bed. She slid a hand under the covers and immediately teared up. The bed was wet again. She froze in bed, listening and hoping that the house would be silent. No luck. By the sounds of it at least two of her roommates were already awake. The sun blazed through her white daisy curtains; a sign that it was likely they were all awake. For a few minutes she burrowed back into the covers despite the dampness. She wished she could vanish into the bed and disappear. Or better yet, that the stain would. “I don’t know why this is happening!” Briana despaired. “I haven’t wet the bed since I was six. It’s been ten times this month, and it’s happening more and more often.” With a groan she crawled out of bed and stripped off her soaked panties and nightshirt. She was able to scamper to the bathroom to shower without running into anyone. Scraggly red hair greeted her in the mirror. She sighed and tied it up. Haircuts were another thing that weren’t happening. At least the rest of her looked good. A smattering of freckles across a slim body. “Nothing like being poor to keep you trim.” Back in her room she dressed in dry clothes and faced her bed grimly. The comforter was too bulky to launder easily and seemed to be barely damp. She stripped the sheets and wrapped them in her wet bath towel. With the window open and a bit of febreeze on the mattress, she hoped no one would notice. Her feet creaked on the old wooden floors. Normally she loved an old house with tons of character. Now it was a traitor reporting her every move. Since quiet wasn’t an option, she made her way down the stairs quickly to the living room. Her roommate Suzie was there, curled up on the green antique couch. Brianna froze for a moment, but the blonde girl didn’t look up from her phone. Brianna rounded the wall that supported the stairs and opened the basement door. Another flight of creaky stairs and she was on nice quiet concrete. Even better, the washing machine was free. A huge wave of relief washed across Brianna when she set the washer running. Briana checked her bank balance for the hundredth time while she leaned on the kitchen counter. Only a couple hundred dollars left. Her roommates had been generous enough to let her skip the rent. They even let her eat from the groceries they bought. It was a lifesaver, but a guilt-inducing one. The college’s work study wasn’t taking any new student workers mid semester either. “There’s nothing online for jobs.” Briana sighed. “I’m sending out three applications a day but nobody replies.” “Hey, Bri?” Suzie startled Briana out of her thoughts. “Can you come to the living room? We wanted to talk to you about something.” “This is it. They’re kicking me out.” Briana’s mouth went dry, her stomach knotted. She managed a nod but couldn’t speak. Her fears redoubled when she saw her other four roommates sitting in the living room. Suzie led her to the armchair and took a seat on the right-hand couch next to Jane. As a film school student she was the most quirky of the group, short blue hair and a lot of tattoos. When she’d first moved in everyone called her Manic Pixie Dream Girl until it got to be too much. Anything but plain Jane was still in pajamas, her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She had striking German features with a resting bitch face that was legendary in the Economics department. Erin and Casey were on the left-hand couch, still dressed for their morning run. The only sporty members of the house, Erin was freckled and burnt, while Casey tended to evenly tan. They always seemed to sit together; Erin was the only one in the house who wouldn’t be dwarfed by Casey’s six and a half feet. Across the coffee table in the other armchair was Veronica, dressed in her usual black house dress. She had a quiet, commanding presence most of the time. At a meeting like this she had the look of royalty. Not condescending, just the assumption that she was in control. She didn’t even need to flex her wealth or Postdoc status to have authority in the house, but they certainly helped. Brianna sat at Veronica’s direction, eyes already brimming with tears. “I think you probably know why we wanted to talk.” Veronica said. “I’m sorry!” Briana burst into tears. “I can have my stuff packed up in a couple of days.” “What? Huh? No!” Several of the girls responded in unison. “Briana, no.” Veronica said with a concerned frown. “Nobody is kicking you out. I’m sorry you thought that’s what this was!” “What then?” Brianna sniffled. “You have been… having to do a lot of laundry lately.” Veronica said. Briana flushed. “That was really kindly worded. Carefully worded. I wonder if she learned that in the counseling program.” “We’re worried about you, and we want to help.” Veronica continued when Briana didn’t seem like she was going to reply. “Help how?” Briana sighed. “I don’t have insurance, or money for a doctor. I can’t ask you to cover me on that too!” “That’s not what we were offering.” Veronica said kindly. “We did get you a couple of things that might help though.” Erin hopped up and grabbed a package from behind the couch. A package of incontinence undergarments. Brianna’s heart sank and her face flamed again. “I uh, I don’t know why it’s happening but I’m not sure that I really need…” She stammered. “I know it’s rough even thinking about wearing those!” Erin said. “So I got you some different ones too.” She placed a second package on the coffee table. This one had bright colors, proudly proclaiming the efficacy of its pullups. “Uh, I’m pretty slim but I don’t think I can fit into pullups.” Brianna said, confused. “They’re adult sized!” Casey chimed in. “I know they look kind of kid-y.” Erin said. “But they’re way prettier than the Depends.” “I don’t think…” Brianna began. “Please think about it.” Veronica said. “Use them until you figure out what’s going on.” “Veronica’s the one covering my rent…” Briana hesitated, “Those things probably weren’t cheap either. This is actually really nice of them, even if it’s embarrassing.” “Um, okay. I’ll try them for at least a couple of days.” Briana said. She blushed and sank back in the chair as the other girls applauded. “We want you to be okay.” Jane said. “We’re here to help you, okay?” Suzie smiled at Briana. “It takes a lot of courage to accept help, especially about something like this.” Veronica said. Briana wiped away tears. Her roommates rose up en masse and helped her out of the chair. Surrounded in warm group hug, Brianna sobbed a couple of times and took a deep rattling breath. “Thanks everybody.” The hug closed tightly around her again. “You’ve all been really nice.” “We’re friends!” Suzie declared. “Just because we’re not a sorority doesn’t mean that I don’t think of you all as my sisters.” Veronica said. “We’ve had this house together for three years.” Brianna nodded, wiping her eyes. Jane helped her carry the supplies up to her room, giving her another hug before she left. Briana put the packages in the far back of her closet and realized there was a third one as well. A plastic mattress cover, that had been sitting under the depends. “I can’t afford to replace my mattress.” Briana thought grimly. She slipped the cover on her mattress and made the bed with new sheets. You couldn’t tell by looking at it, and when she crawled under the covers, the feel wasn’t too bad. “I sure have good friends. I wish I knew why this was happening!”

? Matilda the Bear By Horatio Husky Commission for ArtMckinley Chapter I. Matilda inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as the night air of the forest filled her spirit lungs and nostrils with a sweet, damp scent. The leaves and branches crunched satisfyingly underneath her large foot paws as she walked along her usual midnight stroll, the bottom of her dress billowing beneath her but above the dew covered grass, keeping itself away from its moisture. The being had dressed herself in a maternal looking apron on top of her dress, resembling the image of a motherly caretaker from decades past. She always had a habit of taking a while to catch up to modern fashions, and enjoyed staying a little behind in the times. Her figure was still intimidating despite her motherly appearance, long brown hair, a towering height of well over seven feet, and as with most females bear spirits she bore heavy set breasts and large arms and legs. As a spirit, however, she wasn’t bothered by her appearance, and fully embraced her largeness with a positive personality. Not to mention, she had other worries than how she looked. Her concerns were with the locals and their relation to the forest, keeping sure that each stayed where they belonged and didn’t bother each other too much. That’s when the car with its brights on and music blaring decided to park by the side of the road bordering the forest, her ears perked up, and she followed the source of the noise. Goodness me! If this is Tom again getting home late and drunk his wife isn’t the only one that is going to have strong words with him, she thought to herself annoyedly, remembering how one of the locals had a bad habit of drinking and driving, and how on multiple occasions she had to nurse him back to health herself. The distinct smell of booze was in the air as she approached, her sensitive nostrils picking up a few other choice scents as she drew closer. Are those teenagers out again sleeping with each other away from their parents? Goodness me the youth today truly are shameless! At last she stood next to the car by the passenger side window, she leaned over and peeked inside. Much to her horror, the scene before her was uglier than any she had seen before. Covered in sweat and runny make-up a girl who looked to be in her early twenties lay in the driver’s seat, her breath reeking of alcohol as she moaned to herself loudly, her right hand stuck in the front of her pants working its way in and out of what Matilda presumed to be her unspeakables. Several black highlights were present in her dirty blonde hair, and she was clad in what was in Matilda’s opinion, “Scant, modern rags.” “What do you think you’re doing, young lady? Do you know what time it is? And goodness gracious, do you have any idea how naughty this behavior is! Drunk and touching yourself in the middle of the forest, tsk tsk. You do know that it's a school night and the squirrel kids have to be up bright and early to go to their nut-gathering classes! And don’t even get me started on the birds and worms!” The young woman started at first, turning to gaze at the forest spirit and narrowing her eyes, having difficulty focusing on her blacked out state. Suddenly comprehension dawned on her incapacitated state of mind, and she let out a yelp. “BEAR! PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP THERE’S A BEAR OUTSIDE MY WINDOW!” She fumbled with her keys to get them into the ignition, but Matilda was too quick for her. “You’re not going anywhere tonight young lady, you’re coming with me!” Before she realized what was happening, the bear had walked around the front of the car, opened the driver’s seat, and gently extricated the young lady from her car. Cradling her gently in her arms, she entered into a brisk walk back into the forest towards her home, the young lady blinking and trying to come to her senses while the world spun around her. “L-let me go! I don’t want to be eaten! W-why are you talking anyway… What are you… You’re a bear!” The young woman’s words slurred, which only added to Matilda’s disapproval, “Your behavior is absolutely inappropriate, young lady, a fine thing such as yourself has so much more potential in this world. Ladies like you should be in school learning to make the world a better place, not ravaging through drink and self-indulgence! And if not school you should be finding yourself a husband or wife! This really doesn’t suit you.” The young woman was now utterly confused. Why is this bear talking to me like she’s my mom? Did somebody slip something into my drink and now I’m hallucinating? Before long the party of two had arrived at Matilda’s cottage, a humble looking abode with smoke coming out of a chimney in the back and a comfortable looking porch in the front. “Let’s get you cleaned up now and perhaps something warm in your stomach, if it can handle it. How does that sound, kitten?” ‘Kitten’ blinked her eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing. The inside of the cottage looked nothing like she expected it too. They hadn’t entered a one room building like she expected, but they were now standing in the front hallway of what looked to be quite a large house. As her blurry vision cleared slightly, she saw a staircase leading up to a second floor, and several rooms connecting to each other on the first floor including a kitchen, living room, and what she presumed to be a dining room. “How… What… Wh-” “Hush now dearest, we need to get you cleaned up and in your crib! It’s way past your bed-time.” The young lady was now utterly confused, and almost completely convinced that what she was experiencing was either a hallucination or a drunkenly induced dream. “I’m never drinking again…” she muttered to herself, rather unconvincingly. “Well that’s a start at least! There’s plenty of other things I’ll be training out of you, but that's the one that’s definitely near the top of the list!” After wiping her foot-paws on the rug near the front of the door and locking the door behind her, the bear carried her charge up the stairs of her home and turned a corner, leading them into a white, spacious bathroom. Patterns of smiling ducks, sailors, and beach animals decorated the walls, and a large bathtub in the corner decorated the interior of the bathroom space. Before she had time to marvel at how clean and pristine the bear kept the place looking, Kitten found the bear was now tugging at her clothing, stripping her down naked. “What are you doing!? D-don’t take my clothes off!” The bear stopped for a moment, a patient expression on her muzzle as she set the girl down on the counter. Adopting a chiding tone, she explained, “Now now little one, I can’t get you cleaned up if you’re still wearing all this icky clothing! Not to mention they’re not fit for somebody as pretty as you. Be good now!” She shook her head, still protesting, “Stop touching my clothes you stupid bitch, I told you I didn’t want your help!” Suddenly the world shifted and turned almost upside down. Before she knew it, she was lying stomach down in the bear’s lap. “What are you- OWW!” Whap! went Matilda’s paw as she spanked her charge’s now exposed behind. She cried out, much to her own surprise as tears poured down her cheeks. Matilda tutted under her breath and continued to rhythmically deliver punishment onto her kitten’s behind. “Now look what I have to do, I don’t like giving spankings but you have simply given me no choice. I bet your mother would not approve of the potty mouth that you have developed either!” At this point the girl was now sobbing, snot coming out of her nostrils as the tears further smudged her already spread make-up. Matilda’s ears perked up, as she heard the human mutter and babble out what sounded like a pitiful apology. She quirked an eyebrow, and paused a little longer before she delivered the next smack on the quickly reddening cheeks of her charge. Well that was quick… She seems to be pretty malleable in this state… Hmm… Perhaps…? Speaking in a clear voice, she paused after her 19th spank and addressed the pitiful looking girl in her lap in an authoritative tone. “Now then, are you going to be speaking like that to Mama Bear ever again? Or do I have to show you more of what girls with potty mouths get?” Practically blubbering, the young woman shook her head and managed to stammer out, “N-no… I’m not going to s-speak like that to you again… P-promise!” She spoke, her words intermixed with hiccups and shaking sobs. Matilda realized that she was barely lucid as she lay completely still and limp in her lap, unable to resist the punishment that she had been delivering on her bare behind. She continued, maintaining the same dominating tone of voice as she further chastised, “I thought so! Drinking and touching yourself and staying out late at night, not to mention driving under the influence! You’ve been a very, very naughty girl and you’re going to get even more spanking if you keep this up! You’re lucky I’m letting you off tonight because you’re tired and probably are in great need of a bath and a good night’s sleep! Are you going to behave for me while I clean you up, young lady?” Nodding emphatically, the girl continued to sob and pant in Matilda’s lap. Matilda gently lifted her charge up and laid her head against her shoulder, standing up and supporting her underneath her bottom as she did so. “Now then, let’s get you cleaned up shall we?” Gently carrying her over to the bathtub she deposited her inside, turning the water on and tugging off the young woman’s shirt, the last of the clothing that she had been wearing. “Now, what should we call you?” Matilda mused to herself out loud, as she turned on the warm water and adjusted the girl’s body into a rough sitting position, pouring some shampoo into the water as it began to rise up around her legs. “Hmm… I think Annie would suit you quite nicely, don’t you think so dear?” Annie’s eyes fluttered in response, and she groaned softly, her brow furrowing in a contorted, pained expression. A second trickle sounded in the air, and Matilda quickly realized that her blacked out charge was now adding her own urine to the bathwater. “Goodness me! It’s a good thing we got you in the bath before you soiled yourself! We’re going to have to do something about that if you’re going to be sleeping on my bed sheets! Now, I should still have the nursery set up.” Turning off the faucets she drained the bath before turning on the hot water once more. Retrieving a large rag she dipped it into the steaming water and started to gently wash the girl’s body, holding her various limbs and taking great care that her washing felt soft and gentle. The bear began to hum a tune under her breath as she worked away, speaking softly and cooing over Annie as she washed the make-up from her face and dabbed at her sensitive bits, ensuring that she was clean from top to bottom. “That should do it, all squeaky clean! Let’s get you dried then.” She turned off the water and pulled the plug, letting the bathwater and soap suds swirl away as she picked Annie up and out of the tub, laying her down on a towel she had spread on the bathroom floor. Annie could barely comprehend what was happening to her as Matilda ruffled her short, tomboyish hair in a towel and wrapped her up in the one she was laying on. Satisfied that she was dry, the bear scooped her up, still wrapped in the towel and carried her out of the bathroom. Walking down the hallway she took a left before she entered a room that Annie thought must have been a figment of her imagination. It looked like a regular nursery, except every piece of furniture, toys, and even the diapers beneath the changing table seemed to be oversized. Annie blinked twice, her vision still blurry, and a singular thought bubbled up to the surface of her drunken mind, “I crashed my car, hit my head, and now I’m seeing things…”

Just before 25-year-old programmer and chess IM (International Master) Isabelle drowns, she is pulled to the Diaper Dimension by the UN's Dimensional Rescue Group. Things don't quite go her way, but she has a powerful ally... Your Move Foreword Welcome to Part 1 of my first story. A year ago today I started posting a chapter a week, and I stopped when I got to the end of Part 1 since my Junior year of university was starting, and I just didn't have the time to study and write on top of extracurriculars (I'm a good boy! I got a 3.9 GPA this year! ?). This summer I found some spare time to write a bit every day after work (internship), and I've produced 7 chapters so far. With the way the story has taken it's own life, I'm only about 1/3 of my way through the plot points that I've had planned out for Part 2! Unfortunately, I don't forsee being able to finish Part 2 this summer, because of the amount of things I get up to (including editing @BabySofia's Lights! Camera! ...What?!?), so you may be left on a cliffhanger (Sorry! ??), but at least you'll get to read a couple more chapters (over on the original thread): Without further ado, here's the edited, up-to-date version of Part 1. There may be some small plot changes from the original thread, but consider this the canon version. Part 1: Opening "Attackers may sometimes regret bad moves, but it is much worse to forever regret an opportunity you allowed to pass you by." — Garry Kasparov Chapter 1 — What the Hell I never expected it to be like this. Frankly, I didn't think I was even supposed to be in Hell. Even though I wasn't the most devout Christian, I certainly was one. So shouldn't I have gone to Heaven? Even if I take the secular interpretation, don't only bad guys end up here? I'm pretty sure I'd been a good girl — most of the time anyway. Of course, human nature made being perfect all the time rather impossible, and I'd certainly done my share of sinning. But... but... this?? I don't think that anything I'd ever done had made me deserve this. Did some angel mess up? Or was it a bug in some kind of software? Did angels even use software to make these decisions? Leaving the 'why' aside, shouldn't Hell be hotter and more fiery, and shouldn't Satan be a guy? I pinched myself just to confirm I wasn't dreaming, and looked around the dilapidated, dirty room for the third time since I'd opened my eyes a minute ago. The twenty-by-thirty-foot space was dimly lit by a small window stained almost opaque by dust and grime. The looming figure of the Devil, about twice my height, was clunking away in front of a stove, puffs of smoke rhythmically emanating from her mouth as she dragged on a cigarette. I wretched again at the malodorous pile of dirty dishes, pots and pans that sat unwashed in the sink next to her, and the overflowing trash can beside it that contained a large mound of unidentifiable ooze whose composition I could only guess at. A lonely mattress, straight from a prison cell the way it was stained, filled the opposite corner of the room. All the furnishings, clearly sized for her, appeared intimidatingly large to me. What was most disturbing was a pile of reeking garbage bags that filled the last corner of the room. Topped with a pair of flies buzzing around angrily, its base spilled out to within inches of the mattress. My disgusting panorama was interrupted by a noxious wave of cigarette smoke reaching me. It made my head spin. I choked and coughed, nauseous and unable to breath. When the air had somewhat cleared a moment later, I drew a deep breath. All I inhaled was the putrid stench of the space. Though it wasn't exactly hot, the room was bordering on that, and the air was unpleasantly humid and warm. A trickle of sweat meandered down my face. Whatever I was wearing was definitely much thicker than necessary. Wait... I looked down at the lavender footed sleeper I was dressed in. This was NOT what I'd put on the morning I died. It was frayed but soft, and the cute design adorning the front had long faded. Somehow, whoever had redressed me for this place knew that I liked purple. I'd actually owned a similar outfit before I died, but mine had been less... cute? The similarity stopped right there as I noticed the straps that connected the butt of the sleeper, just below the end of the long zipper, to the heels of the feet. They didn't seem to serve any purpose besides preventing me from getting up onto my feet. Odder yet, my undergarments felt utterly foreign to me. I was flat-chested enough that I rarely wore a bra, so it didn't surprise me that I wasn't wearing one, but the pillow hugging my loins stuck out to me just as much as it spread my thighs apart. I poked experimentally at the thick padding, confirming that it was some sort of ultra-thick diaper — a word that still made me blush as it stirred memories of my bedwetting fiascos as a child. Thanks to the heat caused by the pillow of a diaper, my nether regions were even warmer than my other body parts, but this discomfort was nothing compared to the screaming alarm bells that my bladder was sending to my brain. Get to a toilet, now! In desperation, I cleared my dry throat and spoke for the first time since I'd died, "I eed oo you a waoom." My brain bugged at the disconnect as I heard my own words, blatantly incoherent. My hands quickly found the gag in my mouth. How on earth did I not notice this thing? I tried pulling it out and retrying my plea, and it suddenly expanded with a loud POP! My jaw felt like it was on fire as I cried out in pain! Satan swung around and I glimpsed her face for the first time. Her washed-out green eyes were partially covered by strands of her matted, unkempt, dirty blonde hair. She looked like she was about fifty-five, and the wrinkles on her face scrunched up into a frown so ugly that I shuddered. "Quiet, Christa!" She scolded in a crackling voice, turning back to whatever she was brewing. Who's Christa? I scanned the room once again quickly. There was definitely no one else here. Is Christa what they call Christians here? Does it mean— My bladder once again interrupted my thoughts with its tingling, and I tried to squeeze my legs together and press a hand between them to prolong peeing myself. The thickness of the diaper rendered both efforts futile, so I started frantically looking around for a toilet. I saw a weathered but imposingly tall door. A curtain on the opposing wall of the same giant size. The paint on the door had peeled and the curtain's designs had washed out years ago. Realizing that I had no other options since I couldn't even stand up, I whimpered as the floodgates opened and I wet myself. The Devil clearly didn't notice what had transpired, but I almost broke into tears as I pawed at the warm wetness between my legs, spreading its tendrils into the thirsty padding. I hadn't felt anything like this in years, and my memories of waking up in a cold, wet diaper as a little girl came flooding back. The pain in my jaw had dulled somewhat, but it still ached, and I rubbed it, choking back tears. In an attempt to distract myself from my distressing situation, I recalled the last moments of my life... "Mom, dad, are you guys ready to go?" I called out as I set the burglar alarm and locked the front door on my phone. "Yeah hon!" My dad shouted back from the car. I jogged over to the driver's seat, climbed in, and started the car. I put on some nice classical music, and started driving to the annual regional chess tournament. I was on-track to secure my third GM norm, which would promote me from an International Master to a Grandmaster, a title I'd spent the better half of my life trying to secure. 'GM Isabelle Green' would look perfect on my website, I noted to myself. As I drove down a winding road that hugged a rock face, I marvelled at the lake on the other side of the road. Its crystal-clear waters perfectly reflected the blue summer sky, on which a family of ducks were making a wide V-shaped wake. When I rounded a bend in the road, a large semi truck suddenly bore down on me from the opposite direction! The driver must have been either drunk or crazy, because it was driving dead-center on the two-lane road! I heard my mom shriek as I swerved quickly to the right, narrowly avoiding a deadly head-on collision. Just as I thought the incident was over, a front wheel cleared the narrow gravel shoulder and the steering wheel was wrenched from my grasp! The three of us joined into a collective scream, as the crystal-clear water loomed closer and closer. It was almost like everything was in slow motion, like I was watching an action movie. It must have been only a second or two from my driving off the edge to the impact of the water, but it felt like hours! People say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die, but my mind was totally blank as the car slid silently below the depths. The slight thud as the car hit the bottom of the lake jolted me to my senses, and I quickly looked behind me to check on my parents. They appeared to have either fainted or been knocked unconscious by the collision with the surface of the water. I undid my seatbelt, twisted around, and struggled to free them as well. Once I got their arms free from the seatbelt, I pulled out the headrest of my seat and used the pointed end to smash open my side window, knowing that the doors wouldn't open yet due to the pressure difference. Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared for the ice-cold water that gushed through the window in torrents, smacking me in the face and freezing me into a stupor. Surrounded by a frenzy of air bubbles, I let out a cry, muffled by the water pouring into my lungs, and I began to drown! *** "Pull her now!" Dr. Torelli yelled, determination and a hint of desperation evident in her voice. Not wasting a millisecond more, I hit F6 to run the extraction script and watched as the localized portal leveraged quantum entanglement to swap the girl with a proportionate amount of fluid in the transfer tank. The process had been perfected by the legendary Dr. Bremer's protégé, Wilhelm Münch. After undergoing field trials by private-sector organizations like the Procurement Agency for Childlike Littles, it was now being used by the Dimensional Rescue Group of the United Nations' Interdimensional Commission to give people from the other dimension a life after their sudden deaths. Every second that I'd had to watch the livestream of the accident was pure torture, delivered in submillimeter-pixel holographic gory from the ceiling-mounted volumetric display projector. The holographic feed, stitched together in real-time by AI, showed the girl's vitals directly on her translucent body. The data and imagery were being captured by nanobots in the other dimension using a mix of lidar, x-ray, and millimeter-wave imaging, since we were working underwater. Cameras recording in the visible wavelengths at that depth would be blurry at best. We had a strict protocol to follow, so I was forced to wait until Dr. Torelli, the team's physician, affirmed that the girl couldn't possibly survive without some sort of miracle (that we'd pull off) before executing the extraction. I breathed a sigh of relief as the tank's indicators showed that she was still alive. This was definitely not the team's first extraction. As soon as the transfer subroutine finished executing and flashed the transfer tank green, the medics breached the tank's seal. In unison and with calm and skillful preparedness, they lifted the girl onto the waiting operating table. "DNA verification successful. Subject is twenty-five-year-old Isabelle Green, caucasian, height five-four, weight one-nineteen, pulse forty. Symptoms are water inhalation and cold shock." The extraction room's AI helpfully listed. I heard a hiss as one of the medics nasally delivered the nanites that would be used to clear the Little girl's lungs of fluid via an oxygen mask. Another medic quickly diapered her, not wanting a shock from the nanites to cause any more of a mess. I loaded a standard electrolysis program I had written for the nanites, wirelessly uploading it to them. "Clear! Activating!" When the holographic vitals floating above the operating table improved, everyone in the room visibly relaxed. I knew that nanites had yet again saved a life, electrolyzing the water in Isabelle's lungs into harmless oxygen and hydrogen gas. They had first formed a thin film around her alveoli, the parts of her lungs that oxygenated her blood, and then started the electrolysis process from there so that she could breathe. I shuddered as I remembered that the other dimension still stuck tubes into the lungs, often causing irreversible damage to the trachea and bronchi. Another swarm of nanites spread throughout her bloodstream, exothermically warming up her body to prevent hypothermia and treat the cold shock she'd experienced from the icy lake. "Good work people! Let's send her to recovery." I congratulated the team as I let go of Isabelle's hand, which had gone from cold and clammy to a comfortable room temperature in the span of just 10 minutes. They'd all done their jobs well, a quick glance at Isabelle's now strong and stable vitals confirmed. Inwardly, I regretted not being able to save her parents as well, but we had limited staffing, time and resources, so we couldn't save everyone. We always prioritized the young and healthy. And the girls. I shuddered at that last one. As a Canadian Dimensional Rescue Lead, I was proud of how well Littles were treated and how equal their rights were up here in Canada, at least when compared to our bigotted southern neighbors. Little weren't granted anywhere close to equal rights in countries like the United States of Acimera. Since the headquarters of UNIC were in the US and the majority of its directors were Acimeran, I knew just why the Little-owning Bigs down south had set those criteria in our guidelines. They were more adoptable. I looked over at Isabelle being wheeled out of the room. She was very cute. Very adoptable. "Thanks Mike, you know you're the best." Dr. Torelli patted my back. I nodded. I'd basically written the book on extractions. As one of the first DRLs, I'd helped set up the program and personally programmed a lot of the tech around me as a result. When you design the system, well, you tend to know everything inside out. And be the best. "You're not so bad yourself, Doc." The rest of the team followed the medics out of the room, and I was about to go with them, but something stopped me in my tracks. I... couldn't help but feel a pang of... emotion. For Isabelle. What was it? Pity? Guilt? Love? Whatever this is, it isn't something I've felt before. I sat down at my workstation again. "Where's her destination?" I asked the room's AI on a whim. "Ollirama, Jacinto". I shuddered again. That was down in the deep south, one of the worst places that a Little could end up in. I made a note to check up on her situation in a few days, and got up to join the others in the break room. Chapter 2 — Predator and Prey Satan walked over to me. Towering over me and looking down, she introduced herself. "You will call me Mommy, if and when I let you speak. You're in my house. You're nothing but a doll to me. I don't care what you want and you don't need ANYTHING. I own you, and you will do everything I say. Nod if you understand me." "HNNNN!" I shook my head violently. "CHRISTA! What did I just say? I said you will do EVERYTHING I say. And I mean EVERYTHING. I also said nod. So NOD!!!" Confusion in my eyes, I tilted my head at the reappearance of that name. Christa. "YOUR NAME IS CHRISTA," she explained menacingly, her voice dripping with condescension. "Goddammit you Littles are so STUPID! NOD. YOUR. HEAD. Or you'll regret it!" She threatened. I sat there, bewildered. My name was Isabelle. Not Christa. Where did she— With a cry of pure fury, she yanked me into the air by my wrists and began spanking the daylights out of me! I shook in fear and pain. Even though the diaper somewhat softened the blows, her massive hand made my bones feel like they were about to crack! "YOU." smack. "WILL." smack. "DO." smack. A swat punctuated every word. I started to cry, sobs muffled by the gag in my mouth. Pacifier, I realized. "EVERYTHING." smack. "I." smack. "TELL." smack. "YOU." smack. "TO!!!" smack smack smack smack smack smack smack. By the time she was done, I was a snivelling wreck, blubbering and nodding vigorously. Anything to get it to stop. Please! She unzipped the back of my sleeper, reached down into my wet diaper, and pushed something up my rear exit! "Let that be your first lesson. Now here's another one. This is what you are." She grabbed my face in her free hand and cruelly twisted it around, forcing me to look at the pile of garbage as she zipped my sleeper back up again. "GARBAGE. What are you?" She twisted the pacifier, deflating it. Not fully, just to its state before I pulled on it. It was still uncomfortable, but at least it wasn't agonizing. I sniffled, too scared to speak. "I asked you a QUESTION, little girl! What are you?! ANSWER ME!!!" "Guhage?" I whimpered around the pacifier. "That's right. Garbage." She dragged me over to the garbage can by the sink, lifted out the overflowing bag of garbage, and dumped me in the bin! I watched in horror as she slammed the lid closed on top of me, trapping me in the pitch-black plastic prison. Ears ringing and eyes completely blind, I panicked. To make matters worse, a rumble in my bowels confirmed that the worst was yet to come. I desperately pushed both hands against my rear exit to prevent the monster in my guts from escaping, but something told me that I wouldn't be able to stop it for long. I squirmed against the rigid side wall of the bin, trying to find a more comfortable position. It felt like at least an hour, but I probably only lasted at most five minutes before I gave in to the unrelenting pressure. I gasped as warm mush oozed out into the waiting padding, forming a large mass in the seat of the diaper that pressed against my skin. I felt the need to pee again, and, given that all hope was lost, just let loose. I'd been flung beyond the point of self-preservation. I felt the diaper expanding to soak up my stream of pee, surprised at the amount that it could hold without leaking. I shifted my weight, grimacing as the mess slid around in the seat of the diaper and some of it seeped toward the front. Disgusting. My knees hurt so much from kneeling on the hard plastic grid that formed the base of the garbage can that I had no choice but to awkwardly sit down. I shuddered as I squished the mass in the process. This was unbearably awful. A single tear rolled down my cheek. I sniffed reflexively, and immediately regretted the act. The stench of the mess I'd made had stunk up the confined space, and my mouth was blocked by the pacifier! This isn't Hell, is it?? I'm some cruel person's captive, in some kind of messed up torture chamber or something. How am I even alive? Didn't I drown after driving into the lake? Where were my parents? Were they able to escape? Is that why I'm being treated so scornfully? I had a million questions. The darkness and isolation gave me time to think, yet the unforgiving stench prevented coherent thought. I rubbed my jaw, glad that at least the pain from earlier was subsiding. The mass between my legs was cooling, and my skin was starting to itch and burn at the same time. I frustratedly thumped a fist against the side of the bin, which only served to make my ears start ringing again. Real smart, Izzy. Real smart. After what must have been an eternity, the lid was finally opened, and I blinked at the sudden burst of light as I was lifted out of the garbage can by the scruff of my sleeper. I hastily drew in a deep breath of fresh air, not knowing just how much I would be getting. The room definitely wasn't a rose garden, but it was still a million times better than the horrific reek of my used diaper! "Looks like the garbage left a pwesent for Mommy!" The woman exclaimed in a patronizing tone, squishing the crotch of the diaper and patting my butt. "Since you were a bad girl earlier you're not getting a change just yet. You need to get used to sitting in your poopy diapers!" "Hnnn!!" I whined. "Do you want to go back in the bin for another hour?" She threatened, shooting menacing daggers at me. I desperately shook my head, eyes widening in fear. "I thought so." She proceeded to unceremoniously deposit me on the floor with another quick grope of the diaper. Eager to get as far away from the garbage can as possible, but still prevented from getting up by the straps on my sleeper, I crawled desperately across the room toward the mattress. Before I could climb onto it, I heard a yell from the woman. "NO! Bad girl!" I jolted and let out a stream of pee in shock, resaturating the drying sludge in my diaper. "The bed is for Mommy only! You should be thankful I let you sleep on the floor, and not in the garbage can so I don't have to smell you!" I just about threw up at even the thought of going back into that hellhole. She shoved a quart-sized baby bottle of water into my hands before twisting and removing the pacifier in my mouth. "Drink up!" Since I was getting dehydrated and my mouth was dry, I started sucking thirstily at the tepid liquid, ignoring the infantile drinkware for the moment. She stared at me as I drank, and I saw a smile so ugly I wanted to bleach my eyes when I finished the bottle. *** Three days after I rescued Isabelle, it was just after lunch on Saturday and I was working on a side project. "Remember to check on Isabelle Green," Max, my AI assistant, helpfully reminded me of the note I'd made. Furrowing my brow, I took a moment to recollect the feelings I'd had for Isabelle. I'd finally managed to put a phrase to it. Fatherly love. This was the exact same BS that the Acimerans used to enslave Littles, but it was real for me. It'd better be. "Right. Go secure and bring up everything you can find on her on Workspace 3." I couldn't risk making a mistake and having anyone track what I was about to do back to me, so I got Max to 'go secure', which meant encrypting all my internet traffic with lattice-based encryption instead of ECC, and bouncing it off 5 different random servers around the world using Tor. Both ECC and RSA had been cracked years ago with the first Shor-capable quantum computers, but people were still using them. The one issue shared by all technological advancements was that they made people more and more oblivious to shortcomings in the everyday tech they take for granted. I watched the holograms around me morph from the new nanite routine I was working on to a bevy of video feeds, a terminal, and some additional data about Isabelle that Max had collected using the backdoors and privileged access to UNIC and other systems that I'd accrued over the years. Max had spotlighted a hologram of a dilapidated shack, with two figures inside labelled "Karen" and "Isabelle". "This is her current location, eh?" I asked, reading the coordinates floating above the model. "Precisely. Karen is the adoptive mother. Records indicate that her older sister, Kate, should have adopted Isabelle instead, but her untimely death the day before your rescue triggered an automatic transfer of custody," Max explained. "Interesting. Bring up Kate's data on Workspace 4 in the background. Split 3 and 4," I commanded with a twitch of my right ring finger and a wave of my arms, sweeping the existing holograms into a 180° field of view so Kate's data would have room to be displayed behind me. I stood up to get a better view, and the holograms rose with me. I spotlighted a different vidfeed, enlarging and repositioning it to the center of my field of view. Sitting on the floor in front of a mound of garbage was unquestionably Isabelle... in a heavily soiled diaper. The dark crescents on her footed sleeper were a definite telltale that she had leaked through her padding. Her blonde hair was matted with dirt and debris. Her baby-blue eyes, crusted with dried-out tears, stared blankly at something just below the camera. A trickle of drool ran down her chin from a corner of her pacified mouth. She looked... gone. I gagged at the state of her conditions. I'm getting her out of there. No human being should ever live like that. Certainly no one ever will on my watch. "Cross reference her symptoms on the medware with those of hypnosis." "Everything except the crusty eyes match. That and her cheeks are excessively flustered, and the optical intradermal scan is reading excessive heat levels there." He helpfully offered. "She's probably been crying, I know I would be if I was in her situation," I guessed. "That explains her crusty eyes, eh? The flustered cheeks... maybe some sort of hypnosis side effect? I'm no doctor though." I sat back down and spun around to face Workspace 4. From the data I could see so far, Karen was dirt poor and had a mean streak. Kate, on the other hand, was well-off, kind and gentle. She'd successfully adopted two Littles before and even sent one to college, something so rare it was almost unheard of! No wonder UNIC had preapproved her for adoptions. Unfortunately for Isabelle, Kate had been killed in a car accident. How ironic. "Report this to Jacinto LPS. Send them her details and the supporting evidence, but make sure you wipe the metadata, sources, and any other fingerprints first," I directed. Hopefully she'll be okay. With luck, maybe even the hypnosis could be dealt with. "LPS systems acknowledge receipt of your complaint. They can only deal with it some time next week though, they've got a backlog of requests," Max reported. "What?! Probably fake complaints from jealous Bigs." LPS was a major scam, but even the few times that it actually worked made it worth keeping around. Still, the system was very much flawed. I spotlighted the terminal window. "Gimme their API endpoint," I told Max. "You're not gonna hack into LPS are you?" Max asked. "You know messing with that stuff is a federal offense, right?" "So was every bit of info you've pulled for me today," I smirked. "Copy it." I pasted in the endpoint and ran some commands. When I saw the nmap summary, I knew I'd struck gold. RRH, or Reverse Routing Header, had several zero-day vulnerabilities in it that I could easily chain with some other exploits to hack into the LPS API. Exposing that port was a rookie mistake, but apparently LPS was too focused on other things to care about security. A few minutes of Python scripting later, I had what I was looking for. I quickly logged into the admin interface and flagged Isabelle's case as ultra-high priority. That got the wait time down to 0... business days?! Isabelle would have to stay with that horrible bitch until Monday. Oh the poor girl. I decided there and then that I'd help her all the way. I tagged a specific orphanage on her file, checked over everything, and logged out of the LPS system. "Clear workspaces 3 and 4. Wipe the evidence," I instructed Max. Hang in there, Isabelle. I'm gonna save you. =========================================================== Bonus content — a funny video about suppositories and anal temp: Chapter 3 — Change of Scenery About an hour after downing the bottle of water, I was picked up by the witch and placed on her lap. I was fed dinner from there, which quickly proved to be another traumatic experience as the jarred sludge she spooned me was so disgusting that I gagged and almost choked several times. I could think of some people who wouldn’t mind eating sardine-and-spam, but I certainly wasn’t one of them. The ordeal was exacerbated by the airplane noises she made, and the only result of her waving the spoon around like I was two was my face and the front of my sleeper being desecrated by all the food that missed my mouth. Shortly after, she ate her own dinner and washed up. Having been fed what was equivalent to pig slop to me, the delicious bowl of instant noodles she had the privilege to enjoy was pure torment for me to watch and smell. When the sky outside the small window turned dark, she sprawled out on the tattered mattress. “Good night doll, don’t get bitten by the roaches!” I shivered in trepidation. From the state of the place, that wasn’t exactly this dimension’s version of “Don’t let the bed bugs bite” that they just told kids here. My dirtied face and diaper felt like prime targets, especially since the latter was now massively swollen from multiple additional wettings. I did my best to clean off my face with the sleeve of my sleeper, but I couldn’t do anything about my diaper. I groaned about that as I felt my butt complaining about the combination of the spanking I’d received earlier and the mess coating my butt. I definitely had a diaper rash from the prolonged confinement in the soiled garment, which was sure to get worse by tomorrow. I can’t believe this is happening. I had the habit of always saying a nightly prayer, so I decided that there’d be no harm in praying here, especially given my current situation. Dear God, I know I haven’t been perfect, but I don’t know what I did to deserve this hellhole. Why am I here? Where even is here? I know that you love me and that you know what you’re doing, so I won’t complain… But please, please save me from this degrading place and this sadistic woman. And please, someday, let me have another game of chess and a life beyond someone’s doll. I know you gave me this gift for a reason. Please don’t let me waste it. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me all my life. In Jesus’s name I pray, Amen. I started to cry again, frustrated at how bad my situation had turned out. In the end, I drifted off on the hard floor, curled up into a ball as best I could. The next morning I rubbed my eyes as I sat up, my body hurting all over. I’d slept surprisingly well given the circumstances, but I figured it was mainly because of how tired I was. I looked down at my diaper, which — I could tell from the dark spots on both sides of my sleeper’s crotch — had definitely leaked. I suddenly realized that I’d been unconsciously sucking on the pacifier that was still in my mouth. It was strangely comforting, but I made myself stop. I’m not a baby. I tried spitting it out, but the bulb was too inflated, and I didn’t dare tamper with it any further. I definitely didn’t want to risk the painful inflation from yesterday repeating itself. The woman was already up, and sitting on her bed reading some sort of instruction manual from a paper-thin tablet. Just then, she looked up and caught me staring at her. “Morning doll! You’re gunna make me some money today!” She exclaimed. I frowned apprehensively at that, not quite sure what to expect. Whatever it was, it can’t be good for me. She deflated my pacifier with a twist, took it out, and handed me a large baby bottle of water. After I thirstily guzzled it, she reinserted the pacifier and inflated it with another twist. She then unboxed and set up a futuristic-looking semi-transparent screen on a stand about a meter in front of me. After pausing briefly to look at the manual again, she powered the device on and it beeped three times in rapid succession. A really bright light from the screen flashed, dazzling my eyes. A split second later, I saw some swirling colors on the tablet-like device, and a calming voice telling me something about using my diapers like a good girl. The next thing I knew, my mind went totally blank! When I emerged from a complete stupor, she was turning off the screen, and I was pushing last night’s mush into the back of my already full diaper! I frantically tried to stop it, but it seemed like my sphincter and related muscles were locked in the ‘open’ position. Not only did trying to clamp down hurt A LOT, I couldn’t dam the flow no matter what I did! “Good girl, using your diaper like you’re meant to!” The bitch cooed. “I think I might just change you earlier than I planned to, just so I won’t have as hard of a time washing your sleeper!” After making me sit in my mess for another half hour, she finally removed my sleeper and laid me down, buck-naked except for the diaper. She manhandled me as easily as one would a toddler, lifting both my legs with one hand just like I’d done when I’d babysat years ago. The relief of having the soiled and sodden diaper taken off me overcame any modesty I had, so I didn’t bother to try and cover anything up. She used the front of the diaper, which wasn’t much cleaner than the back, to wipe the worst of the mess off my butt. I was then dragged outside for the first time. As I walked, I could feel bits of runny poop that weren’t wiped off sliding down my legs. I need a shower to not feel disgusting at this point. Once my eyes had adjusted for the bright sunlight that starkly contrasted the dim room I’d gotten used to, I took in the vast landscape around me. Dense, yellowed, prairie grassland stretched unbroken in every direction for as far as I could see. Singular, stubby trees and small shrubs dotted the landscape here and there, and some cattle roamed in the distance. Besides that herd, this place looks like it’s devoid of humanity! I yelped from behind the pacifier as a jet of lukewarm water blasted my butt. The woman blasted my butt thoroughly, then moved on to my back and legs, as if I was a farm animal. When she spun me around to face her, I appreciated for the first time just how tall the shack she lived in was. A monster-truck-sized pickup truck was parked beside it, and both were at least twice the height of what they were supposed to be. I wonder how she got all this stuff in her size… When the woman finished hosing me down, she dried me off with a towel. I tried to protest that I could dry and dress myself to stop the uncomfortably intimate touching. She either didn’t understand me with the pacifier in the way or just didn’t care, so I gave up and stood there as she dressed me. My new outfit consisted of a puke-green sundress. Perhaps it was once a more pleasant color, but its current appearance just reminded me of vomit. I was just starting to feel self-conscious about not wearing any underwear underneath the dress, something I never did, when she dragged me back into the shack and laid me on the floor. She put some cream on my butt, which soothed the discomfort from my rash, followed by another massive diaper. Why are these diapers so huge?? As if ironically reading my mind, she jeered, “You’re only getting one change a day, at least for now. I’m not spending a single cent more on you than I have to!” Her voice boomed out in a pure cackle, in a manner only possible if she were a witch. This woman is deranged. Get me outta here! As a few more days passed, I lost track of time. The boredom was really getting to me, since there was nothing for me to do except sit around most of the time. I found myself sucking on the pacifier that was locked in my mouth more often than not, if not just for something to do. I also mentally studied some chess positions, but there’s only so much you can do in your head. My diapers were almost constantly filled with my bodily waste, and the bitch kept her word, changing me just once a day. I was grateful that at least she used the cream during each change, so my diaper rash hadn’t worsened. I began noticing that I had less and less control over my bladder and bowel functions each day, to the point where I now had very little warning before I went. I was truly using my diapers for their intended purposes, thanks to the hypnosis videos that the woman forced me to watch for God knew how long each morning. The second time that she’d turned on the screen, I’d tried to close my eyes and turn away, but she’d pinned my arms to my sides and kept my face pointed at the screen with her massive hands, preventing me from looking anywhere else. The bright flash had somehow worked even with my eyes closed, so I’d been utterly helpless. By the time she’d let go of me, the video had already turned me into a passive zombie, staring at the screen in a blissful stupor. One morning, I woke up to the door of the shack being flung open! “LPS! Hands on your head!” A gigantic officer, a full head taller than the bitch, screamed at her. Pistol trained on her, she swooped in swiftly, like an eagle hunting its prey. What was going on? Who were these other giants?? There were other giants here??? Another officer, slightly shorter than the first but still impossibly tall, grabbed me off the floor. I instinctively tensed up, unused to being picked up and held so far off the ground. “Dave to dispatch, Little secured, DNA scan verifies she is Isabelle Green,” he spoke calmly into an earpiece. “Karen Elizabeth Kemp, you are under arrest for child abuse under Section 1709 of Title 44 of the US Code. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. If you understand me, nod,” the female officer Mirandized. “You can’t ar—”, the witch started to say something. “NOD!!! YOU UNDERSTOOD WHAT I SAID PERFECTLY!!” The officer screamed at her, “HOW DARE YOU ABUSE SUCH A SWEET LITTLE GIRL LIKE THAT?!” I couldn’t help but grin at the irony of the turn of events, and I silently thanked God for answering my nightly prayers. “Are you mentally intact?” The officer holding me — Dave — asked. I nodded. “Mothly, I think?” I lisped around the pacifier. “Good, we’ll need to interview you when we get to the station. In the meantime, your diaper is leaking! We need to get you changed first.” He rummaged around the storage area behind the curtain for a spare diaper, and emerged triumphantly holding one. The female officer found a pack of wipes from their truck outside, and handed them to Dave, who laid me down, and untaped my soiled diaper. I blushed as he wiped me down, not used to a strange new pair of hands dancing all over my crotch area. I was also quite apprehensive, with his being a man and all. Thankfully, he was very professional apart from a little cooing, which turned into a grimace when he saw the rash on my butt. His colleague got some sort of ointment and spread it over the entire red area, explaining that it would quickly heal my rash, provided I wasn’t kept in messy diapers for extended periods of time again. Dave then taped the fresh diaper on me and found a clean dress for me to wear. The officers brought us out to waiting vehicles, and I blushed as Dave sat me in a toddler’s car seat and strapped me in. “It’s for your own safety, and it’s the law.” I nodded, still confused as to where exactly this place was. There were laws here…? During our drive to the police station, the witch screamed profanities at the officers until they grew tired of it. At that point, the biggest pacifier I’d ever seen was locked into her mouth. I giggled at the further irony and her discomfort. She deserved ten times worse. When we arrived at the LPS office, Dave released me from the car seat and picked me up again, holding me close to his chest. I’d played with the buckle a bit, but hadn’t been able to get it open. That made sense, given that the giants were clearly much stronger than my puny self. I gawped at the size of everything as we walked inside. More giants were bustling about, and it soon dawned on me that everyone in this place was a giant. I was carried over to a room full of medical equipment, and Karen was led away separately. Good riddance, bitch. Dave set me down on a scale, and a nurse weighed and measured me. I’d apparently shrunk quite a bit when I died, and I stood at a measly 5’4 compared to the 5’10 listed on my Drivers’ License. I’d also gotten just a bit lighter, coming in at 119 pounds. Or maybe they measured length differently in this place? I tensed as I was picked up again, still unused to being lifted into the air. Once I saw that it was Dave, I relaxed quite a bit. He’d been gentle enough so far, and I could see no reason for that to change. We walked down several hallways and up a flight of stairs, and I was glad that I was being carried for once. The stairs were massive! Finally, we reached a room with “Interview - Little” on the door that was more regular-sized. Large stuffed animals, toys, and cushions covered the small room’s floor in huge piles. Some of the bigger stuffed animals were almost twice my size! I didn’t see a particular spot to sit down anywhere, so when Dave set me down on the ground standing up, I plopped down on the lap of a massive stuffed bear and made myself comfortable. I was stroking its paw and looking around the room more when a smaller, Asian giant walked in and sat down on a bean bag chair. She was still about 3 feet taller than me, but at least she didn’t look like she could eat me for dessert! But that perception changed, and I recoiled, when I saw that she was holding a transparent tablet similar to the one that had been used to hypnotize me! Chapter 4 — Truth Can Hurt “Hi Isabelle, I’m Linda. We’re arranging a safe place for you to live. I promise it’ll be a million times better than Miss Kemp’s place!” She saw my eyes darting to her tablet, and I could tell she sensed my fear. She reassured me, “Don’t worry sweetie, this is just a regular tablet that I carry around. It won’t do anything to you, I promise!” I relaxed by a miniscule amount, not quite ready to trust her just yet. “I’m going to ask you a few quick questions, which will hopefully help us put her in jail for a long time. Are you ready to be a good little helper and answer some questions?” I pointed nervously at the pacifier in my mouth that had been my companion for the past few days. She smiled and quickly deflated and removed it, biting her lower lip as she did so. I ran my tongue over my teeth, happy to have the restricting pacifier out of my mouth. “You looked so cute sucking on it, it’s a shame that we have to take it out. I’ll give it right back to you as soon as we’re done, but we do need to hear your testimony.” She cooed. “Do you know what that big word means? Test-i-mon-y?” I bit my own lip to stop myself from rolling my eyes at her. Instead, I answered with a more civilized but curt, “Yes.” “My goodness, you’re not just a cute face! Now, if you could tell me eeeverything that happened while you were under Miss Kemp’s care for the record, it would help our case significantly. Whenever you’re ready.” I sighed, disinclined to go over everything again in my mind. “Umm don’t you need to start recording or something?” I hadn’t seen her do anything like that yet. “Oh my, what a big girl! The room’s wired up for sound, sweetie, everything you say will be recorded.” Over the course of the next hour, I told her, to the best of my ability, everything that had transpired in the past few days in graphic detail. When I finished giving my statement, Linda sighed and commented, “That sounds terrible, I’m sorry you went through that sweetie.” I nodded in agreement. “Though you can rest assured that we’ll put her away for a long time. I’ve got plenty of evidence now. It’s all very strong. The physical stuff we found at the scene along with some video footage an anonymous tipper sent us fully corroborates your testimony.” She said almost to herself. “Do you want anything before we transfer you? A baba maybe?” I scowled at her suggestion. Did she think I was retarded or something? “Something to drink and an explanation of what this place is and how I got here when I died, please? And why I’m dressed and being treated like I’m two?” “Sure thing honeybun. Here’s some apple juice for you; drink up while I explain everything to you,” Linda said as she brought me a giant sippy cup of it from a fridge sunk into a wall. I gave her a pointed look for her term of endearment, but started drinking. I was thirsty enough to not care about the drinkware, having had nothing all morning. The sippyness of the cup still begged the question of why I was being treated like a toddler though, and I stared at Linda expectantly. “Let’s start with your first question. The reason you didn’t die was because the United Nations beamed you here just before you were going to,” she explained. “We didn’t want you to die at such a young age, so when you were helplessly drowning to a certain death they used some very advanced technology to bring you here. Miss Kemp was then supposed to take care of you, but she didn’t do that very well, now did she? We got an anonymous tip and now you’re here.” “Where is here?” “Here is the Jacinto headquarters of the Little Protective Services. We investigate when Littles like you are abused, and save you.” “No, no. I meant what is this world? This…” Dimension. No. How could that have been possible? “A dimension quite similar to yours, but with some differences too,” she confirmed. “Have you heard of the portals and dimensions?” I gasped and peed in fright. I’d assumed that I wasn’t in the other dimension — well, this one — before since I hadn’t seen any other people, and I didn’t think they’d be able to instantly create a localized portal at the bottom of a lake. Just how advanced was their technology? “The dark-web rumors are true then? The tabloids weren’t making it up??” I’d heard a whole bunch of rumors about what netizens called the Diaper Dimension, where regular-sized adults were treated as babies by giant Amazons. Their tech was supposedly more than a decade ahead of ours, and their history remarkably similar yet with subtle changes. For instance, their United States were those of Acirema, instead of America. “What rumors?” Linda retorted with a rather blatant mock innocence. I brushed past her question. “Please just send me home,” I pleaded. “I’ve cooperated with you to the best of my ability, haven’t I?” “You have, but I can’t do that.” She asserted matter-of-factly. “Why not?” I whined, getting nervous again. “Why can’t I go home?” “Because you’re a Little in a big world. You’re going somewhere where you’ll be taken care of properly instead.” She condescended. My anger flared up. “What?! How can you let people be treated like this?!” I couldn’t reign in my rage anymore. She tilted her head at me and tsk-tsked. “How is this not a human rights viol—?!” She sighed and popped the pacifier back into my mouth, twisting it a half-turn before I could spit it out. It inflated painfully and I screamed! “Huck ooo!!!” Seeing nothing but red, I threw the now-empty sippy cup and a nearby stuffed animal — a red panda — at her and pounded my fists on the bear I was sitting on in frustration. Tears began to stream down my face as I heard the door to the room open and felt myself getting picked up from behind again. I didn’t know who it was and I didn’t care. I just wanted this stupid nightmare to end. My only response was a deep moan of despair. This was the worst day ever. I was carried over to another room and set down in a highchair. Straps were tightened over my waist, head and legs. The tray was fitted over my arms, rendering me completely immobile. I had burnt up all my energy in my outburst, so I sat motionlessly as my pacifier was removed, too tired to care. Having eaten nothing but gruel at Karen’s place, I was thankful for the more normal continental breakfast that I was fed. Even when it was mutilated and spooned to me. Even when I rolled my eyes at the silly airplane and train noises and gestures. My brain will turn into freaking mush if this is kept up. Halfway through breakfast, I turned red as I grunted and pooped with less than two seconds of warning. I wonder if I’ll ever regain control? Thankfully, the feeding stopped to let me finish. “You won’t leak just yet, but I’ll change you as soon as we finish brunch!” I heard after the crotch of my diaper was squeezed by a large hand. When I finished the last bite of hash brown, the straps were undone and I was picked up. I was praised for being a “good girl” through breakfast and carried, eyes and nose red, over to a nearby changing table. I was laid down on it with a strap pulled across my stomach, securing me to the table. A strangely calming nursery rhyme that I’d never heard of was sung to me while my soiled diaper was removed and thrown out. And I was wiped down. And a new diaper was taped on me. Then I was “all clean”, tickled, made to giggle involuntarily, and given a different pacifier to suck on. There was something different about this pacifier, yet I couldn’t put my finger on it. I figured it out a moment later. It didn’t have a locking mechanism. I sucked on it, having grown fond of the comforting motion. Maybe it’ll calm me down. A short walk later, I was set down in a mesh-walled enclosure with a firm foam padding for the base. A playpen. Seriously? I looked around in a full circle and spotted the giant bear I was sitting on earlier directly behind me. I walked over and collapsed onto its lap. So soft. So comfy. So... sleepy… I decided that there was nothing to lose after everything that happened. I passed out cuddling the big bear’s paw. I woke up to the sound of a car door shutting. I yawned, rubbed my eyes with my fists, and blinked, then jolted when I realized I wasn’t where I fell asleep. Instead, I was back in the car seat that brought me to the police station earlier. Dave was driving, and there was no one else in the car. Since he’d been rather nice compared to the other giants, and I’d lost the pacifier, I asked him where we were going. “To an orphanage ‘bout a 10-mile drive away. It’s not the usual one we take our charges to, there was a note on your file. You’ll still be safe, lass. And I’m sorry that Karen was a terrible person.” “Why an orphanage? Can’t you just take me home?” I begged. “I’m sorry lass, I can’t do that without losing my job and probably getting charged with neglect too. Even if I could, there’s no way they’re letting you go back. You’ve got no documentation proving you were from there, and they don’t just let random Littles through the portals.” He looked at me empathetically through the rear-view mirror. “What about through a localized portal like the one that brought me here?” “As far as I know that’s a one-way thing. I remember something about there being no transfer tank in your dimension, or something along those lines. The exact details are beyond my understanding.” I desperately wanted him to be lying, but the psych minor I’d done in university told me he probably wasn’t. There was simply no gain for him in doing it, and he didn’t seem like a sadist either. I sighed. I spent the remainder of the drive staring out the window at the prairie landscape on either side of the highway. Occasionally we passed digital billboards that displayed all sorts of strange brands I’d never heard of before. One of them, Melon Corp, was advertising its latest laptop as we drove past it in a blur. I was startled by the sound of a woman whispering in my ear. “One century since we made our first computer, we now offer the MelOne. One exaflop of raw power. One exabyte of PCIE-7 storage. One hundred terabytes of RAM. Preorder online or at any Melon Corp certified retailer.” My mouth fell open in shock. This was insane! We had just worked out how to mass-produce nanosheet technology after years of setbacks. The amount of processing power they had on just one chip was incredible! Wait a minute, how did they deliver that ad? Dave saw my agape mouth and explained, “The voice you heard was from the billboard. It’s a new micrometer-wave technique for subcranial audio injection called inSAIn. Congress is having a tough time with it, because nobody knows what the long-term effects are and the ethics of it are muddied by the trillions that the corporations involved put in. Most billboards at least have a legal age setting on, so Little and child brains don’t just get scrambled by the ads, but I guess that one didn’t.” Soon, we took an exit off the highway. A short local drive later, we pulled into the parking lot of an orphanage with a big sign advertising its name, “Little Hearts”. I watched as Dave got out and spoke with the receptionist inside. A minute later, he returned and looked at me oddly when he reached over to unbuckle my seat straps and found them undone. I’d finally figured out how to undo the buckle over the long drive. It was a complicated depress-twist-slide sequence that required the use of both of my hands. The mechanism had clearly been designed with great effort to be ‘Little’-proof. Dave picked me up, closed the car door, and carried me over to the reception. When he bent down to set me down, I held on tightly to him and whined, not wanting to leave the nicest person I’d seen in this dimension so far for an orphanage. He sighed and picked me up again, bouncing me lightly once. I yelped softly at the momentary weightlessness. He brought me to his eye level and coaxed calmly. “Look lass, you’ve gotta go. There’s nothing I could’ve done for you and there’s nothing I can do for you now. Believe me, if there was something I could’ve done I’d’ve done it a long time ago. The only thing I can offer you is some advice: do your best to act as babyish as you can. It will one hundred percent make your life more tolerable.” I nodded. That wasn’t surprising, given the amount of weirdness in this dimension. He kissed my forehead gently, before passing me over to the receptionist, who brought me inside immediately. I was just starting to feel sad about Dave leaving, when the receptionist — her badge said Claire — carried me over to an alcove beside a strange glass enclosure. There, she removed the sleeper I’d gone to sleep in last night, and opened a panel on the contraption. She had me climb in and stand barefooted and gently placed my hands flush against opposite glass walls of the contraption. Ordering me to stay still, she closed the panel again. A second later, I was blinded by a familiar flash of bright white light from all four glass panels, and I peed myself instinctively! Chapter 5 — Life Is Like a Game of Chess The swirling colors that I dreaded but fully expected never came. Instead, Claire removed me from the device after glancing at something on her semi-transparent monitor. As she ruffled my hair and smiled at me, I saw the piercingly-high definition 3D-scan of my body that she had open on her screen. Enlarged images of my hand- and foot-prints and my irises floated in front of the main model. So that was what the bright light was. An iris scan. “Oh dear, you’re about to leak! Let’s get you changed.” She gingerly carried me naked but for my sagging diaper over to a changing table in the adjacent room, not bothering with my sleeper. She removed the wet diaper, wiped me down, and taped a fresh one on me. It was bright pink and adorned with white unicorns, and I frowned at how silly it made me look. Pink is NOT my color. Seeing my long face, she tickled me, causing me to smile and giggle involuntarily. Before I could regain my composure, she had me sitting up with my legs dangling over the edge of the changing table. A bright summer dress was pulled over my head, turning my vision into a sea of pastel yellow for a moment. When my head popped out the top, Claire swept my hair back with a matching yellow hairband, which came topped with a baby-blue bow. She stood me on the ground, gave me a pacifier that matched my outfit’s color scheme, and led me over to an adjacent mirror. When I saw her, I gasped at how cute the innocent, foreign toddler staring back at me looked. I hated being relegated to a toddler, but I was starting to not mind the adorable clothes so much. If only the stupid unicorn diaper didn’t peak out from under my dress. I tugged the hem down with both hands, but it rode back up the second I did anything other than stand perfectly still. “Well aren’t you cute!” She asked, beaming at my reflection. I couldn’t help but smile and nod. She led me to the main room of the orphanage, which was almost three-quarters the size of a soccer field, and patted my butt, motioning for me to join the other fifty or so people running around boisterously. There was a mix of teenage and adult Littles alongside Amazon toddlers. I didn’t want to just start running laps, but I didn’t exactly want to sit around in the middle of the room where I could get trampled over either. Just as I was trying to decide on what to do, an Amazon toddler bumped into me. He couldn’t have been older than three or four, but he was a good head taller than me, and stockier too! Without any warning, I found myself bent over his knee!! “Bad baby watch where goin!” He yelled at me, spit flying everywhere as he fervently rained down smacks. Even with a diaper on to cushion the blows, the rascal put unbelievable power into the spanking, and my butt soon felt like it was on fire! I was starting to break into tears when a nanny came over and pulled a kicking and screaming me off him. “James, we don’t hit people.” She chided him, steadying me on my feet. The toddler nodded and ran back to join whatever game he was playing before the ordeal. I could hardly believe it! I was about to protest the fact that the scoundrel had gotten off without even an apology, but the nanny, having given me the cursoriest of examinations, was already walking away. I didn’t want to put on any more of a show for the dozen pairs of eyes now on me, so I just sniffled, straightened out my dress, and sulked away. So this was the social hierarchy here. Littles at the bottom of the ladder. No, not even on it really. I spotted a group of Littles lying prone on the ground in a far corner of the massive room. Some of them had feet swinging in the air, and they all looked pretty intently focused on whatever was in front of them. I trudged my way along the edges of the room to see what they were up to. Halfway there, I stopped to pee and rub my sore behind. When I got closer, I saw their hands dancing over the pages of newspaper-sized coloring books. Giant crayons in fists, they definitely looked focused on what they were doing, but it seemed like none of them were staying within the lines. I was confused about this for a moment, before I remembered Dave’s advice and understood what was at play. Act babyish. Well, the spanking delivered by a toddler certainly helped to that end! I sat down beside them and yelped as my butt touched the carpet. Flipping over onto my stomach, I gingerly rubbed my rear end. The little rascal’s blows had really hurt! A Little that looked like he was in his thirties gave me a sympathetic look and put a spare coloring book and a red crayon in front of me. “Best to stay away from the Big children,” he warned. I nodded and smiled weakly, before turning my attention to the items in front of me. The oversized crayon reminded me of a giant Crayola I’d once seen a GM comically using at a tournament to record moves on his score sheet. At that time, I never thought I’d see another one being used, much less use one myself to color. Oh how things have changed. I shook my head at the absurdity of my situation and absent-mindedly flipped through the ten pages of the booklet. Each side had an outline of a different marine animal to color. I copied the others and randomly scribbled on the first page, essentially ignoring the printed black lines that outlined a seahorse. Halfway through the page, I sensed a pair of eyes boring into my back. “Nice to see a smart new face,” a young man about my age, dressed in a playsuit just as colorful as my dress, acknowledged quietly. “Isabelle, but everyone calls me Izzy.” I held out my hand and he grasped it in a quick but firm handshake. “Mark. Don’t look around and don’t stop coloring, or you’ll provoke one of the nannies into investigating,” he warned. I nodded and got back to it. “Why do you say I’m smart? I literally just got spanked by a toddler.” “I saw. That was just bad luck, not stupidity. I can tell you’re smart because you know to only make abstract art. So, what brought you here?” I looked at him for a moment to gauge just how much I should say before answering. “Well… you probably won’t believe this, but I was driving down a mountain road when a semi came head-on at me. I swerved and drove off a cliff into a lake. The UN sisterly beamed me to this dimension, because next thing I know I’m stuck as some woman’s doll. Good thing some agency called LPS put a stop to that, and now I’m here.” “So you’re a humanitarian portal Little.” “Uhh… sure? You could call it that. What about yourself?” “Parents got adopted and my job didn’t pay enough… I ended up not being able to afford rent, and I got picked up and delivered here the day after my eviction,” he recounted sadly. “Your parents were adopted?” He gave me an ‘Are you a Martian?’ look and explained, “I think Littles might be safer up north, but ’round these parts a Big can just grab you off the street and adopt you. It’s like kidnapping, except it’s legal and you can’t do squat about it.” “Yikes. I’m sorry about your parents.” I thought back to mine. They were probably still at the bottom of the lake. Burial at sea. “At least they’re not dead though,” I added half-jokingly. “Aye, but they might just wish they were,” he mused. “You any good at chess? I ask every new arrival, but so far nobody knows how to play. Not exactly the most popular game among Littles.” “Ooh I play quite often. It’s really popular back in my dimension.” “Shall we have a game then?” “Sure, you have a chess set around here?” I asked, looking around. Mark laughed. “No. Have you ever played blindfold chess?” “Sometimes. I did a sans-voir simul once when I was in college, for charity. I’m assuming you use the same terminology as we do?” “Guess we’ll find out. You can go first.” I nodded. “E4.” “E5,” he countered. “Knight F3.” “Knight to C6.” “Bishop B5.” “The Segura,” Mark remarked. “The what?” I’d never heard of that word. “The name of this opening. We call it the Segura, after the 16th-century Spanish priest?” “Ohh, we call it the Ruy Lopez. And I have no idea who Lopez was. Might be the same guy?” “Might be,” he echoed. “Knight F6.” “Berlin defense. What’s your name for it?” I asked, starting a mental dictionary. “Um, we don’t have one.” He stopped coloring for a moment to look at me. “You don’t have names for variations of openings? We have whole wiki pages on these!” I felt the briefest of urges before I wet my diaper. “Nope. It’s never been that popular of a game, so naturally it’s not studied as much as more mainstream games like Go.” “Wow. Bishop takes on c6.” “b takes c6.” “d4.” “c5.” “You blundered.” I smirked as I ‘finished’ the seahorse and started murdering the dolphin on the next page. “How?” Mark asked quizzically. “d takes e5.” “Knight takes e4.” “Queen d5.” “You weren’t kidding! You’ve gotta be one of the best players I’ve ever faced, and I’ve played thousands of games. You’re incredible!” He looked at me in awe. “Knight takes on f2, which piece are you gonna take?” “Knight g5. Both. Or you can give up your queen.” I smirked. “My… God. I resign. You’re too good.” “Good game!” I smiled. “I’ll give you rook odds if you wanna play another?” “Sure, although something tells me you’ll still beat me. What’s your rating? I’ve won against players rated over two thousand!” “My elo is twenty-five oh one. I was supposed to get my third and final GM norm.” “You’re a Master? Daaamn.” Mark quickly bit his lip and looked around nervously, and only relaxed when he confirmed his slip-up went unnoticed. We played another two games, both of which I won easily, even with rook odds. Mark then called it a day, claiming he was tired of thinking, although I suspected that he was actually tired of losing. I was starting to feel physical exhaustion creep in though, so I didn’t object. As an afterthought, I wanted to confirm something with Mark. “This dimension also has twenty-four hours in a day, right?” He gave me the ‘Martian?’ look again. “There’s thirty-two hours in a day here. Were there only twenty-four in your dimension?” “Yeah, no wonder I’m feeling so tired. What about the other units? You have sixty minutes in an hour?” “Yep.” “Sixty seconds in a minute?” “Yep.” “A thousand milliseconds in a second?” He laughed. “I dunno. Probably? You also have seven days in a week and fifty-two weeks in a year, right?” I nodded as a nanny came over and handed out bottles of juice from a tray. I thanked her politely when I got mine. No need to make enemies with the only ‘adults’ here. After another hour or so of coloring, the nannies began herding all the Littles into the adjacent dining hall. It turned out that this place was both an orphanage and a daycare, and almost all the Amazon kids had been picked up by then. On my way into the dining hall, a nanny grabbed me for a diaper check, making me blush. Probably never getting used to that. Seeing that it was wet, she grabbed me and changed it, and several others received the same service. I sat across from Mark on a picnic table sized for us for dinner. The meal consisted of some mashed potatoes, peas and jumbo chicken nuggets shaped like little animals, all served on a plastic plate. The potatoes were bland and the nuggets were soggy, but the food still tasted ten times better than the goop Karen fed me. The peas in this dimension were the size of small hazelnuts! Luckily for me, I loved peas, so I devoured everything on my plate. Unfortunately for her, the Little beside me seemed to have lost her appetite, and she pushed her peas around on her plate without eating anything. A nanny quickly spotted her dawdling, and honed in like a falcon on its prey. She yanked the Little out of her seat, flipped her dress up, and started spanking the living daylights out of her! After about thirty smacks, the sobbing girl was taken to a highchair nearby and straps were pulled across her forehead, chest, waist and legs, rendering her totally immobile. Her wails were silenced by a nanny feeding her a jar of what looked like the peas she was playing with, mashed up. I felt so bad for the poor girl, but it wasn’t like I could do anything for her. I looked at Mark, who wore the same grim expression on his face as I did. After dinner, everyone took turns being showered by the nannies, an experience that turned my face into a tomato again. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to other people seeing me naked. We were soon dressed in footed pajamas and thick nighttime diapers for bed. Giant cribs were unfolded in the main room by the nannies, who then laid mattresses on top of them. I was tucked in with a kiss and a bottle of milk, which I took a tentative suck at. It tasted like a vanilla milkshake, and was definitely the best-tasting drink I’d ever had! The soft mattress that cushioned me was a fluffy cloud compared to the unyielding floor that I had slept on in the days before. I said a quick prayer of gratitude, and soon after, thanks to the strange milk and the comfy mattress, I was out like a light! As a bevy of thirty-two-hour days passed by, I settled into a routine that consisted, for the most part, of eating, sleeping, playing, and avoiding the Amazon toddlers. It felt like I was thrown back into a second childhood, and I was somewhat grateful for the opportunity for a bit of R&R. My busy life juggling my chess and programming careers didn’t give me much time to just waste away, something I was essentially forced to do here each day. Mark had gradually introduced me to the other Littles who had been coloring when I’d arrived, and they seemed like a nice bunch. Other than the boredom and lack of freedom to go places, I was pretty happy, since I had food, friends, and a bed — well, crib. Even though I was babied all the time, I wasn’t being abused. I might have even secretly liked that a bit, not that I would admit it! All things considered, the orphanage was a million times better than Karen’s shack. My mental chess games with Mark were icing on the cake, and I gradually taught him some more advanced chess theory while we colored each day. He was a fast learner, and improved quickly. I was still able to consistently beat him though. One time, as I checkmated him after a windmill attack, he looked at me and tilted his head. “You know, life is a lot like a game of chess,” he mused. “You plan things, but they don’t go your way. You get pulled into a series of forced moves, and there’s nothing you can do but to go along with it until you get a chance to counterattack or you lose.” “Yeah, that sounds about right. Maybe one day I’ll get a chance to counterattack and change the system. Win the game.” I longed. “You know what Izzy? I hope you do. You’re smart, talented, and kind. There’s nobody better to change the world.” Every night, I prayed for another shot at living an actual life. You gave me so many talents for a reason. Please don’t let me waste away, God. Give me a chance. =========================================================== Bonus content — Izzy vs Mark chess game: https://lichess.org/study/YfxwmWUR Giant Crayola: https://shop.crayola.com/color-and-draw/giant-crayola-crayon-choose-your-color-52MEGA.html Chapter 6 — Extraction My prayers were finally answered around two weeks after I’d arrived at the orphanage. A loud bang came from the reception area, prompting the four nannies on duty to investigate. The Amazon kids didn’t seem to care though, and they continued running around. Most of the Littles didn’t notice either, with the exception of the few of us coloring. Suddenly, a vent cover in the wall beside me swung open and a Little dressed head-to-toe in a futuristic-looking black combat suit emerged from the ventilation shaft. A spool mechanism built into the suit attached to a black wire, which was pulled taut and disappeared into the shadows above. He scanned the room for a moment before spotting me and glancing down at a screen wrapped halfway around his forearm. “Isabelle Green?” I looked up from my prone coloring position and answered, “Hi?” He scanned my irises with a device in the wrist of his suit, which beeped and flashed green. “I’m going to offer you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” he told me in a quiet but assertive voice while looking directly at me. “If you want, I can get you out of here. The staff won’t be affected by my distraction for too long, so you have thirty seconds to decide.” I inhaled sharply at the suddenness of his proposal. “Who are you? Why me out of everyone here?” “Don’t have the time to explain. Twenty seconds.” I looked at my friends for support. They were all nodding for me to go, even as several eyes sparkled with envy. “Your move, Izzy,” Mark said determinedly. “I think you should go. Go win the game. You can’t do that from here.” I nodded and gave him a quick hug goodbye. “I’ll miss you. And I’ll do everything I can to get you out too.” I stepped back and looked at everyone, “All of you.” I wiped a tear from my eye and exchanged hurried farewells with the few people that I could consider friends in this dimension. I felt guilt and sadness for leaving them, yet a rekindled hope about my future surged in my chest. I raised my hand to the group in a solemn salute, before nodding to my rescuer and stepping into the shaft. He shut the vent cover, and I watched through its slits as the others went back to coloring. I trusted them enough to be certain that no one would give us away. Maybe the nannies wouldn’t even notice that I was gone. There were almost sixty residents, and I’d done my best to keep to the shadows after the trauma I’d witnessed my first night there. “Get a good grip on me. It’s a long way up and you do not want to fall. I’d put a harness on you but we’ve got to move.” I nodded and clung tightly to him. He pressed a button on his harness and we rose into the ventilation system. On my way up, I couldn’t help but think back to my question. Why me? Was there someone looking out for me? *** “Clear workspaces 3 and 4. Wipe the evidence,” I instructed Max. It was the Saturday after I’d rescued Isabelle, and I’d just arranged for her to be sent to Little Hearts, one of the safest orphanages for Littles in Jacinto. In less than two seconds, all traces of my tampering with the LPS systems had been erased. “Shall I turn off secure mode?” Max asked helpfully. It’d taken me more than a month to customize Max from the latest open-source homeAI release. I’d written almost a hundred thousand lines of code and config files — with the help of an AI programmer — to do it, and the end result was spectacular. After testing everything, I hosted it on my own servers in my basement. It was much more sentient and intelligent than the open-source version, and it was perfectly tuned to my liking and needs. I’d named it Max, after the protagonist’s AI in Ready Player One, a novel from the other dimension that I had read in my teenage years. “Not yet. She’s safe, but not free. I want to set her free.” “What are you gonna do?” Max asked, confused. I’d never programmed complicated feelings like freedom into him. I didn’t think he’d need it. He knew what freedom was, of course, but he couldn’t feel it like he could the more basic emotions: happiness, sadness, fear. Someday I need to add more abstract feelings. Then I can file a massive pull-request to the homeAI project. I thought about the actions I planned on taking next. Is it worth all this risk, just for one Little? There’s millions of them. If I were asked this question on a game show, or if there was no risk to me, then I would immediately answer affirmatively. Unfortunately, this was real life, not a hypothetical. Actions had consequences here. I thought about it for a few minutes and took a sip of my coffee. I waited until I was absolutely sure before finally deciding. Yes. It IS worth it. They’re human beings. They deserve love and respect. They’re people. They deserve to be free. Sure there were risks to me if I were to do this, but those were negligible compared to a lifetime of forced babyhood that Littles are subject to. Every single one of them is worth the risk. With Isabelle specifically, I hoped that what I planned on doing would make up for all the trauma she’d been through. I sighed and answered Max, “You know how we just hacked the Empire? Now we’re gonna hack the Alliance.” I’d seen a few Star Wars movies from the other dimension and used some of it to train Max’s neural model. He finally connected the dots. “Well, the Railroad should be a piece of cake compared to LPS, eh?” Good boy. “Once we find them, yes. The decentralization will be a nightmare to deal with though.” The Little Railroad was an underground movement that freed Littles across the continental United States. They worked in regional cells smuggling Littles north to Canada or east to the Little Islands, where Littles were safe from adoption and free to live their lives. The situation in Canada was much better than the US, with adoption being illegal and equal rights for people of all heights. There were still some Little-specific laws, mostly concerning driving and other activities that might be dangerous for anyone short, but they were all for safety reasons. However, the one thing that Littles did have to worry about was Little hunters from the US that prowled the cities near the border. Given that two-thirds of the Canadian population lived within a hundred kilometers of the US border, that meant that Littles were in real danger of being kidnapped and smuggled across the border. The Little Railroad couldn’t really prevent this from happening, but they did try to rescue as many Littles as they could out of the US. Since their operations were so decentralized, there was no head of the Railroad that I could target. I had to change tactics and perform a breadth-first search instead. I spun up a quick script to scrape Mastodon, the predominant metaverse and social media platform in the dimension, for a list of known code words associated with the Railroad. My script would then process the raw data to extract a variety of metrics such as frequency, variation, emotion, and context. After five minutes of big-data analysis, I had a list of accounts likely run by affiliates or members of the Railroad, sorted from most to least promising. Back in college, I’d started an all-purpose rootkit-injection program to use when I needed access to systems that I would have a hard time accessing through official channels. I updated it regularly over the years with new exploits and patch-workarounds, and it now supported every operating system with more than a few thousand users. Since most people just used thin clients nowadays anyway, my program also worked for gateways running older, but still supported, versions of the popular cloud providers. I ran this program against the machine used by each target on my list, achieving a 70% pwn rate. After looking through the data of the first fifty users, I’d found out enough about their networks to locate the contact info of several Railroad cells. I chose three cells to serve as entry, relay, and exit nodes that roughly formed a line connecting Ollirama to the US border with British Columbia, and set about masterminding the operation. Decentralized computer networks could be trusted, but human ones couldn’t, so I would do all the planning myself. I marked up a few possible border crossings based on Railroad and Border Patrol data, the latter of which I had access to thanks to sysadmin credentials I’d acquired on the dark web a few years ago for another project. Just those weren’t enough to bypass the multi-factor authentication they had in place, but I had a digital carte-blanche to bypass the latest OAUTH protocol. There would be no room for error, and my ample arsenal of cyberweapons would keep my precision high. I dug up some more information on the cells, and a plan soon materialized. The first leg of the journey would be handled by an extraction team, who would break Isabelle out of the orphanage. Earlier that afternoon, I’d made sure to mark Isabelle’s LPS file for Little Hearts, one that I knew that treated Littles better and was easy to escape from, specifically to help with this part. The extraction team would immediately drive her west to the border with the adjacent state, which would hopefully get her out of Jacinto and its jurisdiction to ease her escape before her disappearance was even noticed. At the border, Isabelle would be transferred to the next cell, which was run by a sympathetical Big businessman who owned a limo company and used his fleet to drive Littles across the continental U.S. to where they needed to be. Bigs involved in the Railroad were limited in numbers, but critical to the network’s success from the data I’d gathered, as they could get around much more easily and safely than Mids and Littles could. Once I finished planning out the details for the final stretch, I contacted all three cells with their instructions. I gave each only the information that they needed, in order to maximize the security of the whole operation and thus Isabelle’s safety. I made sure to send the first cell a copy of her bodyprint, which I’d hacked from the orphanage. Surprisingly, none of them asked me who I was or where I got their information from. Decentralized meant a lot of need-to-know, and these people were used to not needing to know, which made my job easier. In all honesty, I was touched by their selflessness. There definitely weren’t a lot of people willing to put their own freedom on the line to help others find a better life. I seriously respected those that did. *** We reached the top of the ventilation shaft in just a few seconds, and I clambered up and into the horizontal duct running along the rear wall of the orphanage. The shaft was spacious, but not tall enough to stand up in, and I could see light coming from the end of the tunnel. My rescuer put a finger to his lips, tugged on the black wire, and pointed with 2 fingers to a bright opening at one end of the duct. I understood that as ‘keep quiet and crawl toward the light’, and proceeded to comply with his instructions. As I did so, my skirt flared up and I flashed my diaper. I blushed a deep crimson and pulled it back down. Thankfully he appeared to be too busy with the screen on his forearm to notice. When I reached the opening, I could see that the outer grill had been swung up and somehow fixed to the outside wall. It provided an anchor point for the black wire, which hung out down to a waiting car. The combat-suited Little had followed closely behind me, and I grabbed onto him again as he rappelled down the brick rear wall of the building. When my feet touched the ground, he pushed another button on his harness. I heard a quiet whirring sound as all the wire was quickly winched up, leaving no trace of our escape apart from the open grill. Fortunately, it seemed that my rescuer had thought of everything. He twisted a dial on his screen, and the grill quietly swung shut. My jaw dropped open and my inner geek screamed, ‘That was so cool!’ “It’s rapid-biodegrading electronics. In a couple hours it’ll all turn into dust and get blown away by the wind. We’ll be long gone by then anyhow.” I nodded, still in awe and slight disbelief that I was actually free. Just then, I saw an Amazon get out of the driver’s seat, and my heart jumped. He opened the rear door and grabbed my rescuer! I turned and fled in a panic. My socked feet pounded against the asphalt and my heart pounded from adrenalin as I ran in a straight line away from the monster. I’m getting kidnapped, not freed. This isn’t tag where I become ‘it’ when I get caught. If I’m caught, who knows what will happen to me! I didn’t make it ten meters before I was seized by a strong hand. I yelped. He lifted me into the air. He spun me around to face him. I tried whacking him to break free, but he held me at arm’s-length, pinning my arms down. I kicked uselessly at thin air and screamed hysterically. He sighed and pushed an inflatable pacifier into my mouth before quickly twisting to inflate it. My cries were quickly muffled as my jaw lit on fire! All I could do was look at him in sheer terror, distress and desperation. Chapter 7 — Silver Spoon “I’m sorry I had to do that,” the Amazon holding me at arm’s-length apologized, “but you’ve got to stop screaming if you want a chance to get away from here.” What was this guy up to?? “Owww…” this overinflated bulb is really hurting my jaw. I winced and moaned, slightly confused and more than slightly terrified. He could see that I was hurting. “If I remove that, promise me you’ll keep your voice down.” I nodded and stopped struggling, eager to get it out. He brought me closer to his chest and shifted my weight to one arm. The pacifier was deflated with a twist and a hiss of air. I quickly rubbed my jaw in relief. These damn things were so painful! “Who are you and what do you want?” I asked, perplexed, exasperated, exhausted… My feelings were so numerous and complex I couldn’t even put them into words. I gave up all resistance for the time being. Might as well conserve my energy. He’s strong enough to overpower me no matter what I do anyway. “I’m here to save you and I want to get out of the state before the cops show up.” “Save me?” I spat. “And then kidnap me to Mexico to spew babies or test drugs for some cartel drug lord?” Shivers wracked me as I remembered the stories that one of the Littles had told me about her time in Mexico before she was rescued in a federal drug raid. “No, Isabelle. I’d never do that. I’m with the Railroad. And we’re going west, not south.” How did he know my name? The Railroad? They were working together? There were Amazons that weren’t totally baby-crazy? I guess it does make sense though… It’s not like Littles are allowed to drive around here. Another Little had told me about how he almost got to one of the Little Islands thanks to the Little Railroad. Unfortunately for him, his counterfeit passport didn’t quite pass muster and he was detained at the port. Poor lad. But if this guy was with the railroad, then… he was one of the good guys? “He’s telling you the truth.” The Little reappeared beside us. My brain screamed for him to run while he could, but he clearly had no intention to do so. I was almost convinced, but I needed more assurance. “Where did he get all that high-tech military gear and training?” I questioned the Big. “I can’t tell you that.” “I’m not going anywhere with you until you do.” “Look, if you come with us I’ll tell you myself. I trust him with my life, and you should too,” my rescuer interceded. With a sigh, I conceded and let the Amazon put both of us into car seats in the back of his sedan. He closed the door, got back in the driver’s seat, and drove out into the street. “You owe me an explanation?” I turned and asked the Little. “You should know that the less we know about each other, the better. Never tell anyone who you are, where you came from, or where you’re going, unless they already know.” When he saw me nod, he continued, “As to where I got my equipment and training: I was a Hellcat.” “What’s a Hellcat?” I asked as we turned onto a main road. He tutted. “Enough questions. It won’t do either of us any good if I tell you more.” An hour later, the Amazon driver pulled off the highway we’d been driving on. As he got out of the car, I quickly undid the seat buckle, just to get some more practice at the complex task. That earned a wide-eyed stare from the Little. When the door beside me opened and the Big reached in to undo the buckle, he too sported a puzzled expression. “How did you do that?” He asked. “The buckle?” “Yeah, I’ve never met a Little who could undo it.” I snapped the straps closed again. “Push, twist, slide?” I demonstrated. The ex-Hellcat tried to reenact my movements, but his fingers slipped when he tried the twisting motion. “Interesting, we just have to push harder than you Littles can. That’ll come in handy for you though. If you ever need to escape in a jiffy, these buckles are standard for every device intended to restrain Littles.” “Why are we stopping in the middle of nowhere?” “To pass you on to another cell in the network who will get you where you need to go.” I nodded. “Thanks for rescuing me,” I said to both of them, as a strange, elongated vehicle pulled up behind their car. “Cheers,” the Big patted my shoulder as he picked me up, “this is what we do for our fellow human beings. Freedom is a right.” I was carried over to the strange vehicle whose falcon-wing door was open. He set me down on the carpeted floor inside. “Good luck,” the Big said. “Thanks,” I nodded and waved as he tapped the doorframe twice, as if he was signalling the driver to get going. Right on cue, the door shut pneumatically. A moment later, the vehicle started moving. It sounded like a Tesla from back home. There was no engine noise, only the muffled crunch of the wheels on the gravel of the highway’s shoulder. When ceiling lights lit up the interior, I gasped at my futuristic and luxurious surroundings. The entire body of the limousine was made of some sort of high-tech glass. What I’d assumed were lights illuminating had actually been the glass-like material of the roof and upper half of the side walls becoming transparent. I’d seen electrochromic tech before on airliners, but seeing it in such a large contiguity blew my mind. Just then, I realized that there was nothing underneath the windshield, and I could see right out the front of the limo! It was driving itself autonomously! I watched for a while as it accelerated to highway speed and turned my attention back to the interior furnishings. One long, white couch-bed stretched against one side of the spacious cabin from front to back, and curved there to form a loveseat against the back wall. The opposite wall had a strange looking cabinet recessed into it, with a variety of amenities behind transparent panels made of what looked like the same material as the limo body. I cringed when I saw that whoever had stocked the cabinet had graciously provided a stack of diapers for me. Just as I was wondering whether the limo had a TV screen, the entire side wall lit up. Wow, the glass was a screen too?? The logo of an AI reminiscent of a home or phone assistant back home sprung into animation with a bounce and a twirl. “Welcome, Isabelle, to the Luxuria Experience, I’m Luxuria,” a voice that sounded perfectly human annunciated. The tone could only be described as… luxurious? “Umm… hi. How do you know who I am?” I responded, slightly startled. I could feel my diaper warming. “I have some basic information on you that I received when your journey was created. Speaking of which, I wasn’t able to detect your privacy settings, so I’d like to go over them with you, as mandated by the International Data Protection Laws. First, would you like me to collect anonymous analytics from our interactions to improve my intent-parsing quality?” “Uhh… no thanks?” “Okay, I won’t use any analytics. Would you like me to connect to the internet for neural recognition? I can also remain entirely offline if you’d prefer.” Damn, this dimension’s privacy laws were just as amazing as their tech. Years ahead of us. “Offline please?” “Excellent choice, my voice recognition software is still state-of-the-art.” “Finally, would you like to enable holographic mode? I’d recommend it for an improved experience.” I thought about it for a second before replying. Holograms are cool. And harmless. Why not? “Sure,” I nodded. The limo body turned opaque again, and a bank of ‘lights’, which were really white pixels on the ceiling screen, lit up overhead. I watched with childlike fascination as the animated logo materialized out of the wallscreen and morphed into a humanoid-like body with flexible tubular arms that didn’t resemble anything I could think of. I couldn’t see where the projectors were, but it looked much more solid than I expected! When the avatar reached out with a hand, I shook it without thinking. Only after the act did I realize that I had just… touched light? “How is your projection solid? Isn’t it a hologram made of light?” “It is. The wave-particle duality of light allows photons in holograms to maintain a solid state under certain high-energy configurations, since photons are their own antiparticles,” Luxuria explained. “Interesting.” I didn’t know a lot about particle physics, but from what I did know, it was theoretically sound. We’d just never achieved a high enough energy density to do something like this on a scale larger than a few photons to reach any empirical confirmation. “My sensors predict that you’ll leak in about two minutes. Would you like a change?” I gave my padding a squish and disappointedly confirmed it. “I can do it myself,” I insisted indignantly, not wanting a hologram to… change me. Luxuria nodded and grabbed a diaper, powder and some wipes for me. I proceeded to flip my skirt up, untape my diaper, and wipe myself down. Halfway through, I looked up to the hologram’s eyes staring at me. “Umm… can you not?” “Sorry, but you do know that my projection is just that, right? The actual sensors and cameras are built into the vehicle’s interior.” The avatar picked up my dirty diaper and wipes. “Yeah but still,” I whined, skipping the powder and taping on a new diaper. Absolutely no need to degrade myself more than I already have. My parents had once told me that I’d taped my own diapers on as a toddler. I had a vague memory of it, but it was far too long ago for me to actually remember how I did it back then. The only thing I remember along those lines is having to wear stupid pull-up diapers at night. Instead, I based my taping on how the nannies had done it for me. It took a couple seconds of readjusting, but I got it done and ran a finger around the waistband to inspect my handiwork. Not bad for the first time in two decades. It’s definitely nicer when someone else does it for me though… Luxuria turned back around as I stood up and cleaned my hands with an extra wipe. “You did okay. Try to tape it on tighter so it doesn’t fall off when you wet it. And you should use the powder, it stops chafing and keeps your skin dry.” Okay?! Did I just get roasted by a robot? No, an AI. Har har. I stared at Luxuria. My stomach growled, interrupting my sulky thoughts. I was used to having dinner at the orphanage at 7 pm every day, and it was just past that according to the holographic clock. “Would you like something to eat? It’s just about dinnertime,” the AI noted, seemingly having either read my mind or detected my hunger. The time showed on the screen that made up an interior side wall of the limo, and the avatar gestured toward the strange cabinet. “Fine,” I replied, “are we going to stop somewhere for food?” Luxuria laughed, “No need to stop. The AmeniTea here is state-of-the-art; it can cook up anything you’d like. Wouldn’t you rather get to your destination sooner?” AmeniTea? I was confused, but I jogged over and found some drinkware. It looked like I would have to go with a milk-jug-sized mug, or a sippy cup that was my size. I sighed in defeat and grabbed one of the latter. I’d been drinking out of baby bottles and sippy cups the past few weeks, but it had never been my choice. I managed to convince myself that I didn’t really have a choice here either. I brought it over to a drink dispenser situated just above the level of the top of my head. I didn’t see any buttons or labels, but there was clearly a faucet on it. Probably detecting my confusion, Luxuria helpfully offered, “It’s a smart appliance. What would you like to drink?” “What options are there?” “It can make any drink you want, so long as it’s non-alcoholic, as mandated by the government under section 1012E of title 441 of the Little Statutes. The machine has miniaturized pods for several thousand different beverages. It unshrinks and dispenses every drink you can think of, and then some.” “Can I have an apple juice please?” I loved the apple juice they had here. Much richer in flavor than back home. “Sure, what temperature would you like it at?” Luxuria asked. “Uhh… I dunno, 50 degrees?” “Fahrenheit?” “Yeah, isn’t 50 celsius like, hot?” I questioned. Luxuria shrugged. “There’s people that like their juice hot. Put your sippy cup under the faucet.” I swear this AI is out to humiliate me. She just HAD to say the full baby term. I sighed and reached up — tipping my toes slightly — to do as she instructed. The second my hand left the cup, the room was flooded with the delightful aroma of apples and the cup filled with juice. I picked up the plastic vessel again — carefully since it was full — and took a sip. It was delicious! The aroma certainly helped, and I practically guzzled the rest of the cup. Luxuria refilled it for me, and turned the top half of the limo transparent so I could enjoy the splendid nature view on either side of the highway as I drank. I watched as the sun set, directly ahead of us, into mountains that I could just barely make out in the distance. It was the first sunset I’d seen in this dimension, and I was stunned by its beauty. The sun was much bigger, yet of softer tones, than back home, and the vivid colors streaked across the sky like a masterful watercolor painting. The moment was made even sweeter by my impending freedom that I could almost taste. I took a deep breath to savor the tranquility of everything. I’d come a long way from the dirty floor of a shack in the middle of nowhere. No matter where life brings me from here, this moment will be one that I’ll cherish for years to come. Chapter 8 — Exodus In the 10 minutes it took for the sun to set and the sky to turn dark, I’d gradually emptied my sippy cup and bladder. In one end and out the other. I heard an audible rumble from my stomach announcing the return of my dinner cravings. “So there’s miniaturized food as well?” I asked the hologram floating beside me. “The ingredients are miniaturized, yes, but each dish is made fresh. What would you like?” “Something spicy,” I answered without hesitation. Orphanage food had been filling but way too bland for my liking. I remembered a delicious burger recipe that my grandfather had often made for me when I was little. It would definitely make a good challenge for the robot cook. I went for it anyway, just to see what the machine was capable of. “Make me a burger with the buns buttered and toasted. Melt a slice of cheddar cheese on top of a beef patty, then add a slice of tomato, two half-rashers of bacon side-by-side, two slices of pickle side-by-side, two concentric onion rings, breaded and fried, and Buffalo sauce, in that order from bottom to top. Make a side of thick-cut sweet potato fries, topped with melted cheese and chipotle sauce. For dessert I’ll have mango sago pudding.” I was on a wishing spree! Take that, machine. There’s NO WAY you can make that. “You’re certain you can eat that much? Have you had any food not made for Littles since you got here?” I thought about Luxuria’s question for a moment. “Uhh… No, not really…” I finally put two and two together. If everything here is massive, then the food would be too. “Right, the size of the food. In that case, make the burger smaller and I’ll just have, say, 3 fries.” That I should be able to finish. I didn’t like wasting food. “Oh, and size the pudding down accordingly?” Luxuria nodded. “Will that be everything?” “Yup, thanks.” I confirmed, still confident that a machine would never be able to make a meal that complicated. Around twenty seconds later, the smell of the patty cooking started wafting from a glass panel on the AmeniTea. A table flipped out automatically from the opposing side wall, at just about the right height for me to sit and eat at, perched Japanese-style on the bed. Less than five minutes after I’d ordered, the panel slid open and revealed my dinner on a large porcelain plate. The avatar brought it over to the table as the AmeniTea panel slid shut again. “Bon appetit!” Luxuria beamed. I thanked her and clambered onto the bed with a small jump. After saying grace, I grabbed the burger with both hands and took a bite. It was the most delectable food I’d had in weeks! My first bite brought back a flood of childhood memories. I hadn’t had this meal in ages! I picked up a fry the size of a hot dog and brought it to my mouth. The sweet potato was fried to a golden crisp, but the size meant it was just slightly too mushy for my taste. The cheese melted a second time in my mouth, and my taste buds exploded satisfyingly from the spice of the Buffalo sauce. I may have been dubious of the robot’s capabilities, but by the time I finished the dish, I was convinced that the only downsides to it were the slightly off taste of unshrunken ingredients and something missing that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. When my plate was empty, Luxuria swapped it for my pudding, which also made for the perfect dessert for this experience. The food had tasted almost as good as my description sounded, and definitely better than “unshrunk meal” could ever sound! I was stuffed, but satisfied. After dinner, Luxuria put the pudding goblet into the AmeniTea, and the table sunk back into the wall. I heard a hiss and a light patter as both were cleaned… along with slightly more muted hiss coming from my diaper! A feeling of warmth spread through it. I’d just gone without any warning. “Would you like to see a movie?” the avatar offered, returning to its floating position facing me. “Sure. Anything sci-fi you can recommend?” I wanted to see what this dimension’s science fiction entertainment looked like, given that the world around me was basically sci-fi already. “I’ve got just the film.” I snuggled up to a soft cushion on the bed and watched as the screens delimiting the cabin lit up with billions of pixels blending together, each of which must have been too small for my eyes to register. Together, they seamlessly formed a realistic background of stars in space at a resolution that took my breath away. While I was somewhat prepared for that, I was definitely not expecting the Star-Wars-style scrolling text that was holographically projected in front of me. I let out a giggle of delight, both at the quality of the visuals, and at the absurdity of the retro style photobombing an otherwise incredibly futuristic setting. The movie was reminiscent of Interstellar, with realistic depictions of relativity and physics. If only more writers would depict science and technology more accurately. The single thing I hated the most about movies and books was the unrealistic depictions of hacking scenes. Hooded man furiously typing with green hieroglyphics and ones and zeros… The movie’s plot centered on the last human family searching the Milky Way for a habitable world. They teleported around the galaxy by folding the fabric of spacetime in a futuristic spacecraft. I never saw the twist coming, which was when the AI that helped the humans and kept them safe the whole time was actually hiding the habitable planet from them. I laughed out loud when it turned out to be caused by a bug in its code. You’d imagine their static analysis would have caught that. I looked worriedly at the avatar floating beside me, but Luxuria just shrugged. “I’m nothing close to a true AI, if that’s what you’re concerned about. There’s laws prohibiting military-grade machine intelligence.” The movie soon ended with the AI sacrificing itself for humanity’s greater good and the human family getting to the habitable planet safely with human embryos to settle the new world. It was a rather Disney-like cliche ending, but I liked movies that way. It sucks when a main character fails or dies. That’s what happens in life already, why make a movie or write a book about it? When the credits started rolling across the floor, up the side wall, and then back across the ceiling, I yawned and got up to stretch out my legs. I’d certainly had a long day. From an orphanage to a self-driving limo speeding across the country. I shook my head. It felt like I was living in a fantasy. A quick diaper change later, I was back on the massive bed hugging the cushion. Before I snoozed off, I said a quick nightly prayer. Dear God, Thanks for everything you do for me. I don’t know where exactly I’m heading, both in this limo and in life, but I know it’s to a good place you’ve prepared. Thanks for showing me once again that you care about me and love me. And thanks for sending these good people my way. Please keep all my friends safe too, and help me make the right moves. In Jesus’s name I pray, Amen. The next morning, I woke up to daylight and soft music. I blushed furiously when I found my thumb in my mouth. Must have been another stupid effect of that hypnosis. I’d never experienced this at the orphanage before, probably because I’d always been given a bottle or a pacifier to sleep with. I wiped the saliva off my thumb and rubbed my eyes as I sat up. All the cabin screens around me had been turned off, resulting in the glass body of the car being almost transparent. The scenery and asphalt sped by outside in an unnaturally fast blur that made my head hurt. “Morning Isabelle. Did you sleep well?” Luxuria greeted me as the limo body turned opaque again. “Morning. Yeah, I did, thanks. Umm… how fast are we going?” I asked in suspicion. “One-ten.” “Miles per hour?” “Yeah. There isn’t much autonomous traffic, and there’s good visibility, so the lanespeed is slightly higher than normal.” “Lanespeed? There’s a dedicated lane for self-driving vehicles with a dynamic speed limit?” “Indeed. Every autonomous vehicle is hooked up to Mothership, the central control system, so we can safely go faster than human-driven cars,” Luxuria explained. Mothership… Tesla? Is there even a Tesla in this dimension? “Is that also the reason I don’t have to be stuck in an annoying toddler car seat?” “Precisely. Speaking of toddlers, your diaper is at capacity again.” I could feel mush in the back this time, and I really didn’t want to change myself. I sighed and surrendered my last bit of perceived independence. To an AI. I looked away from the avatar, clasped my hands, and pawed at the floor with my foot. “Umm… Can you do it for me?” I asked Luxuria shyly. “Oh? I thought you did a pretty good job changing yourself before you slept?” The hologram floated gently into my field of view. Ugh. This thing is reeeeally annoying. I blushed. “Yeeaah, but there’s poop and I really don’t wanna do it,” I whined. Luxuria may have called me a “big baby” in jest at that point, but she grabbed the supplies necessary and gently untaped my diaper. The hologram’s zephyry movements were calming and efficient, and I soon had a fresh diaper taped on. The experience was so nice that I didn’t even complain when the avatar used the powder. When she was done changing me, I asked what time it was, just as we pulled onto an off-ramp and started to decelerate. “Eight fifty”, the time showed up on the screen again, this time in a light theme. I wonder if all IDEs have dark themes here. “We’re almost at our destination.” “Which is…?” “Sorry, I’ve been specifically instructed not to tell you. Can I get you some breakfast instead?” That was a little annoying of Luxuria, but I did understand the Railroad’s tangible concerns about disclosing information. “Milk and cereal?” “Sure, what kind of each would you like?” “Skim and Cinnamon Toast Crunch? Do you have that here?” “No, but we have something similar.” Luxuria went to the AmeniTea and fetched a pitcher of milk, a bowl and spoon, and a cute little cardboard box of cereal labelled ‘Cinna-Crisps’. I opened the box and the plastic cereal bag inside, and dumped all seven or eight pieces into the bowl. I grabbed one and ate it in two bites. It looked and tasted like an oversized version of a piece of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but each circular crisp was the size of an Oreo! I poured enough milk to cover all the pieces, said grace, and started eating. When I finished it, Luxuria put everything back into the AmeniTea, and informed me that we’d arrived at our destination, just as I felt the limo stop. The large falcon-wing door lifted up and I saw that we were in some sort of garage. There was a van parked a few feet away, but there was nothing around that betrayed our location. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your Luxuria Experience, Izzy” she said as her avatar floated over to me. I jumped down from the bed. “I did, thanks. It was pretty amazing actually, especially you and the whole solid hologram thing.” “Happy to hear that.” Luxuria produced a lapel pin from somewhere and pinned it to the hem of my dress. “Here’s a profile microchip containing your privacy preferences and some basic information. Keep it on you until you upload it to the international federated blockchain.” She also handed me a bag with three spare diapers in it. “And these should last until you get more.” I blushed as I took it from her. “Gee, thanks,” I nodded semi-sarcastically and gave Luxuria a parting handshake. As annoying as she was, she’d been a pretty great companion. When I turned around, a Latina Mid came over from the van. Mark had told me about Mids, also known as In-Betweeners or just Betweeners. The term applied to the comparatively rare instances where a person was taller than a Little but not quite a Big. They were clearly as rare as Mike had claimed they were, since this was only my second time seeing one. “Hola Isabella, I’m Sofia,” she said in a thick Mexican accent. I was about to correct her about my name, but she seemed like the type of person that didn’t like being told she was wrong, so I kept my thoughts to myself and went with a polite “hi” and a small wave instead. Seeing that I wasn’t wearing any shoes, she told me, “I will take you over so you don’t get your feet dirty, reinita,” and picked me up out of the limo. “Good luck Izzy, and safe travels,” Luxuria wished as the hologram fizzled out. Sofia carried me over to the van, and set me down in the back. Once she made sure I was comfortably sitting in the lap of a giant teddy bear, she handed me a pacifier. “Put that between your teeth so they don’t break.” She ordered in a dead-serious tone. I was a little confused and intimidated by that, but I complied. Sofia shut the back doors and got in the cab. There was a plastic panel separating the cab and the back, which had no windows, so I couldn’t see outside at all. There was some light coming from the gap between the back doors though, which didn’t quite touch each other when they were closed. I perked my ears up instead, and listened as she started the engine and pulled out of the garage. The van was magnitudes less soundproofed than the limo had been, so I could hear every surface that we drove on, from the clank of a metal drain covering to the smooth hum on asphalt. The van clearly didn’t have A/C, so I was starting to sweat a lot. About twenty minutes into the sweltering drive, Sofia yelled out “hold on mi amor!” to me and violently swerved off-road. I heard the coarse crunch of the gravel shoulder for a split second, and then the finer crunch of hard-packed dirt as the van shook and bounced over the uneven ground. The shaking and noise increased in severity as we picked up speed, and I was now glad I had the pacifier. Clearly Sofia hadn’t been joking about breaking my teeth, as my bones felt like they were being jostled out of their sockets! Suddenly, I heard a loud CRACK, and then the wailing of a siren nearby. Sofia swore but didn’t let off on the gas, and the siren slowly faded. I was starting to fear that the van would shake itself apart as I was flung into the air from a particularly deep rut. After a few more minutes and a couple turns, I felt the vibrations dampen out as she slowed to a stop. I unclenched my hands, extremely relieved to still be alive. Luckily the bear’s soft stuffing had protected me from the worst of the bumps, but my diaper got soaked from the bone-jarring ride! I felt the van shift as Sofia got out, and then bright light streamed in when Sofia threw the doors open, causing me to blink. She picked me up and carried me out of the van, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I trembled in fear and panic as I took in the landscape around me. It was an arid desert, being burned by a scorching sun. Small shrubs broke the sandy ground here and there, and stout mountains loomed nearby. I felt a trickle of pee down my leg as I flooded my diaper beyond its leaking point. That served as a painfully ironic symbol for everything that had gone wrong, for my chances of freedom and living a life had just leaked away. Sofia smiled and told me, “Bienvenido a Méhico!” Chapter 9 — True North Strong and Free I sobbed into my pacifier, too dumbfounded to struggle, utterly broken. Why had I been so stupid to trust these people?! When she heard my sobs and saw my tears, Sofia looked concerned and rubbed my back in an attempt to comfort me, but I was going into a full meltdown. “Ay hey Isabella! Calm down! You are safe, I was only ahh, what is de word, ahh, kidding, kidding! I was kidding! Cálmate, princesa, cálmate,” she soothed, hugging me tightly. “Yer wying! Dersh no dezherch in Canada!!” The stupid pacifier was distorting my speech, but it was doing is job of keeping me somewhat calmer than totally berserk. “Mi amor, we are in de Okanagan, in de south of de British Colombia. You are safe, reinita, I just helpet you cross de border!” Her Mexican accent got even thicker when she was stressed, and she looked like she was about to explode from anxiety. “Cwoss de bohduh indu Mexico?” “No no! Canada!” “Pwove it! I dun bewieve you!” Sofia sighed and pulled out a thin, flexible rectangle of plastic. She swiped a gesture on it and opened a maps app. I could see the position indicator indicating that we were just inside the border with Canada, and the background even showed the mountains and labeled the desert as the Okanagan. At this point, I relaxed enough to realize that the best proof I hadn’t been kidnapped to Mexico was right in front of me: Sofia wouldn’t be going through all this trouble to show me where we were when she could easily just overpower me. A few moments later, a black SUV pulled up beside us, and an eleven- or twelve-foot-tall Amazon got out. I’d seen enough giants at this point to not flinch, but I still stayed alert. He ran over to me and gave me a quick inspection, a massive hug, and a kiss on the forehead before I could even react. So much for staying alert. “I’m so glad you’re safe, Isabelle.” He turned to Sofia and shook her free hand. “Thanks for bringing Isabelle over the border. You people are the ultimate heroes.” “You are welcome, Señor. Protect her, the hunters are everywhere I hear.” Sofia passed me over to him, along with the satchel of spare diapers Luxuria had provided. “I will, absolutely.” “Freedom is a right!” She waved and turned around to get back in her van. That phrase again. “Hold on. Who are you and why am I going with you if I’m already in Canada?” I demanded. I was done with not knowing. From now on I’m finding out everything before I do anything. “You’re fifty klicks from the nearest town and less than one from the border. Acimeran border forces have been known to cross over to recapture escaped Littles, which is exactly what you are right now,” he reasoned. “All I’m gonna do is take you further into Canada so you don’t die in the wilderness or get sent back to an orphanage. Any objections?” “No,” I huffed. The Amazon walked the few paces over and laid me down in the back of the SUV. “Hey! What are you doing?!” I protested when he flipped my dress up. He stopped and calmly said, “you wanna sit in your leaky diaper?” “No,” I begrudgingly acknowledged. He proceeded to change me into a diaper from the bag of spares. I sighed, red-faced, when he finished and buckled me into a car seat in the back. So much for knowing everything. Things really weren’t under my control here. At least he was gentle and didn’t try anything. “Okay Izzy, I’m Mike.” He glanced at some kind of holographic heads-up display and started driving away from the border along a small dirt track. “The reason I didn’t tell you my name earlier is because I didn’t want anyone from the Railroad to know my identity. Just a safety precaution.” “How did you know I like to be called Izzy?” I asked suspiciously. “I run an automatic bug scan on everyone that comes near my property, which includes my car. You’re clean, but you’ve got a microchip on you with a bunch of your privacy preferences, which ironically includes your preferred name in conversation. Are you okay with me calling you that?” *** I really did scan her and find the chip, even though that wasn’t where I got her name from. I didn’t want to let on to any more than I needed to right now. She’ll have plenty of time to fully comprehend the magnitude of what I did for her. Or leave. That was a grim thought. I’d snuck a tracking chip with an integrated mic onto her dress the moment she was in my arms, just in case she was dumb enough to choose that option and ended up needing my help. As much as I wanted to, I wasn’t going to stop her from doing that though. “Yeah, you can call me whatever,” she replied as I turned onto a paved road. Deep breath, explain the situation. You got this. “Okay. I want you to know that everything I’m doing for you is to help you. If at any point you want to leave, tell me and I’ll stop the car and you can go wherever you’d like. Just please be careful. However, I recommend that you stay with me for the time being, for your own safety. Even though Canada is a million times better than the US for Little Rights, you’re unfortunately still in danger of being kidnapped by Little Hunters from the US. They WILL smuggle you back across the border and they WILL sell you to the highest bidder before you can say ‘True North Strong and Free’. Because of them, most Littles here actually choose to stay with a Big family or friend for safety’s sake. In fact, it’s so common that we have a name for it: homestay.” “Where are we going?” She asked as I took the on-ramp onto the highway to Penticton. It was a pretty big detour from our final destination, but I didn’t want to drive all the way to the west coast before Isabelle got her citizenship, just in case we got pulled over. “Well first we’re going to the Immigration and Refugee Board for your asylum hearing, where you’ll get registered and get your Canadian citizenship.” Boy did she want to know everything! I guess that’ll help her survive in this dimension, so it isn’t exactly a bad thing… Makes her about as annoying as a toddler though. “They hand out citizenships just like that?” She snapped her cute little fingers to punctuate her point. “To Littles who manage to get to Canada alive, yes. There’s a special clause in the Refugee Act from about twenty years ago.” “The US doesn’t care?” “They tried to stop them at first. When people protested and Canada caused a huge international scene with the first escaped Littles, the US struck a deal with us allowing Littles that cross the border to stay without persecution. In exchange, Canada still has the Safe Third Country Agreement for non-Little illegal immigrants, plus extradition.” “So I can be fully legal and everything?” Izzy’s face lit up in an adorable smile. “Yup, should be pretty much guaranteed.” I kept the other tricks I had up my sleeve to ensure that, including the fact that I’d sponsored her application, to myself. “What happens after that?” “We can stop at Tims for lunch?” “Who’s Tim?” I chuckled. “Tims, or Tim Hortons, is just about Canada’s biggest coffee shop chain. Has been for decades.” She nodded and turned back to the scenery out the window. “What’s a Hellcat?” Izzy suddenly asked a while later, when we were about halfway there. “You met one?” “The guy that broke me out. He was a Little and said he’d been a Hellcat? So, what’s a Hellcat?” “Wow, cool. I didn’t know Hellcat vets were in the Railroad. The Hellcats are an international team of elite special forces. They’re above the law and protected as such by UN resolutions. They’re the best of the best in CQB, and they carry out counter-terrorist and hostage-rescue operations around the world. No Big unit can match their cool, speed, finesse and precision. You were in good hands.” Izzy had a shocked, then sheepish look on her face as I said that. “What’s wrong?” I asked, slightly concerned. “I umm… kinda fought them behind the orphanage.” Her face turned bright red and she looked away from the rear-view mirror where I could see her. I decided to have some fun at her expense. “Ahh you’d better watch your butt now, you’ve probably pissed off their whole regiment.” I teased. “What?!” She squeaked. “Kidding.” I smiled at her and she chuckled nervously. Soon, I pulled into the parking lot in front of the Penticton office of the IRB and parked. There fortunately weren’t many other cars there, so I was able to find a spot in the small lot. Izzy had dozed off en-route, and her pacifier that was clipped to her dress had adorably found its way back into her mouth. It bobbed in and out there with each breath she took. She looked so precious! I gently brushed her cheek with my fingers to wake her up, almost regretting disturbing her. “Hey Sleeping Beauty, we’re here,” I chimed. She stirred and I undid the straps on her car seat. “Sorry about the seat, it’s a federal height law and honestly safer for you.” I’d forgotten to explain that to her earlier since I was focused on getting her away from the border, and I tried to make up for it now. “Mmmm,” she moaned. I was about to set her on the ground when I noticed she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Because of this observation, I made a split-second decision and changed my movement at the last minute, swinging Izzy awkwardly for a fraction of a second and accidentally bringing the sleepy girl out of her slumber. *** I felt myself pulled up suddenly in a motion that jolted me wide awake. I looked around and realized that we were in front of a small single-story office. The lower part of the shiny black coat of the SUV that we’d arrived in was caked in a layer of dust, and the rear passenger door was open. The Amazon… Mike… closed it and apologized to me, “Sorry for waking you up, Izzy, but I just realized you weren’t wearing any shoes.” “Huh? Oh ish okay…” I rubbed my eyes and waved it off. He nodded at that, and carried me in through the front glass door on his hip. The SUV pipped behind us, signaling the doors locking, even though Mike clearly didn’t do anything apart from walk away from it. Bluetooth? RF? NFC? Probably something similar, but more advanced. Aargh, I wish I could learn all of their tech! There were a couple people waiting around inside the air-conditioned office, most of them seated on a row of cushioned chairs along a wall. Heads turned to stare disapprovingly at us when we walked in. I let my pacifier fall to where it was clipped to my dress and gawped back at them. “Why are they looking at us like that?” I whispered to Mike as he sat down with me on his lap. He sighed and whispered back, “Adoption is illegal in Canada. There are, however, a lot of Littles that choose to live like they do in the majority of the US. Some of them are used to the carefree lifestyle from before they escaped, others saw the bright sides of the lifestyle and wanted in. But when they go out and do official government things, like what we’re doing right now, they usually dress and behave as adults. This is the IRB, so you’re dressed just as inappropriately as, say, if you were wearing pajamas or a bikini.” I giggled quietly at the picture. “Some of them probably even think I kidnapped you or I’m forcing you to do this.” An official-looking Little clerk walked over to us carrying a transparent tablet, her lips pursed disapprovingly. This was the first Little I’d seen working a job, and it very much set the tone for what Canada would be like for me. “Sir, I’m going to ask you to let her sit by herself,” she told Mike. She addressed both of us as he lifted me to an empty adjacent chair. “Miss…” she looked at her tablet for a moment, “Green, please be considerate of others the next time you pick an outfit to wear to a government office. I’ll let you both stay this time, but be warned that if you dress and behave like this next time, someone will likely ask you to leave.” I tried to start explaining to the lady, but Mike squeezed my hand to stop me, and I complied with a sigh. The clerk tapped at her tablet and gave us a number two greater than the one displayed on a TV hanging from the ceiling. “When your number shows up, please go into office number three over there, and an agent will help you out,” she instructed, pointing to the TV. “Miss Green must go in alone, per our privacy policies,” she looked threateningly at Mike. I nodded and Mike thanked her, and she seemed to be somewhat put off by that. She blinked and turned to speak to one of the others waiting. After about 10 more minutes, the display updated to mine and I jumped down from the chair. “They’re there to help you, so don’t lie about anything. Answer every question truthfully and provide as many details as you can. Good luck, I’m here if you need me,” Mike reassured. I nodded and walked over to the ajar wooden door labeled with a fancy calligraphic 3, my socked feet slipping on the floor tiles. The Amazon man inside looked up in surprise when I pushed it open and walked in. “What on earth are you wearing?!” He gasped, but quickly recovered. “Okay, okay, can you close the door?” When I did so, he took a deep breath and continued, “Okay… Isabelle, I’m Agent Duncan Schmidt with the IRB. I want you to know that you’re completely safe here. No one else, including the Big that I’m told you came with, will hear about anything you tell me, understand? And please have a seat.” I nodded, climbing onto a chair in front of his desk. “Okay, so I need to know, is he forcing you to dress like this? If so, that's illegal, you have every right that any other person in Canada has. We don’t discriminate by height or size here.” “No no, he isn’t. I just escaped from an orphanage in the US, and I haven’t exactly got anything to change into yet,” I explained nervously. He looked unconvinced, but dropped the matter. “Okay, so I need to confirm a few things with you. Can you state your full name and date of birth?” “Isabelle Dauphin Green,” I answered, followed by my date of birth. He nodded and tapped a couple things on his tablet. “You crossed the US border today and came straight here?” “Yeah,” I nodded. “I have it here on your application that you came via portal from the other dimension?” “Yeah,” I nodded. Application? “What was the date of your dimensional entry?” “Uhh…” I blanked on this one. I’d never bothered to ask anyone for the date, and no one had ever told me. “This past July?” I ventured vaguely. The chess tournament had taken place sometime in mid-July, and I knew that the dates were the same here as back home. Agent Schmidt looked at me suspiciously. “You don’t have the exact date?” “Umm… no, sorry.” “Okay, which portal did you go through? The name given by either dimension is fine.” “Uhhh… I…” How am I supposed to name the localized portal that the UN made?! “The UN one?” “What UN one?” “The one the UN made for me?” “What?? How am I supposed to help you if you make up answers to my questions?!” He looked exasperated, and he’d succeeded in scaring me. I started sobbing my heart out for the second time that day. Chapter 10 — Canadian, Eh? Thanks to the tracker I’d put on Izzy, I was able to listen as Agent Schmidt lost it and Izzy began to cry. Thank God I did that. I sighed as I got up and walked to the office. The Little employee tried to stop me, but I flashed my UN credentials and she stepped out of the way. I opened the office’s door to a depressing sight. Izzy was sobbing and the agent had his head in his hands, clearly too inexperienced for the situation at hand. He looked up at me, as if pleading for help, wanting to complain, and feeling guilty all at the same time. I sighed, picked Izzy up, and sat down with her on my lap. Her head nuzzled into my chest and I slipped her paci back into her mouth before gently patting her back to sooth her. “There there, I know you’ve had a tough day, let me handle it from here, eh?” I quietly comforted the poor girl as I slid my credentials across the desk with my free hand. “She’s telling you the truth,” I told Schmidt, turning my gaze back to him. “I was the one that brought her to this dimension. We opened up a localized portal and saved her from drowning. She’s actually right about the UN part; you can just choose ‘Other’ in the list of locations and enter ‘UN’ into the system.” He nodded and quickly did that. “Now, I can tell you’re new to this, so let me remind you of Rule 323 in your handbook. Isabelle here is a Little, obviously, and she has a sponsor, me. That means she can be fast-tracked through the refugee registration process and get her citizenship and passport now. I saw a stack of blanks in the office across the hall.” Schmidt nodded again and asked a few more questions, all of which I answered for Izzy, who’d managed to calm down and stop sniffling. The agent then got a blank passport from the opposing room and uploaded all her documents to it, along with the full-body scans I’d stolen from the orphanage servers. It was safer for Izzy that they didn’t have the scans — one less data leak to worry about. It had been a walk in the park to hack their servers and delete it after my data transfer anyway. It took just a few minutes for the central office in Ottawa to remotely approve and activate Izzy’s new passport, and we were on our way out in no time. I made sure to thank the agent for helping us, as well as the nice Little who’d both let us stay and tried to stop me. People doing their jobs thoroughly were worthy of a pat on the back, even if they got in my way. *** Mike buckled me into the car seat and handed me my passport, which consisted of a rectangle of plastic that looked like a smaller version of Sofia’s phone. “Fanks, Mike, fuh…” I paused to spit the pacifier out, “for that back there. I had no idea you were the one that brought me to this dimension… so umm… thanks… for saving my life.” “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Congrats on becoming Canadian, you deserve it.” I nodded, but one question still burned: “But why did the UN just dump me in a shack in the middle of nowhere?” Mike sighed, “I’m sorry, Izzy. I’m really sorry for what happened to you with Karen. That was our release team’s fault. You were supposed to go to Kate, Karen’s younger, richer and less heartless sister. Unfortunately, she died from a car accident just before you would have, and, well, that wasn’t something anyone expected and Karen ended up getting custody.” And now she’s IN custody. Hehe. “Again, I’m sorry. I never would’ve let that happen had I known. Most of the time the system works, but sometimes it doesn’t, and there’s nothing we can do except try to fix it.” “It’s okay,” I reassured him, “it’s not your fault I guess. The irony though.” “Yeah,” he breathed. “So, you wanna get the full Tims experience to celebrate your new Canadianness or go for drive-thru?” “It’s safe to go in, right?” I needed to be sure. “Yeah, you should be safe, especially since I’ll be there with you.” “Let’s do that then. I’d never been to Canada back home, might as well see it all now?” “Excellent choice,” Mike commended as we pulled up to park in front of the coffee shop. I got the seat straps off and opened the door… and Mike got to my side just in time to catch me from almost falling out! “Easy there, Tiger,” he steadied me and picked me up. “Hmm, I thought those buckles were supposed to be Little-proof?” “I’ve got a knack,” I shrugged. The SUV pipped again as we entered the Tim Hortons. “How is your car locking itself? Bluetooth?” “Yep, it’s a distance measurement feature. It measures the Doppler effect on the Bluetooth signal waves. You know what Doppler is?” “Frequency of the wave changes as the distance changes, right?” “Wow, you’re smart. What would little miss genius like for lunch?” I stared at the expansive menu, not quite sure of what I wanted, as we joined the line to order. “Afternoon folks, what can I get ya?” A robot server asked. “Chicken salad croissant, combo with a large, dark roast, Double Double and a hashbrown, please.” Mike told it, turning to look at me. “I uhh…” I still hadn’t made up my mind yet, but Mike’s meal was sounding pretty good. “I’ll have the same please, but a donut instead of the hashbrown?” “Excellent choice,” the android smiled. “Make her coffee a Small,” Mike interjected. “Sure. How would you like it?” It asked me. “Decaf, three cream, three sugar, please.” “Excellent, what donut would you like?” “This one, please and thank you,” I pointed at a cruller which it fished out with a pair of tongs and put in a paper bag for me. “You’re very welcome, have a seat anywhere and we’ll bring your food over in a moment.” “Decaf?” Mike questioned, sitting me down at a table and then joining me on the other side of it. I noticed that my seat was much taller than his, so the table was the right height for both of us. Quite a clever design. “I drink coffee for the flavor, not the caffeine,” I explained. On a whim I also noted, “That robot was really good at language parsing. And being nice.” “Oh? And I’m not eh?” He kidded and I laughed. “Well you’re not a robot,” I stuck my tongue out at him. “Mmm.” He nodded and continued in a less joking tone, “Welcome to Canada. Most of us — robots and people — are like this: we respect everyone regardless of size. We even have Littles on all levels of government.” “Well I’m liking it. Better than the crap I had to put up with in the States.” “Watch your language!” Mike chastised, making me jump slightly. “There’s kids around,” he reasoned, motioning towards a family of Amazons beside me. I glanced over and spotted the mother shooting daggers at me. “Sorry.” I sheepishly apologized as another robot arrived with our food. “Bon appetit!” It wished, before leaving with an empty tray from the table beside ours. “By the way, Canadians call ‘three cream, three sugar’ ‘Triple Triple’. ‘Double Double’ means two of each and ‘Regular’ means one of each. “Oh… I was wondering what you meant by that.” I was about to dig in when I realized something. “Uhh… Mike?” “What’s up?” “We didn’t pay,” I pointed out matter-of-factly. “We did, it’s automatic. See?” He tapped at the air a few times and suddenly a hologram of the receipt floated in the air in front of me. “Whoa, that’s so cool! Where’s the projector?” “It’s part of my state-of-the-art cyrano.” The hologram disappeared as he showed me a black earpiece that I’d thought was a rather old-fashioned Bluetooth earbud. I nodded and quickly said grace, before grabbing a bite of the croissandwhich. It was really good! The orphanage food I’d been eating had really prepped up my taste buds for all the proper food since my escape. By the time I finished savoring the sandwich bite by bite, Mike had finished his meal. He laughed when I picked up the honey cruller donut with both hands. It was the size of a small cake for me! “What’s the deal with you Littles and your sweets?” He smirked. “All Littles like sweets?” I questioned. “Every single one that I’ve known or heard of.” “Must be some kind of gene or something,” I offered. “Maybe…” When I finished the donut, Mike took all the garbage to the nearby bank of bins and sorted them into some 10 different types. They must really care about the environment here to go through that big of a hassle with their garbage. “C’mon, let’s go. I need to get you some shoes soon, it’s getting tiring holding you!” he remarked while picking me up again. I laughed. “You know, I kinda like it when you carry me around. Nobody’s done that for me in years!” My eyes welled up slightly as I recalled my dad carrying me as a kid when I was too tired to walk, but I shook it off. Enough tears for a day. Mike checked my diaper discreetly and whispered, “You’re soaked, you want changed?” I nodded thanks. Screw Karen, taking away all my potty training like that. *** I brought up Izzy’s situation again on the highway to Vancouver, “Where do you wanna go?” She stopped suckling on the bottle of water I’d given her. “What do you mean?” “Well, you’re no longer an illegal immigrant, you’ve got your passport, you’re a lot safer now. You still wanna come with me, or I can drop you off somewhere?” “I’d be safer with you, right?” “I think so.” “And I’ll still be free to go whenever?” “Of course.” “I’ll stick with you for now then, if that’s okay? It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else in particular to go.” “Absolutely, Izzy, I’m glad that that’s what you want.” “Are you gonna charge me rent or… how’s that gonna work?” “Don’t sweat it. It’s the least I can do for ya after everything that happened. If you get a job someday and you still want to pay me back then… we can cross that bridge when we get there, kay? Right now I don’t want you to worry about a thing.” “Thank you so much Mike. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. People like you in the Railroad are just amazing…” She thinks I’m with the Railroad. Should I tell her? What would her reaction be? She’s already decided to stay with me on her own volition… I mulled over this a bit and decided to keep it to myself for the time being. If she found out somehow, that would be great, but I wouldn’t be the one to tell her. I spent the rest of the drive chatting with Izzy about her home dimension and mine, comparing differences and noting some surprising similarities. She was an amazing person, and she’d been an aspiring chess player, steps away from her GM title, until the unfortunate incident happened. I promised her that I would do my best to find a way for her to play professionally, even though it would probably require pulling a lot of strings. The first step would involve getting her a chess set, so, seeing as she also needed clothes, diapers, shoes, and everything short of furniture in her size, I drove to a massive outlet mall I knew of in Langley. This time Izzy was more careful with her exit, and waited for me to get to her side before getting up from her car seat. She held her arms out to be picked up and I obliged her with a kiss on her forehead. I stuck a finger into her waistband to check her diaper, which earned me an “Eeep!” It was wet again, so I quickly changed her in the back of the car. “This is the last one in your baggie, we definitely need to get you some more, eh?” I noted and was met with bashful nodding. I knew I couldn’t carry both her and everything we were getting, so I made a beeline for the robocarts once we were inside. I double-tapped a black one and it rolled off its charging dock. I set Izzy down in the padded seat behind the basket for unique purchases, set it to follow me autonomously, and headed for the first shop on my cyrano’s list. On our way there, I asked Izzy an important question: “Aside from diapers which you obviously need, are there any other baby-Little things that you want? You seem pretty glued to that paci for instance? It’s perfectly normal for you to be attached to things like that from your time in the US.” I consciously left out the hypnosis she’d been subject to, in hopes of not triggering PTSD. She’d been through enough for one day. She looked a little red faced and quickly spat the paci out, catching it with her hand. “I’m sorta… drawn to these… they’re really soothing for some reason. Bottles as well,” she added reluctantly, “They’re more relaxing to drink out of and next to impossible to spill. I think the addiction might have something to do with getting hypnotized, that’s how I lost my potty training?” “Makes sense. We can do that. You want some more cute clothes too?” “Ooh I got put in these footed sleepers that were so fuzzy and comfortable, I’d love some of those. I actually had one back home too. And I won’t mind some more pretty dresses either!” She smiled at me and I smiled back. “Sure thing, princess.” She was so precious! Chapter 11 — Some Things Can’t Be Bought This Robocart thing — that’s what the sign on the charging dock called it anyway — is so high-tech. I’ve seen similar robots being used to make deliveries and shelve books in libraries, but never as grocery carts. This is genius though. You never have to worry about leaving your cart somewhere and having to find it again, or having to push it through a crowd of people… The size of the basket doesn’t make sense though… Why is it so small? It certainly wouldn’t fit the list of items that Mike mentioned he was buying… Several store employees greeted us with a smile, but they never offered to help us. Soon, I figured out that only the people with red carts got offered help, and I was sitting in a black one. Apparently, Mike didn’t think we needed any help. When we reached the first aisles of items, I noticed something was off immediately. “Uhh Mike? Why are there only demos of everything and no actual stock?” “Oh I can just scan the barcode with my cyrano and it’ll be added to our virtual cart. We’ll pay at checkout and then pick up everything from the dispensary. Here, you wanna help me scan? That should give you something to do other than look around and keep you from being bored to death?” He fished something that looked like a large signet ring out of a pocket and handed it to me. I took the device from him. It was really light and seemed to be made of plastic. “That is such a brilliant idea!” I couldn’t believe that no one in my dimension had thought of this shopping model before. I never liked online shopping because I couldn’t see and feel the actual product. VR previewing was a thing, but that could only go so far. We’d yet to perfect reproducing textures and the feeling of holding a physical sample in your hands with haptic feedback. On the other hand, in-person shopping was slow and frustrating. People spent way too much time getting things off shelves and into their carts, not to mention all the checkout lines. “I know, right? Best of both worlds.” He seemed to be thinking along the same lines. I twirled the ring around my finger. “Kay, how does this work?” “Point the lens at a barcode and press on the back — there’s a pressure switch under the polycarbonate there. The scanner will vibrate every time it reads the code. If we get two of the same item just scan the same thing twice, and so on; one scan per count.” We reached our first stop in an aisle full of all sorts of different diapers, and Mike tossed me a Frozen-3-themed sample, covered in little snowflakes, Elsas, and Annas. I caught it like a frisbee and brushed my fingers over the fabric of the padding. It felt like I was touching a cloud! “Whoa, this is so soft! Makes the ones I’ve been wearing feel like sandpaper.” “MapleLove. It’s a Canadian brand, and we tend to do things right, even if we don’t really advertise that on the international scene. Scan it twice for two cases for now, eh?” He smiled. “Kay,” I nodded. “Oh right, what size are you?” “Err… I’m not sure?” “Okay, stand up and let me check.” I begrudgingly complied and let him lift my dress up to see. It felt like my wet diaper was exposed for the entire world’s viewing pleasure, and I was definitely going to die from embarrassment! “The princess is of size four,” Mike proclaimed in a whisper, chuckling when he saw the color of my face. “What’s wong, pwincess don’t wike her diapees shown off?” I whacked his arm. “Not funny, Mike. You try it sometime.” He smirked and handed me another diaper from the same brand. This one was covered in little translucent robot characters that reminded me of EVE from WALL-E. I didn’t recognize the characters though, so it was probably a Disney movie from this dimension. Hang on… “Why is this one so thick?” “It’s a nighttime diaper. Extra capacity so you don’t leak. One case should be plenty for now, we can always restock online.” I nodded and scanned it. Mike walked over to an adjacent aisle and the robocart followed suit. This one displayed an assortment of pacifiers and bottles. I was seeing more of these today than I’d ever seen in my entire life. “Any in particular that you like?” “Anything but the ones that expand. Those hurt like hell. Also, pink isn’t my color.” He nodded and picked up a Blue/Green/Purple 3-pack and matching bottles. He also grabbed a plaque for a case of wipes and a wipe warmer, something I’d never heard of but he assured me I would love. Just as I finished scanning all of them, I heard a female voice call out. “Mike! Didn’t expect to see you here today. How’s it going?” I looked up and saw a middle-aged Big with a Little in a sling of sorts. “Hey Maria! Going pretty well, yourself?” As she drew closer, she was about to respond when she saw me. “I’m— Oh my gosh, that’s… that’s…” “Isabelle,” Mike helped her out. “What’s going on, Mike? Why is she here?” “I’m just getting her some clothes and stuff. As you know, the release team screwed up and she got messed up pretty badly in the US, but she managed to get to the Railroad. I met her at the border. The paperwork is all done, I sponsored her and she’s Canadian now,” he smiled. “Wow, I’m glad you’re okay. Maria Torelli, I’m the physician on Mike’s team at the DRC.” She repositioned the sling and reached out her hand, and I grasped it in an awkward handshake. Our hands had so much of a size difference that I would have done better shaking only a finger or two! “This is Michelle, my adopted Little girl— Ooh! Hi snookums! You’re awake!” She looked down and gave Michelle her full attention, gently playing with her for a moment and then sitting her up. I took the opportunity to give Mike an uncomfortable look. He seemed to understand why, and put his hand reassuringly on my shoulder. “Ask her about it.” “Umm… Maria? No offence, but I thought adoptions were illegal here?” She looked back at me and lightly bounced Michelle, who had her thumb in her mouth and was cooing softly. “None taken. In the vast majority of situations, yes. So don’t worry, Mike can’t adopt you, even if you wanted him to, which I very much doubt.” She paused and he chuckled. “But special cases are granted for the few regressed Littles that somehow end up in Canada. Usually it only happens when an adoptive parent in the US screws up somehow, and the Railroad rescues the Little. It’s really a needle in a haystack though. Unfortunately Michelle’s regression was clinically proven to be irreversible, so she’s stuck like this for the rest of her life.” “Fortunately for her, I love her very very much, and I take very good care of her,” she told Michelle friskilly with a kiss. The Little girl in her arms just stared blankly into the distance with empty eyes and a blissful smile. I could tell that she was just a shell of a body, with no personality, no thoughts, and barely any consciousness. It was as if her brain was disconnected with reality. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Maria does seem to love and care about her though. Somewhere in my subconscious, a sliver of envy panged at just how much love Michelle was getting. Having always been the mushy, clingy one in the family, and ridiculed for it, I was a sucker for affection. Mike had definitely given me plenty with his hugs and kisses, especially considering we’d literally met less than 16 hours ago, but a little part of me couldn’t help but crave more of that. Just thinking about it made me feel fuzzy and warm. “Well, we’d better get going, this one needs her diapee changed.” She remarked. Turning to me, she continued, “Looking like you could use one yourself, eh?” The fuzziness dissipated and the warmth relocated to my face at her remark. I wanted to dig a hole and jump into it! I took a sharp breath, but got it together enough to wave goodbye to Michelle as Mike said “See ya!” and Maria disappeared down another aisle. Mike then turned to move to the adjacent store, and the robocart trailed him. From a quick history lesson Mike gave me on the spot, this one seemed to be this dimension’s version of Oshkosh. I cringed a bit at that, but I did ask for cute clothes, and beggars couldn’t be choosers, so I kept my complaints to myself. We found the toddler footwear section, where a friendly sales associate measured my feet to ascertain my new shoe size. Once Mike entered it into his cyrano, I scanned a pack of cute animal socks and another pack of normal pastel colored ones. In the same section, we also picked up a pair of sandals, sneakers to which Mike hilariously referred as “running shoes”, and some cute and furry booties that looked like a pair of little kittens. They were all adorably brightly colored and adorned with cute designs, but a distinctive compass icon on each of them caught my eye. Mike saw me fingering the icon patch on the sandals after I’d scanned them, and explained, “It means they come with GPS tracking tags. It’s a really common feature used to prevent children from getting lost. You can hardly find any kids’ shoes without them these days. We can always disable them or even rip the chips out altogether if you’d like, but I don’t think we’ll find any shoes here that fit you and come without ’em.” In an adjacent section, we found racks of dresses, onesies, rompers, and footed sleepers of various designs and sizes. It turned out that clothes shopping was exactly like back home, since there were several duplicates of each of the hundreds of styles, with retail tags on them. So that explained the robocart basket. Mike grabbed several dresses and sleepers that caught my eye for me. The adorable toddler and fashionable adult dress designs from this dimension both looked amazing, and I could see myself wearing just about anything on the racks. Just to be safe though, I did also get Mike to find me some plain jeans and t-shirts. We headed for the fitting rooms, where I tried on my selections and modeled a few for Mike. He cracked up when I put on a unicorn-themed dress, complete with a matching glittering horn headband. I also had to enlist his help with some of the designs that zipped up the back, which I felt were a pain and decided not to get, even though they looked really cute! I was still very unused to being in a fitting room with another person, even though said person had literally changed my diaper several times by then. It was just something I hadn’t done since I was a little girl. Guess I AM one again. Honestly, I’m still not sure how I feel about that. Thankfully, Mike had the same basic fashion sense as me, so we went through the giant pile of clothes in record time. After trying everything on, I made a few edits to my selections and scanned everything. Mike then put the clothes in the robocart’s basket. On our way out of the store, he took a detour through the stuffed animal section. “Anything you’d like here? Plenty of adults have giant plushies… I may or may not have one myself,” he smiled and gave me a playful wink. “Hmm…” What the heck. Might as well go all the way and splurge on my cuddling desires. “Can I have a dolphin?” I pointed at a pile of them, each one the same size as me. “Sure, princess. It’s your middle name, right?” He grabbed one and set it in the basket. “Well my middle name’s supposed to be the title of the crown prince of France, but it does have multiple meanings, so sure.” After I scanned the stuffies, we proceeded to an IKEA-like store on the other side of the mall. There, Mike had me scan everyday things like cutlery, a sonic teeth cleaner, a desk and chair, and a bed, none of which he had in my size. When he asked if I wanted a crib or a regular bed, I told him about how much I hated the stupid cribs at the orphanage for how prison-esque they felt and how I relished my freedom. For the same reason, I went with a booster seat instead of a highchair for meals. Having spent the past few weeks under almost suffocating restrictions, I didn’t want any more. Mike even managed to find a chessboard for me. When he claimed that he’d beat me with it, I giggled, knowing that, unless he’d somehow left out crazy secrets about who he was, he stood no chance. Our final stop was a Best-Buy-like store called Motherboards. Mike looked like he was giddy with excitement as soon as he stepped foot inside. He was definitely as much a tech fan as I was, if not more so. I couldn’t help but get hyped when I saw the crazy specs of everything, and I literally drooled at the insane hardware that they had. I could easily spend a whole day in this store, but Mike seemed to know what he was looking for. He waved off an overeager sales rep trying to be helpful and made a beeline for a section labelled ‘Displays and Peripherals’. He double-checked something with a sales rep there that I didn’t quite understand, and scanned the items himself with his cyrano. When I asked him what he got, he just smiled and said I’d find out soon. I was exhausted, so I didn’t push the matter. Mike took a left out of Motherboards and led us back to the mall entrance where we’d come in from. There, he showed me how the mall’s centralized checkout system worked. It turned out to be exactly like shopping on Amazon, less the shipping selections, since we were collecting the items right there. When the payment went through, an employee walked us to a receiving bay, where an autonomous flatbed robocart laden with everything we’d purchased met us. The employee checked over everything with Mike, and he confirmed receipt by scanning his cyrano. With that done, they thanked each other and Mike headed for the SUV, where he transferred everything except my dolphin to the trunk. Mike then picked me up, handed it to me, and pressed a button on both carts to automatically return them. Mike tore open a case of diapers and a pack of wipes. He changed me on the backseat before disposing of the used diaper in a nearby trash receptacle. The MapleLove indeed felt amazing. I could hardly even tell it was there, if not for the slight warmth and the bulk. Mike buckled me into my car seat. At that point, I had the first real chance that day to process the sensory overload. Nothing else demanded my attention. My head hurt from all the incredibly convoluted feelings I had, even as I felt content that I had no immediate worries. I abhorred whoever destroyed Michelle with fiery disgust. I pitied the poor girl. I was grateful that Maria had stepped up and shown her love that was as unconditional as a human could give. I still had a twinge of disbelief that I’d managed to escape, and a panging guilt that my friends were trapped in the orphanage. I was hopeful for my future, grateful for Mike’s kindness, captivated by all the futuristic tech in this dimension, and thankful that God hadn’t forsaken me. Above all, there hung an overarching exhaustion from the day’s events. Fatigue soon enveloped me. Hugging my dolphin, pacifier bobbing in and out of my mouth in tune with my gentle breathing, I drifted off to a peaceful sleep and the land of carefree, uncomplicated dreams. End of Part 1 =========================================================== Thanks for reading Part 1 of my story! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing. You can find Part 2 in the original thread linked below, being posted a chapter a week! Please leave a like and a comment, it means the world to me!

Hi everyone. I don't know if this is really going to be any good, but I have been working on it for a while and I wanted to share it with other ABDLs. If you want to support the Academy stories (there's gonna be a few, I hope!) or get early access to chapters, please go to this Patreon link. It should explain things a little better. Oh and please tell me what you think in the comments! ~Mia~ -------------------- Academy I By Mia Moore "Fear not the star, but the magician that sets it in the sky." -The Source Chapter One Ai Sinclair pressed her back to the tree, gasping for air. Her lungs burned from the inside. The cold November air made her hairs stand on end, even as sweat matted her bangs to her forehead. She turned her head around the trunk of the tree to see the two men in black coats walking toward her. She had to keep running. In a quarter mile, there should be a gas station. She could call the police. With another deep breath, she ran onward through shrubbery and dodging tree branches. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she burst through the tree line and found herself in an expansive parking lot. The lights of the gas station in front of her glowed in the twilight. She took off toward the door as fast as she could. Freedom was behind an automated door, in the hands of an underpaid worker behind a pane of bulletproof glass and only fifty feet away. Forty five feet. And then Ai's feet gave way as the jolt of electricity tore through her spine and seized her muscles up, stopping her in her tracks. The momentum carried her forward, and she skinned her knees on the asphalt of the parking lot. Like wolves circling their fallen prey, the two men in black coats approached and orbited their quarry, one with his hand to an earpiece in his left ear while the other scanned a full perimeter for anybody who might have witnessed. The distant sound of a car engine grew closer. Ai climbed to her hands and knees, but her body twitched uncontrollably. Even if she could force herself to stand up, she wasn't sure she could stay that way. The parking lot around her swayed in her vision and she started to crawl toward the gas station doors. "H-help! Someone!" Ai's voice was harsh in quiet evening air. A man picked Ai up from the ground and stuffed her through the side door of a large approaching van. He slid the door closed behind her, and the van continued like it had never stopped. Though the two men stayed behind in the parking lot, there were several more waiting in the back of the van. The tingling subsided quickly in Ai's fingers and toes. She dove at the door to escape, but two more men held her back as the van sped down the street and toward the freeway. "Let me go! You'll go to prison if you do this! You'll get caught! You won't get away with it!" Nobody said a word to her; the four men all wore dark black slacks with long black coats. They had shaved bald heads and ear pieces in their left ears. It was definitely a uniform, and this was definitely an organized operation. Two of the men forced Ai to the floor of the van and clicked restraints around her wrists and ankles that had been bolted to the frame of the van. As Ai pulled on the restraints, she started to panic. No matter how she thrashed and kicked, she couldn't break free. Every bump the van hit send shivers up her back and it was starting to give her a headache. "Lemme go... please, let me go. I don't know what you want, but... but you can have anything, okay? I don't have much, but... but my purse has some cash, and..." Tears were forming in her eyes. "Please let me go, please..." The movements of the men were methodical, directed, rehearsed and practiced. Ai's begging changed from sobbing words to muffled sounds as a colorful pacifier was pushed between her lips and held in place. A slight burning stung her lips as the glue bonded, and the then a creamy liquid began to ooze across her tongue from the nipple of the pacifier. Ai’s struggles started to fade. The ceiling of the van had colored lights inside, and the frosted glass made them look fuzzy, and pretty, and so very interesting. Her arms felt heavy, her legs felt heavy, her head felt heavy. But she wasn't tired; she was fascinated. It was okay to be fascinated, wasn't it? To find something beautiful in a time like this? Her skin tingled on the outside like her insides had when she'd been electrocuted. Somewhere far far away from her, she could feel herself being undressed. Ai looked up at the brown-haired woman towering over her with a warm smile on her lips. She was wearing a white coat and a pair of thick rimmed glasses. Ai tried to talk, but the bulb between her lips kept her quiet. She reached up to take it out, but her shaking hand couldn't pry the pacifier from her mouth. Where was she? How had she gotten here? Who was this woman? She had only questions, and no means to ask them. The room wasn't strictly clinical, that much was obvious. She was lying on a soft bed, surrounded by soft lighting, an extra and unexplained softness between her thighs, and a soft smile on the woman's lips. "Easy there, munchkin. Try not to move too much now, not while you're still coming to." Ai tried to tug harder on the pacifier, but each tug only pulled at her lips, dripping more tiny droplets of creaminess onto her tongue. The more she defied, the more hopeless she felt. "I'll be happy to remove your binkie, but you need to promise you'll be good for me. Do you promise?" Binkie? Ai furrowed her brow in confusion and looked down at her outfit. She couldn't see the pacifier between her lips, but she could see the rest of it. A pink t-shirt with frills around the hem and puffy sleeves. And no pants. More importantly, a diaper between her legs. It was huge, big enough to fit an adult, but the prints along the plastic had baby blocks and teddy bears. A fresh panic filled Ai's chest, but the woman pushed on the front of the pacifier. A few extra drops of creamy liquid spread across Ai's tongue and her anxiety ebbed away. "Like any adjustment, this is going to take time. It's going to be scary at times, but the better you behave, the sooner it's going to become easy, and then normal. You can fight every step of the way, or you can lean into the help provided and be a good girl. Either way, the destination will be the same - only your journey will change." As she spoke, the woman's voice betrayed more of an accent than it first seemed - something South African, perhaps? Friendly, with compressed inflections. Ai had no idea what she was talking about. What journey? What destination? Why was she dressed like an overgrown baby, and why was she kidnapped in the first place?! Ai wasn't special; she was almost too ordinary. She dropped out of college in her second year and worked as an assistant manager at a grocery store. She had less than a thousand dollars in her bank account and she shared an apartment with her fiancé. Her fiancé! She tugged again at the pacifier, a fresh panic filling her up. She had to know he was okay! "My, you have quite the resistance," the woman said with a curiosity. She pushed the front of the pacifier again and Ai's eyes began to droop. Each time she swallowed droplets of the creamy liquid, Ai felt like waves were pulling her back under the water when she was so close to shore. What was this? Where was she? Who was this woman? Diaper. She was wearing a diaper. She was wearing pretty, soft clothes. Kidnapped. She'd been kidnapped. She tried to blink away the waves, but they were so strong. "I have a feeling you're going to be a troublesome little fighter, aren't you, dear?" The woman stepped out. Out? Ai looked around the room, but there weren't any doors or windows. She stumbled to her feet and almost instantly crashed into the floor. Her body felt so weak, like she hadn't eaten in days. She sucked the pacifier and found an ounce of comfort; a remnant association she had as a baby. She was so hungry. "Oh, did we have an oopsie daisy?" The woman returned, like she'd never left, like she'd always been here. She was dressed in a different top; how long had she been gone? She knelt down next to Ai and reached one hand down between the clumsy girls legs; a motion so smooth and simple that it almost wasn't humiliating except for all the ways that it was. Her fingers slipped into the legband of the diaper and she felt for a moment before pulling them away. Ai Sinclair had just had her diaper checked. "Well, you're not wet. You've become such a heavy wetter in your time here." Truth or lies, who could say? Ai couldn't remember a thing and this woman could have told her anything. Heavy wetter? Time here? Ai had only just arrived! Or at least, that's what she thought. She tried to ask a question, but the pacifier was still firmly glued between her lips. "I bet you're hungry, though." Ai's attention was pulled away from her thoughts and into reality. Food? Her heart raced and her eyes betrayed her excitement. The woman smiled knowingly. "Come over here, dear," the woman was motioning to a very comfortable looking chair on the left hand side of the room, wide enough to accommodate perhaps more than one person. Ai was wearing the same clothes. The same pink shirt. The same blocks and teddy bears on her diaper. She couldn't be exactly sure it was the same diaper, but she wouldn't even consider the alternative. Ai tried to get to her feet, which failed spectacularly. Her knees were trembling and she felt lightheaded. How long had it been since they fed her? Or was the meal at the restaurant the last time she ate? "If you don't come here," the woman told her, "you won't get dinner." Ai's hunger outweighed her pride. She shuffled on her hands and knees across the room, trying her best not to faint. It felt like a strong breeze could knock her out. Finally, she reached the woman's feet and tried again to stand. The woman watched Ai’s attempt to stand, and rather than be disparaging, she was encouraging and supportive. "There you go, dear, you almost have it. Let Nana help." Nana? Ai barely had a chance to register that title before she was lifted up off the floor. She sat dumbfounded on a grown woman's lap, wearing a diaper and a short baby tee. Never in a million years did she think this was where she would be. Never in a million years did she think she would do it so willingly. "I'm going to take the pacifier out of your mouth," Nana said softly. "But if you say even a single word, I will put it back in. I will stop feeding you and you'll go hungry." Ai's stomach sank. No words? But she had so many questions... "I need you to nod your head, dear. Nodding yes and shaking no are the only answers you're allowed. Do you understand?" With a pensive pause, and a groan in her stomach, Ai nodded her head once. Simple. One nod. Nana unbuttoned her jacket, with revealed a series of pockets, and from one pocket she reached in and took what looked much like a marker of some description. Using one finger to hold the pacifier, she used her other hand to run the marker around the edges and after a moment, she pulled the pacifier free. Ai looked up at Nana with annoyance. She had a thousand things on the tip of her tongue. Questions, expletives, statements of fact. The most pressing was, of course: I'm not a baby! But the threat of the pacifier loomed heavily over her, like a guillotine. If she didn't get some food in her, she would pass out. So Ai swallowed her pride and didn't say a word. A blush of embarrassment covered her cheeks. "There's a good girl. You’re learning so well this time." Before that bit of pageantry could sink in too deeply, Nana pulled a jar from inside of her coat and began to unscrew the lid. It looked, through the glass, like the consistency of apple sauce. Or baby food. Dark in color, not the most pleasant looking. Or smelling. Or tasting. And that was the point, wasn't it? It would be this or nothing. And gosh was it a large jar. Ai opened her mouth in protest, but she stopped herself before a word escaped her lips. Even as the sickly stale smell of mashed vegetables filled the air, her stomach growled. If she turned her nose up at this, would Nana give her something else? Probably not. And she was so hungry... "Open wide. Ahhh." Ai shot Nana a sour look as the woman tried feeding Ai with a baby spoon shaped like an airplane. Whatever fucked up place she was stuck in, their intentions were plain: to Nana, Ai was supposed to be a baby. "Unless you'd rather not eat?" Nana tested. With reluctance, Ai opened her mouth. There was nothing quite comparable in consistency to the food that Ai was forced to swallow; thick, inconsistent, like lumpy mashed potato with an earthy, pungent taste. Her mouth pursed in disgust as she mulled it over, needing to mash it up some before she could swallow it. She resolved absolutely never to eat another bite - it wasn't worth it. As she swallowed, though, her mouth tingled pleasantly in the same way that it does after a spicy dish; a humming, buzzing, happy tingling. A heavy sated feeling in her stomach, a warmth. A more-ish feeling. An association building method. Nana smiled, and waited, filling another spoonful. Ai was still so hungry. Even if she hated the food, she had to have another bite. She needed the energy! And before she knew it, Ai had finished off the whole jar of baby food. Her stomach rumbled happily, but she could eat more. Still, Ai hadn't said a single word to Nana. "Wasn't that lovely?” Nana asked. Ai said nothing. "Nod your head, dear. Would you like another? You were such a good little girl, after all, and if you keep being good you can have more." Ai was still hungry, but she had some of her strength back. More importantly, Nana's words were grating at her, like the screeching of nails on a chalkboard. She couldn't take it anymore. "I'm not a baby, you know! You can't keep me here. My family is going to miss me. My fiancé. They probably already know I'm gone! You have to let me go!" Nana allowed Ai to finish her rambling sentiments, and gave her the kind of disappointed look that all children knew from the youngest possible age meant that they'd screwed up. Ai felt her stomach sink and steeled herself. She had to keep going. She had to get through to Nana. "Why are you doing this to me? I don't have any money. I don't have anything! I need to call my fiancé, right now. He's going to worry! Please, let me call him. Please..." Nana reached into her pockets and pulled out a second jar - this one had a mush inside of it that was the most unnaturally looking shade of pink imaginable; like nothing in the world existed in that particular color. She said nothing to Ai, and shook her head slowly. "No, I don't want more food, please, I just want to call my—" Ai was caught by surprise at the spoonful of pink mush pressed into her mouth. She shook her head, now, trying to pull away, to clamp her mouth shut, to keep from eating more, from swallowing, but it was already just a little too late. Her eyelids drooped and she giggled. And swallowed. "Um..." She titled her head, trying to cling onto thoughts, onto protests. "My fi, my fee... fian... fiance, um..." "Is going to think you're the most darling little girl he's ever seen, dear." Ai looked conflicted, like she knew those words weren’t true but wasn't sure why she knew that. She opened her mouth, and swallowed more of the pink food, her cheeks rosy red. "The food, uh, um…" "Is delicious," Nana provided an answer, and added: "It's your favorite." "It's my favorite..." Ai mulled over those words, like she was the last to know. Ai fumbled for words, for thoughts, for something to ground her. But every time she tried to say something, Nana would finish her sentences. Nana's words became the ground, and Ai was glued to them. "I'm not..." "A big girl anymore." Another spoonful. "Please, let me..." "Have another bite." Another spoonful. Soon the jar was gone and Ai couldn't think clearly. Little laughs escaped her lips and she smiled dumbly at her caregiver. "You're going to be filling your diaper soon, dear. You’re so excited, I know you are. You want Nana to hold you in her lap while you do, and bounce you a little bit after, maybe? And then you always did love it when Nana changes you." These words should have set off alarm bells in Ai's head, but they didn't - like someone had cut the wire to the sirens, and a little red light flashing was all that remained; and even then, Nana kept Ai’s gaze away from it. "I... uh..." Ai nodded along, but she wasn't sure what she was agreeing to. The food she was given would definitely have some desired effects, but it could take anywhere from an hour to four hours to do so. The pink food would wear off long before then. It was important Ai was fully aware of herself as she surrendered her control.

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

Curse of the Crinkle Crate Composed by Horatio Husky Featuring and Commissioned by Kazard the Fox! Chapter 1 The Box I… Want… Couch Time… Now… were the thoughts of a certain blonde-haired fox, as he absentmindedly fumbled with the keys to his small, cozy home. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyelids half open in a vacant stare as he maneuvered his key into the lock of his front door. The day had been absolutely miserable, all of his clients had been in a bad temper when he spoke with them about their problems, and one of them even seemed to believe that the fox didn’t really know what he was doing. Of course, he knew what he was doing! He’d graduated top of his class by no small miracle, the fox was very talented at his work, but the lack of appreciation and frustration that was thrust upon him by his clients was not something studying could have prepared him for. At last, the key turned, and the door swung wide open, shouldering his bag he strode inside and carelessly dropped it in the front hallway, kicking off his shoes and closing the door behind him with a click, locking it once more. Give… Me… That… Couch… thought the fox once more, as he strode into his living room. However, his couch did not seem to be on the agenda just yet, for the fox almost tripped over a wooden box in the center of the room. Kaz was taken aback, how had this gotten in his home? He didn’t remember lugging a rather plain, heavy looking wooden box into his home. Its dimensions were around two feet by two feet, and a foot and a half tall. Kneeling down, his tail now twitching with apparent interest and curiosity he inspected it closer to find that its lid was hinged, with the front opening to the container facing towards him. What on earth… Did somebody break in and leave this here? He thought to himself, as he reached forward with a paw and tentatively opened the strange box. The lid thumped onto his carpet as he gazed into what was held within the strange item, and was even more confused to see that the box only contained two items in it. A thick square of plastic upon closer inspection Kaz found to be a white, adult diaper, and a note next to it, written in fancy cursive. He picked it up, his eyebrows furrowing as he perused through a short poem, a strange feeling of warmth he didn’t recognize bubbling up in his insides as he did so. For a year and a day obedient shall you be, To the rules and whims of the box at your knee, Letters and rules shall be provided from these wooden confines, Giving you instructions, tasks, items, and lines, And lest you not listen to my behest, Shall you not have your day-to-day be the best! For control and independence are no longer yours From now you’ll always be clad in diapers! Diapers? Control? Is this all some sort of prank that got delivered into my house that one of my friends managed to sneak in? He turned the note over and found that more was written on the back of it, this time not in the mysterious cursive font as on the front. The rules are simple, Kazard. For a year and a day you will be completely unable to control your bladder nor your bowel, making it that at any time whatsoever, you will completely and utterly mess and wet yourself anywhere you are. Within this box, you will find your solution to this new conundrum in your life, which you have agreed to participate in by opening this box. Whenever you open this box you will be supplied with plain white diapers perfectly matched to handle whatever punishment you give them. It is recommended that you also invest in other supplies related to padding, such as powder and anti-rash cream, but those are up to your discretion. You may try and not wear your diapers, but you will find that it is wiser to comply with the rules and keep yourself nice and secure; your continence will not return either if you do not obey the rules set before you. If you wish to communicate with the box, you must do so through a bargain written on a note to express your wishes. However, be warned: the box is liable to interpret and balance any request or boon as it wishes if whatever you offer is not of equal value, so it may be wisest to obey as instructed and keep yourself diapered at all times of the day, otherwise, the consequences will be severe. With that, we hope you enjoy your next trip around the sun padded up! This has to be a joke… Boxes that interpret poetry and supply diapers whenever opened? This isn’t even a funny prank, this is pathetic. The fox dropped the diaper and note back into the box with contempt, what a stupid thing to waste his time with. He got up, the couch now forgotten as his stomach rumbled its hunger aloud to the room. He padded over to the kitchen, turning the kettle on and rummaging through his dry food cabinet, retrieving a large bag of chips. He held the bag in his maw as he stretched, reaching up to the higher shelf to grab himself a chocolate bar. It was just out of his reach, and he strained, leaning against the counter to support his weight as he grasped after his sweet. The counter must have been wet, however, for he looked down as he felt something damp against him. The bag of chips dropped out of his mouth and onto the counter below him. The counter hadn’t been wet, no. It was he who had gotten wet.

Gosh I feel like it's been months since I finished posting Academy I. I'm sorry for the delay on starting this one. I have a few chapters ready to go, but I hope to do a lot more over winter break. Anyway... If you haven't read Academy I, I recommend you read that one first. I don't think it's strictly necessary though? I'm trying to write these as individual narratives, but it will definitely benefit the reader to have some information from A:I. Oh and again. If you want to support me, there's a Patreon link you can go to. Thanks for reading and leaving comments and stuff. ~Mia~ ---------------------------- Academy B By Mia Moore "True judgement does not use balanced scales, for the fool’s pockets have been filled with many of the devil’s stones." -The Source Chapter One Bala Khatri woke up to stark, bright lights. They glared off the shiny walls, ceiling, and floor. The room was big and shadowless, stretching an impossible distance. As Bala's eyes adjusted, she caught sight of something else: a person. But as she approached, she found that she was looking in a mirror. Bala was still dressed in scrubs from her night shift at the hospital. She was on her way back to her car when the van pulled up. She had managed to mace one of the suited men, but the other hit her hard across the face. In the mirror, there was swelling along her jawline. Where was she now? A pit the size of a melon sat in her stomach, sprouting dread, demanding that she shout out at the empty room with the shiny walls. To threaten them. To deny them. To appeal to them. To beg to them. Bala was no stranger to the perils of being a young woman who worked long hours and late nights in the city. She rubbed her fingers up her arms and found herself shivering. Cold? Scared? Bala quickly realized the room wasn't as big as she thought: the mirror was causing a lot of the distortion. She worked her way around the brightly lit room until she found a handle to a door, though the door blended in so much it was hard to notice. Bala tried the handle, but it didn't turn. "Damnit..." She fished through her pockets for her cell phone, but it wasn't there. The ID tag on her waist wasn't there either. "My family has no money," Bala called out, the echo of her voice eerily flat against the walls of the room. "If it’s a ransom you're hoping for, you might as well kill me now. I’m sure my organs are worth more to you." Always the pragmatist. Nobody responded. Maybe they were organ harvesters, though - it would explain why it felt like a refrigerator in there. Bala kicked at the door, but she wasn't the strongest woman in the world. She wasn't the biggest, either. She knew her way around a can of pepper spray, but that wasn't going to help her in here. Why would someone kidnap her? Was it a sex thing? Bala stepped away from the door and paced around the room. She rubbed her bare arms, hugging herself tightly. It felt colder and colder the longer she was awake. "Sit down," a voice said, filling the room with a soft echo. It was neither masculine nor feminine, and didn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular. Bala looked around for the source of the voice, but there was nobody else in the room with her. No cameras. No speakers. Not that she could find with her eyes, anyway. Had she imagined the command? "I won’t," she replied, in defiance. The voice didn't repeat itself. And for the next ten minutes, Bala was left to her thoughts and her own preponderances. Gosh it was cold. Colder with every passing moment. "Sit down." The voice repeated. "Tell me why you're doing this!" No response. Bala took a deep breath and saw the air in front of her nose. Was it really that cold in here? She was shivering in place. "Please... I have a family. I have a daughter. She's two years old. She needs her mother!" Bala didn't have a family. She didn't have a daughter. She had a mom who visited once a week and a roommate she had known for two years. She had a lot of friends at work, people who would quickly realize she was missing. Bala was never late to work. There was no response. No amount of impassioned pleas, truthful or not, seemed to impact the disembodied voice. She shivered, rubbed her arms, and paced the room. "Sit down." It had to be pre-recorded, didn't it? Bala had been trying to time the intervals between the commands, and they seemed roughly similar. But they were so far apart that she couldn’t compare the inflections or tones. Was it a person? Reluctantly, she shouted at the ceiling. "If I sit down, will you turn up the heat please? I'm going to get hypothermia, you know?" Not yet. It wasn't cold enough yet. But it was cold enough that she kept clenching her swollen jaw. No response. Bala did her best to hold out hope for a crack, an edge, something to grab onto verbally. But if the voice was truly a recording, her shouting would get her nowhere. So when it next repeated: "Sit down." She sat down. Immediately, the space on the floor where she sat began to glow a soft red. Bala nervously examined the room, pressing her palms to the floor. It was giving off heat, like a space heater. She wondered if the rest of the room was warming up, or if it was only the glowing spot. And why did they want her to sit down? Was it just a display of power? "I'm sitting now, what do you want?" There was no reply from the voice. It was American; she had figured that much out. And if she had to guess, it repeated about every ten minutes. Would it give her another command in ten minutes, then? Experimentally, she reached as far as she could, in each direction, and found the floor only to be warm on the tile where she was sitting. The room was still cold, but the warmth travelled well up her body and it left her feeling... comfortable. As comfortable as she could be, sitting on a hard floor in a freezing room, ordered around by a disembodied voice after being kidnapped. "Put your thumb in your mouth and keep it there." What? Bala thought. Why? "I'm not putting my thumb in my mouth," Bala said to no one in particular. "What is this all about? Are you trying to humiliate me or something? That isn't happening!" No response. No anything. So Bala sat quietly with her arms crossed, soaking in the heat of the tile beneath her. Then, ten minutes later, the tile turned off. The heat vanished, and the voice repeated itself. "Put your thumb in your mouth and keep it there." "No, I..." Bala was smart enough to have a preschool understanding of cause and effect. She needed to follow the directions, or the room was going to stay cold. On top of that, there was the faintest breeze of frigid, icy air. They were making the room colder? Because she hadn't obeyed? The voice repeated itself three more times. Bala found the corner of the room by the mirror and balled herself together as tight as she could, knees to her chest and arms tucked into her shirt. The air in the room was biting; no matter how she tried, she couldn't stop shaking. It was definitely below freezing, and her head was starting to hurt. “Put your thumb in your mouth and keep it there." What did it matter? It was one stupid thing. It wasn't even that embarrassing, if she thought about it. People suck their thumbs. It wasn't weird. So with a bit of hesitation, she put her thumb in her mouth and kept it there. The moment that she did, she could feel the spreading warmth beneath her on the floor. It was like slipping under a blanket in the middle of winter. It was like a hug at the end of a twenty-hour double shift at the hospital. Bala shivered, but this time it wasn't because of the cold. She had her thumb in her mouth, sure. But so what? The whole experience was exhausting for Bala. Every time she tried to fight, it got colder. Then she was sitting in the corner of a room and sucking her thumb. Worse yet, she knew the voice would continue to demand things from her. Whatever their goal was, it wouldn't end with thumbsucking. "Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep." Bala sighed and looked down at the floor as the voice gave her a new command. What was she supposed to do with that? What kind of command was 'go to sleep' when you're a literal kidnapping victim? But she also knew she had little choice in the matter. "I need to use the bathroom." To her surprise, the voice responded right away with a new command. "Do not speak unless spoken to." It responded to her? Then they could hear her. She took her thumb out of her mouth and tried to get to her feet. "Please let me out! I'll do anything you want, just let me out of here!" Maybe it was the standing up. Maybe it was taking her thumb out of her mouth. Maybe it was talking without a prompt. Whatever it was, the heat started to vanish from the spot where she was standing. In a fury, Bala went over to the door and tugged at the handle, kicking the tiled walls. "Let me out! I know you can hear me! Let me out! Whatever you want from me, I don't care, I'll play along, just let me out!" Bala kicked at the door and screamed at the room for nine minutes, until the original command repeated itself. "Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep." "Fuck you!" The room was getting cold again. Bala could see her breath and her arms were covered in goosebumps. What was she supposed to do? Give up? "I'm not going to do it! I'm not going to listen! I'll freeze my butt off before I listen to you again, unless you get in here and talk to me. Or… or let me out. I don't care!" Bala was short of breath and sucking on icy oxygen that hurt her lungs. She paced the room, trying to keep warm. She tucked her arms back into her shirt and shook her head side to side. Stay moving. Keep active. But by the time the voice repeated the command - "Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep." - Bala was struggling to breathe. It felt like the air around her was full of glass. Her heart was hurting and she could read the signs of hypothermia. The temperature in the room was clearly below freezing. If she didn't warm up soon, she could have liver or kidney problems. With an angry whimper, she sat back down on the floor - in the center of the room - and put her thumb in her mouth. No warmth. No warmth. What was she doing wrong? The words played back in her head so readily. Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep. Sleep. Lay down. Rest. Sleep. Thumb in mouth. She shivered, sucking on her thumb to keep from biting it off, and laid down on the floor. The tile started to glow and warm air radiated from it. Bala had stars in the edges of her vision. She continued to tremble on the warm tile for many minutes later, but soon the heat filled her up. The warm spot on the floor was so refreshing, so relaxing... a haven amidst the tundra around her. Her body began to relax, allowing her aching muscles a reprieve. She sucked softly on her thumb and let sleep take her away from that awful, awful place.

Hey! Welcome to the Lovington Effect. I hope you stick around for awhile. While writing Without Merit, I thought of a prequel for my prequel even though there isn't a sequel, or an actual story for that matter. However, Lover Boy takes place in the 1980s, and it was supposed to be a one-shot, then the music took over. And entirely different story came out. A warning though. This story is rougher than Without Merit, and is a lot darker. It also contains frequent mentions of a sexual assault. If that is big concern to you, there are other great stories on this site. All characters are over eighteen. Thanks for reading. 1: Private Eyes 2: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun 3: Every Breath you Take... 4: ... I'll be Watching You 5: You Spin me Round (Like a Record) 6: The Voice Beyond the Mirror 7: Total Eclipse of the Heart 8: The New Forever 9: The Baby Shower ————————- Lover Boy 1988 Part 1: Private Eyes Every girl in Lovington knew about Beau Taylor. He was a walking, talking cautionary tale; all too similar to Icarus, fly too close to his hotness and your heart was sure to melt. Senior quarterback for the varsity football team, muscular build, tight denim jeans. Notorious bad boy with good hair. What was there not to like? He had bedded a good number of the girls in school, and a good number of girls outside of school as well. No one from the female persuasion was safe from the ‘Lover Boy’. The upperclassmen hung out on the lawn after the final bell, finding spots among the green grass, on the side of the concrete stairs, or beneath the shade of a half a dozen oak trees that lined the side of the school. The football players laid claim to a grassy knoll that overlooked the parking lot. From their high perch, they would catcall and wolf-whistle at all the girls. Appreciating the angry looks from mothers and fathers who happened to pick up their blushing virginal daughters from high school. Beau found his friends already there, laid about the ground, lounging and laughing. His best friend, Sherrod, sat taller between a pair of reclining oversized humans known as offensive linemen, Monster and Handley. Sherrod was an incredible athlete like Beau, they shared the backfield as quarterback and running back. They also shared the same outfit that day. Black shirt, blue jeans and denim jacket, down to the same bright red Converse shoes. Beau slapped the back of his black friend to grab his attention, catching Sherrod by surprise. Loudly announcing his presence with, “How are you three queers doing?” The three supposed ‘queers’ laughed as they exchanged special handshakes without leaving the ground. Monster looked up and asked, “What’s up, Beau?” “Nothing besides my dick.” The quarterback handled his crotch through his jeans. They all laughed again. “No, seriously man,” Beau continued, “my johnson is a little tired, it had quite the weekend.” “No shit?” Sherrod flashed a curious smile. “No shit, my man. You know how I score on and off the field. I’m talking about Vanessa, Christine, and Holly. I’m talking about how I get busy!” Next came something of a pelvic thrust to make sure his friends picked up his subtle connotation. Handley appeared surprised. “I didn’t think Holly was the type for that kind of thing.” “That’s where you’re mistaken, tubby.” Beau corrected him. “All of the ladies are the type for the ‘Lover Boy’.” Sherrod groaned. “Come on, you don’t have to show us your ass again.” But it was already too late, the jeans and the BVDs were already mid-buttock, revealing his heart tattoo with the words ‘Lover Boy’ on his upper right cheek. They didn’t want to look, but a heart-shaped tattoo on a pasty white ass has the innate capacity to grab attention. “You need to stop showing everyone your butt,” Sherrod warned him after catching an eyeful. “People are going to think that you’re homo or something.” “Well, I’m not the one who keeps staring at my buns of steel. What does that say about you guys?” Beau intermittently flexed his cheeks side to side like an experienced male stripper in a speedo. Which caught the attention of a trio of girls just beyond the football players. He made sure to give them a wink when he was done pulling up his pants. Monster gave the girls a wink, too. But they laughed incredulously and turned away from him. Maybe the big guy needed a tattoo on his butt. Handley asked, “Beau, why are you even here with us lowly, car-less peons — where’s the firebird?” Beau shrugged his backpack further over his shoulder and looked away. “You know, the old Bird is in the shop, getting its oil changed.” This was a lie. He had totaled his muscle car early Sunday morning. Right after showing Vanessa the ‘Lover Boy’ in the backseat and sending her limping back to her parents. Also, right after downing a six pack of beer. His parents were more than a little pissed at him about the wrecked car, especially his tough-love mom. She said that there would be a few changes coming his way. A dire warning that Beau didn’t care to heed. Speaking of his mom, he saw her station wagon turn the corner. Beau rushed towards the getaway vehicle, waving at the dudes, blowing kisses to the ladies. He didn’t want anyone to see him getting into the car with his mom. He had a reputation to uphold. “See ya, losers.” Beau called back. “Catch you at practice tomorrow, and I’ll see you girls after the game.” He jogged down the hill to where the wagon ran idle at the curb. Beau didn’t even notice Vanessa in the front seat until he was literally right on top of the car. The surprising sight caused him to trip as he rocketed down the hill, his hurried stumbling and fall braced by the impact of the long wood-paneled hood of the station wagon. How had he not spotted her there? The loud blonde hair, the blinding pink halter top, and dangling earrings should have been noticed from the top of the hill, from over a block away, or the next county over. Beau played it off as being silly, he was good looking enough to get away with being a klutz if it looked like he did it on purpose. He comically stretched out over the hood of the car like a bikini model. Moment saved. Vanessa rolled down the window with the hand crank. “Beau, what the hell are you doing on your mom’s car?” Mmm. There was that tasty condescension that he loved about his girlfriend. If you could call it ‘going steady’, he and Vanessa were the closest thing to going steady. Obviously, it didn’t mean they were completely true to one another. “I have a better question,” Beau said as he pulled himself upright and back onto his feet. “What are you doing inside my mom’s car?” Vanessa did what she did best, dealing with his childishness by running a hand through her hair. The fake blonde, over done, hair-sprayed fashion statement was partially to blame for the hole in the o-zone layer. All joking aside, it wasn’t all bad to be with a girl like Vanessa. She did have her perks; two of them in fact, and they sat on her chest in the most beautiful fashion, straining the thin fabric of the pink halter top. Ten years ago, it would have been empowering for her not to even wear a bra. Suddenly, Beau dreamed of driving a Delorean and meeting a crazy guy named Doc. She leaned out the window. “Quit being stupid, I’m trying to run some errands with your mom.” Beau hesitated outside of the car. “Errands? Where are you guys heading?” His mom turned from the driver seat, her thick glasses captured the light in a weird way. It made her eyes look all funny. “We need to pick up a few things from ‘Ma’ Webber’s for a baby shower.” Mrs. Taylor lit the cigarette between her lips. “Baby shower?” Beau grinned. “I hope I’m not going to be a daddy.” He winked at Vanessa who lightly tousled her hair again to dismiss his stupidity. Vanessa answered matter-of-factly, “You won’t be.” He was in the back of the station wagon without any fuss, leaning over the front seat without a seatbelt, and bothering Vanessa as much as he could with his mom present. That only lasted a few minutes, as Vanessa didn’t seem to care for Beau, or his presence, or his flirtatious sense of humor. Recognizing a lost cause, Beau finally gave up. The radio played a fuzzy tune, the tired speakers in doors kicked out the whinging guitars of Hall and Oates. The song was called 'Private Eyes'. Private Eyes they're watching you they see your every move Private Eyes they're watching you Private Eyes they're watching you watching you watching you watching you Beau drummed along with the beat with his fingers. The car strolled down main street, past the city park, slowing as it went by the old government lab just outside the center of town. You play with words you play with love you can twist it around baby that ain't enough cause I'm gonna know if you're letting me in or letting me go don't lie when you're hurting inside 'cause you can't escape my Private Eyes He settled on chilling against the vinyl seat, trying to put together why he even bothered with Vanessa in the first place. Then he reminded himself of exactly two reasons ‘why’. As he leaned back, he looked out the side window as the station wagon came to a stop in front of a house, not a baby store. Beau instantly recognized the house. It’s where he picked up Christine last Friday night; before he showed her the ‘Lover Boy’ in the back of the movie theatre. Oh boy, did Vanessa know about Christine? Because Christine knew about Vanessa, and she told Beau that she didn’t care if he already had a girlfriend. He watched in horror as Christine came out of the house and approached the passenger side with a brooding look, her jaw set and her eyes forward like living was an awful chore. She went by Christine, not ever Chrissy, you’d get popped in the mouth for calling her that. And she was the typical punk rock type, a metal head, a headbanger. Always wore black clothing, black jeans, ripped t-shirt, short cropped black hair. Even the leather fingerless gloves were black, and they looked great against her ivory skin. Multiple piercings in each ear, multiple studs in her leather jacket. She gave off a lot of that ‘look but don’t touch’ kind of vibe. But that didn’t keep away the ‘Lover Boy’. Beau could see past the rough exterior, which was easy to do since he’d more than once seen her naked. Her skinny pale figure had the slightest of curves at her breasts and hips, and was something to die for in the dark. Her bodacious body was worth all of the trouble that it came with, even if it drew the ire of the tempestuous blonde riding up front. Christine spoke to Vanessa. “You guys are running a little late, Vanessa. I just called Holly to tell her we were on our way.” Beau choked. “Holly, too?” Not her. Anyone but her. The girls turned his way and gave him a condescending glare to prove how much they were planning on ignoring him. Vanessa addressed Christine as coldly as a suspicious lover. “Thanks for coming with us, Christine. It wouldn’t happen any other way. She wanted us all to be there.” “Who? What?” Beau sounded the alarm. Vanessa interrupted him. “Beau, sweetie, us grown-ups are trying to talk.” Grown-ups? Sweetie? Her name calling had certainly been toned down this afternoon. Normally, Vanessa called him every four and five letter word that could make a sailor blush. “We got to motor if we want to make it on time,” Vanessa continued, undeterred. “Hop in the back with little Beau, and we can be on our way.” Christine was already pulling her seatbelt over her chest before they got moving again. She asked, “What took you guys so long?” “Beau was all about dry humping the hood like Tawny Kitaen,” explained Vanessa. “I wasn’t dry humping anything,” complained Beau. “Sure, you weren’t.” Christine tapped his cheek with a belittling soft touch. He slid to the bottom of his seat as Christine settled down next to him. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. It felt like calamity was knocking at the door, and all he could do was hide behind the curtains. Beau didn’t want to go to Holly’s house, see Holly’s face, or share the same planet as Holly. There were reasons why he wasn’t as proud of his conquest of Holly as he was Christine and Vanessa. It could be scratched up to miscommunication. He’d leave it at that. They had to check the addresses when they pulled up to Holly’s street, because all of the houses in the neighborhood looked the same. This one had a real quaint cottage appeal, a real copycat of the house next door and the one next door to that. Vanessa spotted little Holly on the porch-swing in front of her house, just rocking back and forth in a slow, melancholy way. She wasn’t taking this well, some girls don’t after getting the ‘Lover Boy’. Holly was demure, mousy little thing in round glasses. A naive brunette that always wore cheap dresses that looked ripped straight out of Little House on the Prairie. She liked puppies, kittens, rainbows and ponies, they were all over her Lisa Frank trapper keeper. She was so childish and innocent, and Beau — Beau gritted his teeth. He growled, “Why does she have to come with us?” Christine recoiled. “Whoa, Beau. What’s crawled up your butt?” “I just don’t fucking — I mean, I just don’t like her, she’s super weird, a real psycho like in that Carrie movie.” Mrs. Taylor waved a bony finger at her son. “Young man, you need to do a better job of watching your mouth, or I’ll pull this car over.” Beau slammed the front seat with an overhead swing from both of his hands. “We’re already pulled over, mom! Quit being such an idiot all the time.” Christine put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but he rebuffed her touch with an angry shrug. “Beau, you don’t have to spaz out on your mom like that.” It was just so strange. All of these women in the same place was doing things to his mind. Making him think about things, and Beau didn’t like to think about things. Reflection was only for mirrors, not for Beau Taylor. He wouldn’t reflect on what happened this weekend, he wouldn’t think about it at all. His knuckles were in his mouth, stifling a tiny internal scream. He was still deep in his non-reflection when the car door opened. Holly was there, but her usual braces-filled smile was noticeably missing, and something cold and callous filled its place. No, she wasn’t taking the ‘Lover Boy’ treatment very well at all. He still greeted her, pretending to be all friendly-like even if he knew they weren’t friends. “What’s happening, Holly?” Beau tried to mend the fence, but it looked beyond repair. “Oh, hi Beau,” Holly replied, nasally and snarky. “When did you start sucking your thumb like a baby?” He didn’t even realize his hand was already back in his mouth. Beau quickly yanked it away, pretending to scratch his chin, or anything besides sucking his thumb. His frazzled response very much the opposite of being the ‘Lover Boy’. “I’m not sucking my thumb, I was just —“ Holly interrupted, “Sucking your fingers?” Mrs. Taylor weighed in on the subject as she put the car into gear. “My baby Beau always had an oral fixation. When he wasn’t on a bottle, he was on a pacifier. Took a damn long while to kick that habit.” His mom frowned as she flicked the ash free from her cigarette out the rolled down window. Christine giggled, “Oh, really.” “That explains a lot actually,” Vanessa added. “His obsession with certain things, am I right Christine?” “You’re right, can’t keep his mouth off of them.” Vanessa scowled towards the backseat in the overhead rear view mirror. At both Beau and Christine. What were these girls doing? Talking about ‘Lover Boy’ things in front of his mom! You didn't do that to a guy. He wasn't one to be afraid of a little innuendo, but there was a time and place to be sexual, and this wasn't it. That kind of talk was best saved for the backseat of the Bird, or the row furthest from the screen where no one could see or hear. Or in a restroom at her parent's restaurant. No. Why couldn't he block that out? He couldn't push that out of his mind like he wanted. It stuck around like a bad smell, as soon as it left his mind, it found its way back like a boomerang. Beau searched about the car for someone to take his side, but no one came to his defense. He suddenly felt exposed, and he didn’t like it one bit. “You’re all just trying to be funny, like I’m sucking my thumb right before we go shopping for a baby shower. What are you going to do? Buy me a pacifier? Goo-goo, gaa-gaa.” He expected them to laugh, especially when he broke into the baby talk. They just stared at him, as empty of mirth as a funeral. “You’re starting to get the right idea,” Holly laughed. Then the whole car laughed. In unison. Things were getting sorta weird around here, and Beau had enough of being outnumbered by their little hen party. There was far too much estrogen in the air, he had to puff his hairy chest to counter all the womanly energy. Something to do with aligning of the moon and the coordination of their monthly cycles. Deep thinking stuff. “Who’s this baby shower for, anyways?” Beau shot back with some swagger. “I’d like to know which one of you got knocked up.” The car went silent again. He shrugged like the Fonz. “What? Was it something I said?” Vanessa sighed, “Quit being such a wastoid, Beau.” Holly asked, “Why do you need to know?” The mousy girl spoke in a distant way as her eyes traced the world outside the window. Beau tried to explain his logic to the helpless females. “If I’m being dragged along on some crazy shopping trip, I’d at least like to know a few simple things. Like, is it for a baby boy or a baby girl?” His mom cleared her throat. “It’s for a boy. A sweet little boy.” Beau pushed the smoke away as his mom exhaled. It stung his eyes. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?” Vanessa said. “Nope,” Beau coughed, he didn’t care if he was being belligerent. “Why are you guys all together, who do you all know?” Holly snapped, "We all know you." “What’s that supposed to mean?” Beau asked. Oh, man. This deep thinking stuff hurt his brain. Okay. Maybe Holly knew about Christine, because Christine knew about Vanessa, and he was pretty sure Vanessa now knew about Christine. However, no one knew about what happened between him and Holly. That was a secret. A mistake. The mousy girl should know when it was her turn to keep her mouth shut like he told her. Beau clenched his fists until his knuckles popped. “You’ll find out soon enough,” Holly answered when she finally turned his way. The wood paneled station wagon pulled into the large gravel and dirt parking lot. The large and lonely store had more of a warehouse look than a home to retail. It sat like an empty island in the middle of nowhere. It was just a short drive from Lovington, but felt like a more different domain, and had a different feel about the whole thing. A long faded tarp was stretched across the front windows. A mainsail that billowed in the mild breeze that also kicked up a bit of dust. On the tarp was a handwritten message in what he guessed was shoe polish: Welcome to Webber’s Open at our new location Now with more influence Now with more inspiration However, the baby store was far from a ghost town. Dozens of workers in white overalls shuffled boxes around like drones with orders specifically from the queen. There was sawdust all around the door, he could even see the tell-tale signs of new construction from far away. Beau looked around at the chaos. "Is this place even open yet?" "It is by appointment," Holly commented as she opened the car door. She quickly caught onto his reluctance. "What? Are you afraid of going into a baby store? I thought you were some kind of tough guy." Beau shook his head. Stay ahead of this, and don’t let her get to you. "I'm not scared, it's just weird. What kind of bogus baby store needs an appointment to go buy diapers? Don’t babies use them all the time?” “Always on about the diapers,” Christine commented. “As if babies didn’t do anything besides pee and poop. Men are so clueless sometimes, am I right?” “Back off Christine,” Beau cracked. “I’m just trying to make conversation.” Vanessa was already outside of the car. "No need to get all defensive, baby Beau." That was it. They had challenged his masculine superiority, and if they started into this baby nonsense, they would never stop. He had to get ahead of this. Yeah, he was notoriously childish. Yeah, he was outnumbered. Yeah, the girls were acting kind of weird. Yeah, he was running out of yeahs. He'd overpower them with his powerful personality, let the 'Lover Boy' show. Well, not that ‘Lover Boy’. He'd get arrested for showing that off in this — empty parking lot. They were the only car there. No other customers, judging by the size of the building, for a huge department store. There were big moving trucks in the front, but those belonged to the workers. The same could be said about a small row of vans and sedans parked along the backside of the store. How had he just now noticed the empty lot? There was a cloudy feeling in his head. He tried to shake it off. He'd felt this way before, it felt like a hangover, but he hadn’t had anything to drink since wrecking the firebird. No. It reminded him of getting his ‘bell rung’ while playing football. Which was ‘coach speak’ for taking a bad shot to the helmet, which was bad news because his head was in there. A hard tackle could send his brain ricocheting inside his skull, resulting in subtle, temporary brain damage. The world would ring for a few minutes, or longer; and you were supposed to shake it off, not let it bother you, and battle the headache that sometimes lasted for days. That’s what it felt like, confusing, foggy headed, and hard to focus. Beau pulled at the inside handle of the car door, hoping the fresh air would alleviate all of this cloudiness. He pulled at the handle, and the door didn't move. He wiggled his hand to re-grip, and then he tried again. No. He roughly grabbed it with both hands and started violently shaking it back and forth. "You coming or not, Beau?" Holly leaned into the doorway from her side of the car. "It's just this fuc-, I mean this stupid door." He tempered his language for his angry mother, who was already working on her next cigarette outside. That habit was going to be her death, and maybe not soon enough. "You can always come out my side," Holly offered. "NO! I'm going through this. banging. door!" Beau knew he was being irrational, it was all irrational. His head felt hot as he strained against the unrelenting station wagon. He needed to show off his strength and beat this unopenable door, pop it open like a pickle jar for these women. That would get them to leave him alone. Christine waited just outside the car, watching his pathetic attempts through the window before figuring out the hold up, and opening the door from the outside. "That's the problem,” Christine observed. “It looks like the child lock was accidentally engaged. No need to throw a hissy fit, Beau." “It wasn’t a hissy fit,” Beau argued as he stepped outside and flipped his jacket collar. “Throwing a temper tantrum like a toddler, maybe Beau needs a timeout.” Vanessa giggled at her own joke. “Or he could use a spanking,” Christine added. Roll with the punches, Beau. Let them have their laughs, they were laughing with him, and not at him, right? There really wasn’t a difference, it’s what the dweebs told themselves to make themselves feel better about being dweebs. He calmed himself as the group set off towards the store. It wasn’t worth making a scene, he already made a fool of himself with the stupid door, with the stupid child lock. How had that thing been engaged? There hadn’t been a baby in the backseat in almost two decades, and Beau was an only child with no little cousins in the family tree. "You're going to want to behave yourself here," Holly warned as they all made their way across the dirt parking lot. "I've heard some strange stories about Elizabeth Webber. Also known as 'Ma'." "Like what?" Beau hurried to walk even with the smaller girl. "The first being that she's really into old school discipline, one of those grannies that still believes that humiliation is the best teacher." Holly actually sounded close to admiring this woman, Beau made it a point to steer clear of someone like she was describing. Mrs. Taylor whispered, "Maybe she can be the one to fix Beau." "What was that, mom?" Beau turned on his mother. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?" She didn't have to answer. He didn’t want to be the one to admit that his mom was right. There was something wrong with him. A dark part of him that did something wrong, that couldn't handle how wrong he went, and Beau knew it. That mistake with that mousy girl. Forever wiping the smile off her face every time she saw him. Being the 'Lover Boy' had its drawbacks. He couldn't hide behind the ultra-confident persona when Holly was around. Why was she even here? Why was he even here? He could just walk away, but he found his feet leading him to the store instead of the fledgling sunset. “And the second?” Beau’s curiosity was getting the better of him. “About ‘Ma’ Webber?” Holly pretended to be surprised. “Well, let’s just say if you act like a child, she'll treat you like one. So try to act your age for once.” Vanessa giggled. “Lay off the threatening, Holly. He’ll find out soon enough.” Beau asked, “Find out what?” “About the true meaning of diaper discipline,” Christine finished the conversation. Then she glared at Beau. He stopped with his mouth open, the girls didn’t really mean what they were saying. This had to be a prank, a way to mess with his head. And it was working. The girls continued inside while Beau hung around in the parking lot, going over the building one last time before joining them. The workers that hustled around him didn’t talk as they removed products from the backs of a pair of large white trucks, sometimes one at a time, for bigger things they worked in twos. He had to move to the side as two of the gruff men in faded white overalls and white hats pulled a huge car seat from the store, heading past him towards the parking lot. Beau stopped to watch the men struggle with big plastic safety-chair. Then he finally realized what the workers reminded him of, Oompa-Loompas. These guys were like a cross-breed between a biker gang and Oompa-Loompas. Except the little orange fellas sang as they worked, these guys only wore a scowl for their minimum wage. Still, the size of that carseat was something he couldn't get over. It looked like it could sit an adult, the various straps and buckles seemed thicker as well. It reminded him of a strait jacket, and it gave him the Heebie-jeebies. "Dude, did you guys catch the size of that carseat?" No one heard him. The girls were already inside, meeting Miss Elizabeth ‘Ma’ Webber, collecting a shopping list, and deciding how to best split the load. They had to get ready for a baby shower tonight.

‘Juvenile’. That’d been the word she’d used when we broke up. There’d been other words, too, of course–she was nothing if not a wordsmith, and she found many other creative nouns, verbs, and adjectives to describe what she thought of me. ‘Leering’, ‘Immature’, ‘Inattentive’, ‘Psychologically and pathologically unfaithful’. I probably should have seen the red flags a lot sooner. A coffee meetup with my sister had turned into an argument with her, because she’d mistaken it for cheating. A compliment directed towards a cashier had led to the silent treatment for most of a day. But, for all the jealousy and insecurity I’d put up with, she dumped me, and she called me juvenile. That’s the bit I couldn’t get out of my head–the sheer lack of self awareness. I couldn’t so much as breathe around another woman without getting into trouble. And sure–I was known to occasionally admire female beauty, I wouldn’t deny that, but I’d done nothing to deserve what she did to me. Because out of all that, the biggest red flag was that she claimed she knew how to curse people. I’d brushed off the comment, at the time–I’d known some witchy girls in college, it was just a turn of the phrase, right? Like ‘manifesting’ as another word for having a positive outlook. I didn’t expect–let me just tell you what happened. So we’d broken up. She’d dumped me, to be precise, in public, with lots of yelling. I’d been pretty upset about it, so I moped around at my apartment for a couple days. Nothing too strange so far. But then, when I finally dragged myself out of my apartment, planning on maybe getting some groceries, just getting some air–it happened. I was in line at the register. The cashier girl asked me how my day was, I told her it was getting better, and then–I swear to god, this has never happened to me since I was like a little kid, but I felt something hot rushing down my pants. I looked down, and then she snorted with laughter, and by the time I realized I was pissing myself I’d already started making a puddle. I want to be clear–I hadn’t felt any need to go before this point. None at all. It’d come completely out of the blue. One moment, I was talking to a pretty cashier, the next, puddle pants. So I did the reasonable thing–excused myself, carried my grocery bags in front of my waist on the walk home, wrote it off as a fluke. A fluke, right? No chance of that repeating. So the next day. I’m riding the bus to work, I notice this girl’s reading a book I’ve read before–a book I love, really. So I step forward, and I’m about to say hi, and then–wham. I feel it again. Now this time, I’m on a bus. I can’t just get off, I’m stuck there. And to make matters worse, I still need to get to work on time, so it’s not like I can just bail and go home. I got off a stop early, enormous wet stain down my pants, and had to run into a corner gas station and try to clean myself up in the bathroom. It half worked, but no amount of paper towels got things totally dry, and the lingering pee smell didn’t go away all day. I don’t know if anyone in the office noticed that morning; they certainly didn’t say anything, but I don’t know how you wouldn’t notice. But they definitely noticed at lunch. I was chatting up Sheila, the receptionist, and… Well, come on. You’ve figured out the pattern by now, haven’t you? Like five words in, my pants are soaked, everyone in the break room could absolutely see. I thought I was going to die. It’s one thing when it’s a bunch of strangers, but I’d just let loose in front of coworkers, people I’d known for years, and there’d been zero warning. Nada. Not a hint. And then I remembered my ex, warning me about her little ‘curse’. No other possibilities came to mind. I hadn’t accidentally swallowed a handful of diuretics or hit my head really hard or anything. It had to be whatever she’d done. So, while I was hiding in the work bathroom trying to figure out what to do, I texted her. No response. Of course. Nothing when I called, either. She’d blocked me on everything. I had no way to reach her. I took the rest of the day as a personal day, said I was making an appointment with my doctor. What was I supposed to do? Explain how I’d been cursed by a jealous ex? I tried getting in touch with some of her friends, the ‘spookier’ ones who’d seemed to know what she was talking about when she mentioned magic, but that didn’t get me anywhere. I tried Google, but that was a complete dead end. There really was no solution, but to deal with it, and that’s how I ended up at the pharmacy. Magic or no, I wasn’t stupid. I made sure to pee as soon as I arrived, so my bladder was totally empty. There wouldn’t be any embarrassing accidents at the diaper store, while I was actually buying the damned things. I circled the incontinence aisle twice, trying to be discreet, hoping nobody would see me. I had to spend a couple minutes looking over different packaging to figure out the sizing and which brand would work best for my…problem. Another consultation on the internet made it clear that most of the lighter options wouldn’t help, because they couldn’t handle a sudden flood of pee. While I wasn’t happy about having to pick one of the thickest options on sale, I felt glad that I hadn’t learned about the leakage problem through personal experience. Feeling a bolt of anxiety in the checkout line, I played a little deception to cover my tracks. Taking out my phone, I pretended to receive a phonecall, nodding along. “Hello, hi grandpa, yes I’m picking up your diapers now–I’ll bring them over in a minute!” There, that’d do it. Now everyone would know that these weren’t for me, I didn’t need diapers, and nobody around me would think I did. The cashier smirked as she got to my package, though she hid the expression quickly. She was cute–a couple years younger than me, and I could definitely see me and her together. I said hi, started to ask a question, and, well… It turned out, the curse didn’t care how recently I’d used the bathroom. My bladder spilled out into my pants anyways, a torrential flood that came from nowhere. What could I do? I turned pink, but I was actively in the middle of buying diapers–diapers that I’d just pretended weren’t for me. I paid, sheepishly apologized, and hurried to the single stall bathroom to try and clean myself up for the millionth time. After washing my jeans in the sink and drying them as best I could with paper towels, I turned my attention to the diapers. Clearly there was no putting this off. Sooner or later, I’d need to put them on. Ripping open the container, I turned one of the diapers over in my hands, examining it. I paused to peer at the instructions on the plastic package, then followed them as best I could while leaning against the wall. The diaper rustled poofily between my legs. I had to adjust the velcro-ish tapes a few times to get it where it felt snug without restricting motion, but that was barely a concern next to the bulk pressing my thighs apart. My jeans only sort-of fit over them. The wet denim stretched, but the bulge around the crotch was pronounced and plainly visible. Crud. I’d need to buy new clothes, too. It was a solution. Not a great one, but a solution. I dealt with the problem. New, looser jeans. I started bringing a backpack with me, so I could carry diaper changes. And pretty much every time I talked to a pretty girl, I’d flood my diaper and need to excuse myself to a bathroom. In the meantime, my quest for someone who could undo the curse continued, but to no avail. Nothing worked. I tried getting incense and some fancy candles, I tried ‘manifesting’ a reality where I wasn’t cursed, it all failed. Nobody I talked to could help. One, who seemed to know what was going on, simply refused. I hated it, but there wasn’t much I could do to solve the issue. I got used to it. Diaper changes were a part of my routine, something I just learned to handle. Occasionally, when I had to go and a bathroom would be inconvenient, I just used the diaper on purpose. A couple months passed. I’d learned to keep things discreet, and staying cooped up didn’t work for me–I needed socialization. My favorite club, a few blocks down from my apartment, felt like a comfortable place to go. I hadn’t been since the breakup, but my return had me hailed by friends who I knew from there. It was a good time. I had a couple drinks. I even started chatting up this girl, Ally, who I’d met a few years back. And sure, I soaked my diaper about as soon as the conversation started, but who cared? She didn’t notice. I was used to it. We got to talking. We’d made out a bunch a few months ago, back before the curse, and she still seemed interested–heck, I got the sense that she might be interested in more than just making out this time. I sent a complement her way. She replied in kind, suggesting she thought I looked good, and– And I learned that the curse was much, much worse than I thought. My body betrayed me. The slightly splorchy frrrr– that escaped me wasn’t too loud, but my expression couldn’t have been more of a betrayal. I mean, fuck me. I was paralyzed–what could I do? There I was, sitting at the bar, loading up my diaper like a dump truck. It swelled so much it made my pants sag, my face was so red it could have directed traffic, and though the diaper contained all the mush, it did ass all to hold in the smell. I stammered. I found a reason to excuse myself, and just ran out of the bar, waddling and squelching the whole way. Staying put and explaining myself wasn’t an option. The waddle home was humiliating. I was sure every stranger I passed could smell me, could see my pants sag from the overfull diaper I’d trapped myself in. And then my phone rang. It was her. I answered. “Why?” I demanded, stepping to the side of the sidewalk to speak to her. “I just know,” she explained. “Do you want it to end?” I nodded. Then I realized she couldn’t see me, and started to respond. But apparently she could see me, because she replied before I could say anything. “How many?” I knew the answer she wanted. I knew the consequences if I lied. “Three,” I conceded. Defeated. I’d lost. “Three times. Different girls.” “Three it is,” she said. “Once the time is up, you’ll get your control back.” “Just three days?” I asked, hope rising. No response. My stomach sank. “Weeks?” Nothing. “Years?” “Try not to forget your potty training,” she said. And then she hung up. ... 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Hi folks. The story of Mike’s forced regression, and Sandra’s devious/ dominant hand in that continues - but this time with the introduction of a new (old) flame. This will be at least a two part story. Mike’s changing (ha) relationship with Katie the preschool teacher isn’t finished yet. The name of the daycare facility is a tribute to an old story that some of you might recognize. As always, all characters are 18+. Please note: Although this story takes place in a daycare setting, it presents/ focuses solely on a conversation between 3 adults. This story contains mental regression and gentle femdom, along with strong AB elements. Feedback and critique are welcome. Before Daycare Sandra held Mike’s hand tightly in hers as they walked up the sidewalk towards the brick building she remembered so well. She wasn’t having to drag him up the sidewalk, which was a good start. His response had been less than enthusiastic when she had first suggested the Little Helpers program. They left the summer heat behind as they moved through the double doors and into the air conditioned reception area. Almost immediately, a plump 50s-something woman who Mike didn’t know scurried out from behind the big desk that dominated the entry space and wrapped Sandra in a giant hug. Sandra hadn’t seen Diane in almost 10 years, and truth be told, she was a little surprised to find her still here. It was as if nothing had changed with her. Same out-of-style hairdo. Same bright-colored “designer” tracksuit that accentuated her curves in all the wrong places. And apparently still uninterested in having any more responsibility attached to her job than keeping an eye on the front door, signing for packages, and answering phone calls. Mike found it a little intimidating having this strange woman invade their shared personal space so suddenly and loudly. He had a strong urge to hide behind Sandra, but he managed to push that aside. Instead, he held her hand tightly and surveyed his surroundings as the “adults” caught up. It was a stereotypical one story daycare building located along a busy road. At some point, Sunny Hills Daycare might have been operated by one of those corporate chains, but now it was in private hands. Cool linoleum covered the floors in all directions lit up by florescent panels. A long hallway with multi-colored, half-windowed doors extended to the right. A cacophony of different sounds, shouts, and cries came from that direction. To the left, was a shorter hallway with what looked like a kitchen/ laundry and an office at the end. Suddenly, Mike realized that Sandra and Diane were both looking at him: “Are you going to say hello back to Miss Diane?”, Sandra asked gently, pulling him forward a bit. Mike gave a wave and shy little hello, which prompted a snort and a proclamation of his “adorableness” from Diane. “You can go on through and wait in the office”, she said, “Katie had to run back to her classroom for just a sec but she will be right there, Diane said. The office was a small space, barely enough to fit a modest desk with 2 adult-size chairs in front. In the corner farthest from the door sat a smaller chair and desk painted in bright red, which also had a basket of children’s books on top. Mike started to sit in one of the adult chairs, but was redirected to the corner seat by Sandra. He decided not to object. He didn’t really want to be part of this particular conversation anyway. The regression center Sandra had enrolled him in last Christmas offered a number of “extracurricular”(AKA for an additional fee) programs and experiences for littles. Most were expensive and even a little kitschy. But there was one extracurricular offering that had caught Sandra’s eye almost immediately. Of course it helped that the Little Helpers Daycare Program was one of the only free options, (provided that a suitable placement could be found), but that wasn’t the main reason she was interested. The program provided opportunities for littles enrolled in the regression program to “perform supervised volunteer and learning activities” at a number of local daycares. Little Helpers were not paid carers or even interns. And they weren’t daycare kids either. They existed somewhere in between. They helped with simple tasks like passing out crayons, or picking up after snack time, while receiving an appropriate level of care and supervision for their regressed development level. They were not allowed to perform any actual care activities (partly for licensing reasons and partly because they weren’t always capable) but they were allowed and encouraged to join in on daily activities where appropriate. Most Little Helpers enjoyed story time (and needed nap time) as much as the others. The program had proven to be very popular. Moms like her enjoyed the free time of course, and program participants like Mike benefited as well, especially in terms of their regression progress and socialization. Like it or not, humans are pack animals, and the norms and characteristic behaviors of one’s peer group tend to rub off on the individual. Participants in the Little Helpers program tended to be more accepting of their status overall and less resistant to major regressive steps or changes at home, such as the introduction of afternoon naps (something Mike had been adamantly opposed to at first). But it was the daycare providers and curriculum companies who liked the Little Helpers most of all. Not because of the free labor - the Little Helpers didn’t really do enough in the classroom to earn their keep that way. They liked them because they were still adults, (at least in age), which meant they could be used for market research, curriculum testing, and direct feedback on programs and care protocols without having to go through a bunch of pesky ethics review boards. And best of all, the data was coming from individuals who were much more in tune with the needs and interests of their target market. It was a virtual data gold mine - especially for the corporate chains who could afford high powered marketing and data analytics teams to support these efforts. Sandra suspected that the chains were probably subsidizing the programs via the regression centers to keep them free and therefore more attractive to carers and parents of enrollees. Whatever - it worked - and it was really no different to what the social media companies were doing with her data all day every day. Mike could be their little guinea pig as long as it also served her purposes. Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Katie: “Sorry to keep you waiting - one of my kids spilled paint EVERYWHERE and I had to help with cleanup and locating a change of clothes.” “No worries - It comes with the territory!” said Sandra with a little laugh, and then they hugged briefly - but not nearly as long as she had hugged Diane. It had been nearly five years since she had seen Katie. She knew she worked here now of course, (she’d provided her letter of reference) but she’d been much younger and less mature the last time she had actually seen her. Now, in addition to sporting a sizable rock and wedding band on her left hand, she was also visibly pregnant. If Sandra had to guess, she’d say between 5-6 months - definitely into the glowing stage. Katie had always been pretty in a cutesy way, but pregnancy seemed to have enhanced her looks further, softening some edges and accentuating her curves. She looked more womanly than girlish now. As Sandra took in these changes, Katie turned to Mike, who started to get up from his low chair at the same moment that she bent down to hug him. The net effect was that Mike ended up receiving a faceful of Katie’s boobs instead of the intended hug. He said something in greeting, but it was too muffled against her chest to be intelligible. Katie wasn’t at all phased. After a quick pat to the back, she released Mike, turning back to her seat behind the desk and sitting down with her attention focused on Sandra. Mike also sat back down, taking care to locate the small chair underneath him, lest he fall off and embarrass himself in front of her. He had noticed that Katie smelled really good when she had embraced him - some particularly intoxicating combination of soap and something sweet. Vanilla mixed with maple syrup maybe? Whatever it was, he certainly didn’t mind it. His nose was so sensitive now! Whereas Diane’s copious floral perfume had almost made him gag earlier, this combination of smells had a much different effect on him. It put him immediately at ease and made him wish he could have more and much longer cuddles with her. He was suddenly overcome with a particularly vivid image of reaching for her, and Katie picking him up to hold him crossways across her body with one hand on his bottom and his face pressed into her soft breasts. The warm, full body embrace and that curiously inviting smell enveloped him, relaxing him so deeply that he started to… “Mike!…Mike?…Hello?…Miss Katie is asking you a question!”, Sandra said with amused tolerance, breaking him from his reverie. He gave a startled look and shook his head. He’d gotten lost again. These little “zone out episodes” as Sandra called them were becoming both more frequent and decidedly more babyish in scope lately. Sometimes he’d even find himself acting them out, but through a weirdly disembodied shift in perspective in which it felt as if he were observing a smaller version of himself. It was like there were two people sharing his body now. And toddler Mike was booking way more than just cameos these days. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the girls had obviously had time to catch up with one another and move on to the business at hand - him. He looked up at Katie guiltily, but she just smiled at him as she repeated: “I was asking if you wanted a sticker, sweetie? I’ve got one here I think you might really like.” She held it to out him, and he stood again to take it, now noticing a little bit of warm dampness in the front of his pants that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Like the zone outs, these little lapses in control were an increasingly common side effect of his regression, often occurring in tandem with them, and sometimes turning into full-blown accidents. Thankfully, this one felt rather small and easily contained within his padded panties. There was no need to tell Sandra or Miss Katie about it. But he might need to ask for the toilet soon… Mike turned the sticker over in hands, studying it. It was bright metallic blue with yellow lettering that said “ LITTLE HELPER” in block capitals. In the background he noticed a variety of stenciled farm animals. He could name all of them. Most prominent was a cute little duckling with a very round bottom…almost as if… Katie was talking again. Mike peeled his attention away from the sticker, noticing that his pants felt quite a bit warmer in front now. Oops! But there was no time to think about that, because Katie was telling him in a very serious, grown up voice about how important it was for him to wear the sticker all the time while he was at the daycare, so that she and the other staff knew that he was one of the big kid helpers and not one of the daycare kids. He wouldn’t want them to mistake him for a baby, would he? Mike shook his head, indicating a hard “NO” to being mistaken for a baby. And to show he understood the importance of the sticker, he peeled off the backing and placed it on his chest. “Good boy!” Katie said, using a syrupy tone that would normally not be used to speak to a big kid. But Mike didn’t seem to notice. In fact he was beaming. He’d always had a “praise thing” going on for as long as Sandra had known him - it was one of the first tools she’d used to bring out his subby side after they started dating. Now, as she watched the dynamic between them, Sandra was absolutely convinced that she had made the right choice enrolling him here. She had chosen this location partly because she knew it. She had worked at Sunny Hills for almost 3 years before marrying Mike - first as a teacher and then as the supervisor in the toddler room. It was an excellent facility that received consistently high marks from parents as well as state inspectors. In truth, Mike wasn’t quite ready for the preschool room anymore. The regression program had really started to take hold in the spring, and he was frequently acting more like a two-year old (in words and deeds) than a pre-schooler per-se. He needed a lot of guidance and help with even the most basic tasks, including (especially?) toileting. He often had trouble making it to the potty on time without being reminded, and would struggle with getting his clothing off when he did. Some days it felt like the potty was an altogether alien concept to him. The thickly padded training pants she’d been putting him in were barely adequate for his current level of daytime continence. He was almost always a little damp when she checked him. On the advice of another mom from the regression playgroup, she had tried slinging a toddler prefold into the crotch of his trainers, but that had provoked an absolute meltdown when he noticed the extra bulk, and so she had not tried that again. Picking her battles was a mark of her maturity compared to Mike, who now made a big, repeated deal about everything. At least he was diapered for naps and nighttime now. That was a significant victory, and it had also made her life and sleep schedule much easier. Despite his lingering stubbornness about “baby things”, Mike hated wet beds, and had willingly accepted a diaper for these times. Of course there had been no mention of bed wetting pants or similar products for older children. It was either thick, nighttime diapers adorned with cute Winnie the Pooh designs, or a cold, wet bed. Easy choice. She kept them on hIm for as long as possible after a sleep, and she was pretty good at finding creative excuses to put them on early. But Mike could still be depended on to demand his “big boy pants”, even when she didn’t mention them. As of yet, she hadn’t refused this request. The change would come in time. It was inevitable. There was no need to rush. Besides, she had to admit that her dominant side found his pee soaked undies absolutely adorable in a way that was different to his wet diapers. They made her wet too, but in a much more grown up way. Wet training pants were “accidents”, and accidents were supposed to be embarrassing for “big boys.” Despite the slippery (and wet) slope he was on, Mike still knew that too, and his blushy responses to her questions about the condition of his pants were worth the extra cleanup and laundry duties. She’d stopped orchestrating or “facilitating” these accidents herself - he was perfectly capable of peeing or even occasionally messing in his pants on his own these days. But she still took advantage of every one to reinforce his status and dependence on her. She had started changing him lying down using the strongest smelling baby wipes she could find. She would linger over his private parts as she held his legs and wiped him, making sure to comment if she found traces of diaper rash, or a dirty bottom from his diminished wiping skills. Then she’d finish by putting a liberal dollop of lavender scented diaper cream on the fingers of her free hand, and slowly and sensuously trace a path through his butt crack and up and over his scrotum. These moments were heavenly for both of them. The cream didn’t seem to affect the absorbency of the training pants, and Sandra liked knowing that it served as a sticky reminder of his diminished status. In fact, it probably felt a lot like having a poopy diaper, and getting him used to that feeling wasn’t a bad idea at this point. Turning back to matters of the present, Sandra also knew that Katie would care for Mike in similarly gentle and nurturing ways. True, she probably wouldn’t get off on it like Sandra did, but that was a good thing. Being checked and changed in a preschool setting, where accidents were common and dealt with matter-of-factly by trained staff, would take his diaper training and acceptance to levels she could never achieve on her own at home. She wasn’t sure if Mike remembered Katie or not. Judging by his reactions, he at least felt comfortable around her. But the regression program seemed to have scrambled his memories pertaining to adults he didn’t interact with on a regular basis. Shared histories and memories of specific events were gone, but the emotional connections (including his like or dislike of specific people) often remained. Maybe it was something to do with conscious versus subconscious memory and how those manifested differently in thought or behavior. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter really. Because she remembered Katie. And Katie remembered him. And that was the main reason she has decided to enroll Mike here as a Little Helper. Katie had been their next door neighbor for her first five years of marriage to Mike. When they first moved in, she has been a rising freshman at the local community college and was very much that stereotypical, fresh-faced teen girl next door who shows up as a bright green blip on the radar of both husbands and wives. From the start, Mike had done little to hide his infatuation with Katie, which was surprising because he was normally shy and introverted around women. He seemed to look for excuses to talk to her and her friends. He behaved differently when she was around. It wasn’t quite creepy, but it was overt.. She knew he fantasized about fucking her, (or more accurately for Mike, being fucked by her) even if he was probably too shy to go through with it. Probably. Sandra had never been 100% sure whether or not anything physical had transpired between them. On one occasion, she’d come back early from a girls night out to find him hanging in Kati’e’s garage at a small party. Mike was the oldest one there by at least a few years. He had provided the alcohol, and she and he were both obviously buzzed and standing very close to one another when she had first entered the garage. Sandra had managed to hide her anger as she grabbed Mike’s wrist, announcing loudly that it was time for him to go home and get ready for bed. That statement had provoked some giggles from Katie and her friends, but not in a way that felt directed at her or her desire to protect her marriage. Katie wasn’t mean, but she was still a threat, especially to guys like Mike. Like Sandra, she was naturally maternal and nurturing in a way that men like Mike often found irresistible. In fact, it had been easy to write Katie a letter of recommendation for this position on the basis of that personality trait alone: she was a natural with kids, and they tended to love her almost immediately, just as Mike had. She had been happy to extend Katie that professional courtesy, and she knew her letter of recommendation would go a long way at Sunny Hills. Katie had probably gotten this job because of her. And now she could use that to her advantage on a more personal level. Enrolling Mike here now, in his diminished condition, and with Katie as his official caretaker, was the perfect ending to the little relationship they may or may not have had behind her back all those years ago. If Mike wanted this other woman to dominate and mother him, then he was going to get it - just on a much more realistic and infantile level than he had ever intended. She wanted Katie to see Mike for who he was, then and now, and she knew Mike wouldn’t be capable of hiding the gory wet details for long. But Katie didn’t know about these ulterior motives, and she doubted that Katie would be open to putting him here on that basis. So - if her plan was going to work, she needed to get Mike through the preschool enrollment process the old fashioned way: by telling teeny tiny little white lies about his level of independence and development, (including toilet training). It was ironic how the regression program so often imitated the everyday lived experience of parents with actual toddlers. Here she was, trying to sneak her 32 year old into a preschool program that he didn’t quite qualify for. She had prepped Mike for this visit, coaching him on what to say and making it clear that Katie needed to see that he could still be a big boy if she were going to let him be a special helper in her class. She hoped it would be enough. And more to the point, she hoped that he wouldn’t zone out into baby mode during their meeting today. She’d seen him starting to slip away momentarily after Katie had hugged him, but she managed to snap him out of it fairly quickly. Still, she wondered if his pants were still dry… Thankfully, they were nearly through the meeting now. She had done most of the talking for Mike to this point, but now Katie turned her attention back to him. Sandra looked at him anxiously, but she could tell that he was still with it. So far so good! Katie began: “Mike, before I agree to let you be a helper in my class, I have just a few questions for you, OK?” Mike nodded his head and looked up at her shyly. It was actually really cute, (which Sandra hoped didn’t work against him). But Mike needn’t have worried or been nervous. These weren’t hard questions, and he knew all of the answers, even if some of them were a little bit embarrassing. She started off asking him about the regression program, whether he liked his friends at regression playgroup/ how he got along with them, what kinds of tv shows he liked, and what were his favorite books? Katie wasn’t really interested in the specific answers to these questions, so much as how he responded to them. She was gauging his level of social and intellectual maturity. As the biggest “kid” in the room, would he be capable of playing nice and following her instructions? Finally, her questions turned to toileting and accidents. Sunny Hills didn’t have a strict “no diapers” policy for preschool like some other places, but kids who were still mostly in diapers or who had frequent accidents were better suited to the toddler room that Sandra used to manage. There was more to do and learn in preschool, and diaper/ clothing changes took up valuable time. Katie’s tone was gentle but insistent now: Did he ever make tinkles in his pants? Was that because he didn’t know he had to go, or because he just left it too late (Sandra had coached him to indicate only the latter, even though she was pretty sure both had been true at different times). Mike passed this little test with flying colors. When the questions turned to poopy accidents, Sandra noticed a change in Mike’s demeanor. He still felt very embarrassed about these (much more than wetting accidents), and would try to hide them from her when they happened. Mike blushed deeply and held up three fingers without looking up at Katie. “Does that mean you’ve made poopy in your pants three times?” Katie asked softly. Mike nodded almost imperceptibly in response, while continuing to stare down at the desk. They both breathed a sigh of relief when Katie smiled and replied: “well a big boy like you should know that three is a very small number. It’s definitely not something to be embarrassed about it it?” She paused, waiting for a response from Mike. He looked up, his face less red now, and shook his head “no”. Katie nodded, apparently satisfied with his answers. She was in full-on teacher-mode now: “OK Mike, I’ll make a deal with you: If you’re going to be my Little Helper, then you need to set a good example for the kids in my class. Because you’re not a baby. And neither are they. So I expect everyone in my class to at least try to use the potty when they notice they have to go, and that includes you. Can I trust you to do that for me?” Mike nodded, looking pleased. He could definitely do that. “And when you do have an accident, I expect you to come tell me or another member of staff straight away. OK? I won’t be mad, I promise. Telling me about accidents is another way you can show me that you are a big boy, and also set a good example for the others.” Mike nodded again. He could definitely do that too! But Katie couldn’t let this point go just yet. She needed him to understand the consequences of not sticking to their deal: “Because only little babies go potty in their pants without telling anyone. And if that happens too often in my class, then you will get sent to a different classroom where everyone wears diapers (yes, even the helpers like you),and no one gets to use the potty, not even for poopies!” She paused for a moment to let that last part sink in… “That doesn’t sound very fun, does it? You don’t want me to think you’re a baby who needs to wear diapers and is too little to be in my class do you?” Mike shook his head “no” - he definitely didn’t want her to think that “Good! Then I think this is gonna work out great!” She turned now to Sandra: “OK. Wet pants are no big deal, and we can change them in the staff bathroom or the classroom bathroom if it’s unoccupied. Wetting accidents are expected at his age (or rather his stage of development), but it is also good that you are keeping him in training pants so that he feels wet when he goes. We don’t want him getting used to being in wet pants, or feeling comfortable when he is wet”… “…Although…having said that, I realize that advice might not apply in Mike’s case, at least depending on how far you want him to…go…” She paused, trying to find the right words: “I guess what I’m saying is that, for kids in the regression program, it might be different…but I still think it’s best that we approach their care exactly as we would for any of the other kids in my classroom. Otherwise I’m not doing my job properly!” She smiled as she said this. And Sandra smiled back and nodded in agreement. If only she knew! “But state law says that soiled pants have to be changed in a designated diaper changing area. And that means taking him to the toddler classroom to be changed when or if that happens, which obviously also necessitates that the changing area is free for us to use in private. It’s A LOT more work and coordination to change poopy pants, and it means I have to be away from my classroom while I take care of him. So, if he starts having a lot of poopy accidents, we might have to think about putting him in diapers to make cleanup easier or even placing him in the toddler classroom where they are better equipped to take care of it. But for now, let’s assume that’s not going to happen, because I can tell Mike wants to be a big boy for me.” She turned to smile at Mike as she said this last part, and he smiled back. He liked Miss Katie! Katie turned back to Sandra: “Just like with any preschooler, you’ll need to provide a couple of spare pairs of training pants, a change of clothing, and a supply of diapers if he wears them for naptime?” She looked at Sandra questioningly as she asked this, but it was not a gotcha question. About 1/4 of the preschoolers still needed diapers or pull-ups at naptime. Sandra indicated that he did, and Sandra replied: “Great, please send along at least a 2 week supply and we will keep you updated when they start running low. Usually parents just put together a backpack with all this stuff in it, and maybe a favorite cuddly toy - anyway you already know the drill here, ‘you’ve been there done that’ as they say!” Sandra smiled and said she could do that, and it seemed the interview was coming to a successful close. But before they got up to leave, Katie turned to Mike and asked him if he had any questions for her. Mike didn’t know what to say. Sandra hadn’t coached him on how to respond to this question about questions. But he did remember the promise he had made a few minutes ago. And so he decided now was a good opportunity to show her that he could stick to their deal. “I tinkled in my big boy pants, Miss Katie” he said without a hint of shame. Katie let out a good-natured laugh in response. And so did Sandra. Because that one little sentence, those nine simple words that conveyed so much about status, power, and dependence, were a better start to Mike and Katie’s new relationship than Sandra could have hoped for.

Hey everyone, finally getting the time to write again. This is a commissioned short story, though as discussions continue in the background, the plot is getting deeper and more complex than our originally planned 10 chapters will allow for, so who knows when it’ll be done. Insert obligatory mention of my Patreon here… Anyway, have fun with this one. There’s a little inspiration coming from The Handmaid’s Tale, except without all the rapey murdery stuff. Fear gripped Penelope Russo as she stared at the paper on the wall. Seven years she worked at Donatello, never missing a shift, always coming in to cover other people, and her name wasn’t even on the new schedule for next week. Since the day she graduated high school, she’d waited tables there, while other girls came and went. How could this even be happening?! “Tony wants to see you in his office, Penny.” Jacky Phillips tapped her on the shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. The girl was barely twenty, but they became fast friends when Jacky started working there. Well, more than friends on occasion… friends with benefits? But that was behind tightly closed doors, not spoken of at work or anywhere else. The look on Jacky’s face confirmed what Penny already feared; this wasn’t going to be a good conversation. Jacky gave her a quick hug. “Good luck, hun.” “Yeah, thanks.” Dejected, she walked through the kitchen, up the stairs, and knocked on the general manager’s door. “Come in!” the low voice boomed behind the door, with that signature Jersey-Italian accent thick through it. She opened the door and stepped inside. “Penny.” He shook his head. “Penny, Penny, Penny, what am I gonna do wit’ you?” “Tony, please, you can’t…” “Look, you’re a hard worker. You’re polite. You make sure everyone’s drink is full and their food gets out hot. But I’ve told you over and over, the guys have expectations. Parents bring their boys in here looking to get them hooked up. You know this. I know this. And the big boss knows it too, and he says I gotta let you go, because you won’t do it.” “But Tony!” “You need a man, Penny. You need to be home making babies for your man. Not here turning into an old spinster. The customers complain, they want their waitresses to be friendly. And young. And the girls, they flirt until they find a guy that clicks, and boom, I’m hiring a new one because she went off and got hitched.” “Spinster, Tony! I’m twenty five, not fifty!” “When did I hire you, Penny? You were eighteen. Most of these girls that I hire, they’re fifteen, sixteen. That’s what the customers want to see, young girls they can pair up with their teenage sons to make grandchildren for them.” “But Tony…” “Penny, look, I know what you are. Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. But it’s not my world, Penny. I just gotta live in it. Back in my grandfather’s day, no one would even blink over someone like you, but since the religious kooks took over, I mean, what’re you gonna do?” Penny struggled not to cry as Tony’s words cut through her. All throughout school, she and every other girl was drilled about how the most noble profession and honorable profession for women was being a mother and wife. Only the Barren went to work, because the fertile were needed to keep the population growing. But as much as she tried to like boys, or at least to tolerate them, she lusted after other girls. Boys, they just wanted to squash her tits with their meat-hooks and then hump her like a dog until they were spent. Girls went out of their way to make her feel good, touch all her special places the way she’d touch herself when she thought about them. The dirty, dirty thoughts she had. And she hated herself for it. “I just… what am I gonna do, Tony? As long as I’m making eggs, they won’t let me work in the factories or go to college or anything! This is all I got!” “I wish it didn’t have to be like this, Penny. Maybe try being nicer to the boys at another place? Maybe suck it up and get hitched what they expect of you? I don’t know. Maybe…” He leaned over and got much, much quieter. “Maybe I know a guy. Maybe he can get you some of those sticks, you know what I’m saying? Maybe you make a phone call or somethin’.” He slid a piece of paper across the desk with a phone number on it. Penny shuddered, but took the piece of paper and slipped it into her purse. One of her “girlfriends” in high school tried to get hold of the “egg-breaker sticks” - injections you could take that would turn you up as infertile when you went to the clinic to get harvested every month. But they were as illegal as heroin and cocaine. A cop showed up for her at school not long after that, and no one ever saw her again. “Th… thanks Tony.” She hung her head, and he stood up. “I wish you luck Penny. You’re a good kid. Take care of yourself, huh?” She stood up as well, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it weakly. “I’ll have your last check ready for you on Friday, okay?” “Sure.” “Hey. Maybe… maybe in a few months, I might be needing a front of the house manager, eh?” Her mind reeling, Penny trudged back down the steps and out the back door, speaking to no one on the way. Tony’s words burned at the back of her brain. Why? Why’d she have to like girls? Why couldn’t she just be normal and find a husband and have a happy life surrounded by kids? It would have been so much easier than what she’d been through since high school. She thought about the phone number he gave her. God, if she got caught, she’d wind up disappeared like that kid Sarah! But if she didn’t get caught, that was her golden ticket! All she needed was to turn up empty at the fertility clinic three months in a row, and she’d be reclassified as a Barren. No more pressure to get married, no more being a waitress and getting groped by horny teenage boys while their parents laughed about it. She and her little circle of special friends would still have to keep quiet about their little get-togethers, but no one really cared about what Barrens did with their free time. It was only illegal for boys - If a man lie with a man as a woman, it is an abomination, was how the verse went. Girls, well, society thought it was shameful, but the Coalition couldn’t find any biblical justification to outlaw it. But first she had to at least try to find another job. Even if she could get the sticks, she had to keep her rent up long enough to make it three months…

How much guilt do you feel about your diaper leanings and diaper life?

Hi there! This is a diaper prison story that I've been working on. It's supposed to be about a country that imprisons wealthy criminals in diaper prisons that include spankings and paddlings. More information about the complicated themes in the novel can be found here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/65185502 I have about 10 chapters written, and am working on posting them here over time. Content Warnings Extensive Forced Diaper Wearing (Wetting/Messing) Extensive Public and Private Humiliation Extensive Corporal Punishment and Bondage Extensive use of the themes of fear, shame, guilt, and dread Some consensual sexual slavery/servitude themes Occasional Sexual Themes Occasional Sexual Intercourse ***I do not condone any of the events or themes in this story, and do not intend to glorify or advocate that anyone conduct their life in this way. Nobody should model any sort of erotic behavior on the events of this story.*** -------- Tonight’s entertainment would be small, but that still meant it required every minute of Gillica’s day. It would require: Sweeping the inner foyer. Priming the Topiary promenade from valet dropoff to the main door. Scrubbing and shining all the windows of the Eastern and Western facing facades of Bisgrave Manse. Dusting all interior surfaces in the Hargrave room as well as the Opiante battle memorial room. Checking every piece of the ‘azure blue’ china set for imperfections and assembling it for the kitchen staff. And so much more of the long list of what was expected of her, and her fellow slave Penelope, every single day. Densen Polliver, the majordomo of Bisgrave Manse, son of the former majordomo of Bisgrave Manse and also grandson of the majordomo of the very same Manse, in the time when the Opiante battle memorial room was called something else, came to wake her up. He entered the slave quarters not yet wearing his uniform for the day, and flicked on the switch. Gillica woke up immediately with the light, and was already wide-eyed by the time Densen Polliver was undoing the locking mechanism on Penelope’s cage. Once Penelope’s cage was open, the slippers of Densen Polliver appeared by the entrance to Gillica’s cage, and he squatted down. He ignored all he saw as she stirred the cover off of herself. His sole focus was on the padlock. As soon as it was undone, he swung the door open and rose with a groan. Without a word, he closed the door to the slave quarters behind him, the only sign that he was there being the bright overhead light and the fact that the cage doors now swung open. -freedom- Penelope sighed above, rocking the stacked cages. Compelled by powers even Penelope would not tempt, she made her move, and Gillica knew to let her step out onto the small shared floorspace of the quarters before crawling out of her lower cage herself. The cage doors were oriented perpendicular to each other, such that Penelope could step down out of hers and Gillica could crawl out of her own at the same time, but Gillica had long ago learned that Penelope didn’t like that at all. Where the majordomo’s slippers had been, two pale and bare feet stepped onto the tiled floor. A moment later, a diaper fell with a splat between the feet. It was wet, though from her place down in her cage on the floor, Gillica could see that it wasn’t as bad as the one she herself had woken up in. The feet moved away, stepping across the tile floor with just the sticking sound that skin makes on cold surfaces. The feet walked to a table built into a wall, and now Gillica could see all the way up Penelope’s waist. The slave who slept above her, slave-one, found a container on the table and pulled out a square moist cloth. She drew it across her bottom, one cheek then the other, and then through her buttcrack. Another rectangle came out and she got the inside of her thighs. Another came out and she dealt with her frontside. These too, Penelope dropped on the floor when she was done with them. Still, Gillica knew better than to stir. Slave-one then hauled herself out of sight, onto the table. The sounds that came, the sounds of tearing, of a bottle hitting the top of a table, of the grunting and breathing of a woman dressing herself while laid down horizontal, were all immensely familiar to Gillica. They were sounds that had been her night and day for almost a decade, and figured to be sounds with her a lot longer. Or forever. No, not forever. When Penelope’s body re-appeared in her view, her bare legs now facing away from the table instead of toward it, and her groin now covered in a new, fresh adult diaper, Gillica knew that it was time to flip over on her stomach and make her way through the mesh door of her cage. Her back didn’t hurt when she stood, but the tile was cool and her head was a bit cloudier than it had felt when Densen Polliver had first turned on the lights. It didn’t stop her from predicting what Penelope wanted, though. Gillica’s discipline-a hard acquired skill of survival-took over for her, and she made her way to the table where Penelope stood. Penelope allowed her to pull herself on the table and lay her head down on the cushion. At least there was a cushion. She wished she could sleep here instead of on the mat on the bottom of her cage. Then her knees would not ache and she would not always have a persistent bruise on the top of her head. It would surprise some to know that the cage was not the worst place she could remember sleeping. It would also surprise some, perhaps even more, to know that it was worse than where she had slept most of the last decade. Penelope was wordless as she got to work. There was nothing to say between them. Penelope was slave-one and had at least the right to wipe herself. Gillica didn’t even have that right. It was a strange thing to think of as a right, and now and then it occurred to Gillica that, in this case, she was the one being served by the slave of higher rank. But it never felt that way. It was not supposed to seem that way. It was not that way. Gillica wore what she had been put in until someone put her in something else. What made it the way it was was the real and credible threat of what would happen if Gillica upset that order of things. That’s what made Penelope’s role of sliding a wipe between Gillica’s own buttocks, and another down her shaven vagina, the role of privilege. The slimmest, most minuscule form of an edge anyone could have. The only sort of edge that Penelope had over anyone, anywhere, except maybe those still living behind the bars of Stenton. Penelope could be caged by anyone in the household at any moment, could be ordered to undress, and could be ordered not to dress at all. She was above no task in the Manse, and not even in public were the paid servants of the Bisgraves or the AG Bisgrave herself required to bestow any dignity upon her. And all the while, prison loomed over Penelope. Four more years of servitude to Bisgrave, four more years of proving that without the watchful eyes of guards and cameras and the impossibilities threatened by steel and cement, Penelope could learn her new place in the scheme of things. Until then, cages and diapers. Until then, only one small island of autonomy; the right to change herself. And until then, one small land-grant of privilege. The right to make Gillica squirm. The diaper change was quick. Penelope was far less interested in Gillica’s cleanliness than she was her own, and that was fair. Gillica would require Penelope’s assistance many more times before the day was through, and the Bisgrave’s gave slave-one no credit for the additional labor. Quick and without tenderness. Gillica was clean and dry, and she hopped down off the table herself. She adjusted the tapes of her diaper, a small comfort nobody begrudged her. Penelope would expect her to clean Penelope’s piss-covered wipes that had been dropped on the floor, to ball up Penelope’s diaper by the cages where she had unceremoniously ripped it off, and to of course deal with Gillica’s own bloated and sodden mess that now lay discarded on the table. Gillica got to work, and washed her hands in a large sink-basin that appeared to be a holdover from when the slave quarters might have been a gardner’s storage room. Perhaps from before the north-side greenhouse was built. All that they would wear around the house was a maid’s apron. Black with white frills, tied around the back but covering little else. It was the same apron as the regular servants, the paid servants, save for that the paid servants had the choice of dress pants or dresses underneath. And dress shirts, of course. The men wore tuxedos, of course. The women were expected to pull their hair back and affix a white bonnet there as well, and this included the slaves. The apron did not cover what was most humiliating in her outfit, and anyone looking at her backside could not only see her diapers, but how much she had used them. But at least the gown covered her tits. Well, from the front at least. Everyone knows what I am, Penelope had observed once. So I like the freedom. They’re the ones diapering me, so I don’t care if they’re forced to witness it, referring of course to the stipulation that she must wear them, and not the fact that it was her own hands that performed the task for her overlords. Perhaps because Gillica was not just forced by Bisgrave to wear one did she feel differently. Perhaps it was the torture of finally having access to her undergarments, but still being prohibited from tampering with them, was what made her miss those ratted orange jumpers. “No matter how bad it is, just remind yourself of how much worse it could be.” Gillica tried to remember which cellmate had said that. It seems like something Saathia would have said. Out of self-pity, though, and not out of any attempt to comfort Gillica through one of those more uncomfortable nights. Densen Polliver had the list, ordered with numbers and expected time-to-completions on all of them. By noon more than half the list needed to be done, and if it was not, they would be permitted only one of those viscous smoothies instead of any actual lunch. “And dinner too,” Penelope asked, holding the paper. “And dinner too. You will both be expected to support the wait-staff, though you are not to be seen in the dining hall, nor heard. Is that understood?” Both slave-one and slave-two voiced their understanding. “I will remind you that the attorney general will be entertaining the Mayor of Stenton herself this evening. The usual retinue will not be in attendance; this is a private gathering. The wait staff will be in their weekend attire to accentuate the leisure of their meeting, and the menu will be adjusted according to the Mayor’s expressed desires. After dinner, the Attorney General will retire to the Opiante Room with the Mayor, where they will enjoy cocktail service by myself, with you two in-support in the ready-room. “Why not one of the servants?” Penelope asked. Densen Polliver’s hairy eyebrows twitched, annoyed that Penelope had pre-empted what he was trying to say. “You will be in attendance to offer personal testament to the rehabilitative power of Mistress Bisgrave’s criminal justice system, if required by the attorney general. You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance expected of you and expected of any woman truly committed towards putting their lives of crime behind them.” Penelope reddened, but said nothing. Then Densen Polliver was gone. He was off to trade his slippers and nightgown for his tuxedo, and to shave the graying scruff off his neck. The slaves were permitted to eat, and were allowed to do so in the slave hall, where a large bench occupied a narrow ante-chamber between the kitchens and the rest of the servant’s quarters. Like Densen, the servants wouldn’t be ready for a little while, and Penelope and Gillica used this time to find food from the kitchen and occupy the table-on opposite ends-in the brief and blessed time when nobody would begrudge their presence. It was smart to eat in less than 10 minutes, and Gillica would eat faster if she could chew the dense protein bar any faster. And even with a thick adult diaper on, the servant’s bench was hard against her bottom, as if it joined with the Manse and all of society in prodding her to begin her work. In prison there was nothing to do. Now there was too much. Gillica started with preparations for the real servants. She washed any straggling dishes, she organized the fridge and made sure that their breakfast materials; milk, cereal, bars, vegetables, were in ample supply. She found the folder of servant orders and bulletined them to the board, making sure that each corner was square. She didn’t hate them. Not all of them, and those she did were for reasons of their own. They had their part to play. And Gillica…she had… She had hers. “Penelope, I’m wet already.” “I don’t fucking care.” Densen would paddle Penelope if he overheard slave-one say a think like that, and not just for the language. But if Gillica told on her, she’d get asked herself why she didn’t mark her wetness on the bulletin and cage herself to wait for a servant to send Penelope to take care of her. And there would be no answer to that, and they both would be paddled, and Penelope would have it out for her. So Gillica left Penelope to iron the servant suits, which they would not need until the mid-morning, and set herself to start on her list as far from the other servants as she could. Any that saw the growing yellow down below would order her to her cage to await Penelope, and give her no credit for falling behind on her chores. Ordered to her cage for soiled diapers too often, and she was spanked. But falling short on her tasks meant even surer and more frequent discipline. Gillica had learned that it was not a choice for her between winning and losing, but between losing, and losing harder. It wasn’t fair, but when she answered to someone who was on parole herself, who was herself one of the very bottom human beings in all of Shamuria and yet still wiped Gillica’s ass, it was all the lot that Gillica could expect. Gillica, wet, went out in the cool morning area to trim the hedges. It was almost a perfect temperature for her attire, and felt even better when she got down to work on the long line of green bushes. Trimming into a basket she went, ensuring that the bellies of the five-foot bushes were all uniform and that no leaves sprouted out like little branch boners. It was refreshing outside, and the smell of the sliced branches overpowered the smell of stale piss that had wallowed in the slave quarters since she and Penelope were caged for the night. When her basket was full she carried it across to the compost at the north Greenhouse, careful to not overfill it so none of the sliced branches tumbled onto the lawn that had been cut just yesterday. If she left any on the lawn and it was seen, a servant would hear of it and tell it to Densen, who would find which of the slaves took care of it, and bring a branch of considerably more heftiness and meanness upon her rump. A basket only could hold the branches from two of the hedges, and in total there were sixteen hedges to clip. Eight times she waddled across to deposit her clippings into the compost. Once she had addressed them all she walked carefully through them to make sure that she had not missed a spot. She clipped a few more times, and then took her basket back to the compost a ninth time and then left it there, happy to have finished one of the more involved tasks of the day. As she was returning to the Manse, which loomed tall and shadowy from the north in the morning sun, one of the delivery vehicles rumbled down the gravel path between the hedges. She stood out of its way, mindful of the submissive posture expected of a slave-servant. Hands at her back, head down. The delivery truck rumbled on, and whether the driver had seen or cared about her or not, she couldn’t tell. By now her diaper was heavy with urine, and she knew it was yellow all the way up the back. It was no good denying herself water and coffee in the morning, and she hadn’t tried that since prison. No servant would do anything but order her to her cage, even the nice ones, but Gillica’s list was extra long, and working was worth the risk. Sometimes the servants forgot to log her sinful pee in the ledger of improvement. Attorney General Angelina Bisgrave was not just her mistress, was not just her once-upon-a-time top jailer, and was not just Gillica’s punisher-in-chief. She viewed things more expansively. She viewed herself as something of a maverick and innovator to Shamurians, a mold cut from the stock of the Americans. She was all those things, mistress, jailer, and punisher, as well as goddess, granter, and mercy conditional. But over and on top of all these things, Angelina Bisgrave viewed herself as correctional. There were eleven servants who were servants and not slaves of the Bisgrave Manse. Ten of them served the eleventh, the majordomo Polliver, to whom the two slaves also served. In the evenings, the slaves also served the servants, tending to their dishes and their occasional needs. It was not uncommon for Polliver to add the servants linens to the list of responsibilities that the two slaves had to handle, though most days one of the servants themselves handled the accumulated laundry of them all. The servants preferred to keep the slaves out sight. It was better to keep the smelly diaper-bound slaves on tasks that couldn’t contaminate their own spaces and autonomy, however meagre they were. They would send them on tasks into the town for personal errands. Some snacks from the grocery, some envelopes from the post-office, or something for the Manse that was needed. Any servant could task her if the slaves were not still working through their daily bill. Finish the tasks too late, and get punished. Finish them too early and get sent into town without even an apron to cover her breasts. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance. Instead, it was Boris. The shimmering of his braces flickered through his smile. His coarse orange hair was unkempt, and if Densen Polliver found him he’d order him into his quarters to comb it. He probably already had, but it was a losing battle. Boris’s hair was as untamable as he was.being handcuffed, Gillica had seen the back of Yara’s diaper bow outwards as her slave’s laughter turned to pleading. They’d gotten Yara on a checkup violation, something about skipping parole meetings. There was a long court proceeding where Yara accused Gillica of preventing her from doing her obeisances to her overseers. That was the only court proceeding that Gillica had won, and Yara was sent down to prison again. But not, Yara celebrated on the day of her release, for as long as Gillica would be sent down. Not nearly. Gillica wondered what happened to Yara. Probably back in front of a court again, she figured. She didn’t wish ill will on many. Not even on obnoxious Penelope and her persnickity lording of the slave quarters. Pick up my piss cloths, shitter. It became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. But she did at least hope for discomfort for Yara. Maybe not all the way back to Stenton Prison, though that felt inevitable for that idiotic woman who would have fought Gillica off if Gillica had not kept her chained. Maybe just a harsh patron. A real upstanding elite who was unimpeachable and unyielding. Someone like Mistress AG Bisgrave. A real correctional. Gillica knew the servants were buzzing about the Manse now. Bisgrave had arisen and left in her car, driven by one of the servants, and they’d crunched up the gravel road while Gillica was emptying her bucket of twigs. She could see them in the windows, through the steam that came out of the western wing’s smokestacks, indicating that the labors of meals were well underway. Their maid uniforms, complete with dresses, flitted through the windows. Wet, with a diaper that felt not just wet up the back but wet in the front too, Gillica headed back into the servant quarters to get the window cleaning supplies. She’d get her outdoor window cleaning done before one of them spotted her and caged her, so long as she could get in and get out without one of them noticing. She entered the side door, which took her through the living quarters for the servants. It was a hallway of dorms, and the newer ones slept two to a room, while the more advanced servants slept alone. They would be empty at this time, Gillica guessed, and this morning she guessed correctly. Her diaper was sodden and sweaty, and she wanted out, but it barely registered as discomfort. Paddlings were discomfort. Wetness and itchiness were life. At least it wasn’t stewing underneath the old fabric of an orange jumper. At least she wasn’t in the cage. Yet. Her guess having paid off, Gillica only had to cross the main area of the servant quarters, take a left, and open the closet. This was the danger zone, as by being in the closet and by facing the closet, her rump was facing the whole openness of the main area, including an open angle into the kitchen. The number of times a hey, slave! Had come to her when she was in this closet was innumerable. It was a gamble, and the last three consecutive days had seen her go from closet to cage. Being soiled at this closet probably got her caged 75% of the time, no matter what time of day. Those were good odds. All of her other chores took her into the main living areas, and into the teeth of the rest of the servants. She looked both ways from the living area hallway, saw nobody, and made her move. She opened the closet, honed in on the extendable mop and the washbasin. She found the adjustable squeegee to stick on the end of it so she could reach the highest parts. Footsteps. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. Exuberance. You know what, a cage is a place I belong. A cage keeps me where I belong. A cage reminds me of where I’ve been and it doesn’t let me hide from where I’ve been. It’s not a box. It’s transparent, and by seeing through it they can see right into me. Onto what I’m wearing, and what I’m really worth. The footsteps continued, and Gillica picked up her bucket and stick and headed back to the living quarters. She waddled crazily now, carrying her supplies and all of her pee. But she made it to the door without a shout from one of the servants down the hallway, without any of the servants stepping out of one of the bedrooms to see the worried face she wore. She wasn’t worried about leaking. The attorney general she called her mistress, Angelina Bisgrave, the one who ruled her world, the one who sat on a throne of discipline that Gillica ministered within far below, had access to the best sort of diapers. PGV3000s, which Gillica worked out long ago meant Punishment Garments, Version 3000. They were designed to hold, because they were designed to become as uncomfortable as possible for the wearer before causing a problem for those that lorded over the wearers. Leaks hadn’t been a problem for her three years at the Manse. They hadn’t been a problem all throughout prison either. Only on her last night in jail, the night before they put her on the Ferry of Justice to take her where she belonged, to the cage within the cage within the cage and the true start of the life she deserved, did she make darkspots on her bed and jumper. The piss just kept coming that night. Uncomfortable it became, and the ever-tropical weather of Shamuria began to take its effect. Cleaning the tall windows that lined the facade was difficult work, and it splashed soapy water down on top of her (the soap and water she was able to get from an outdoor shed hidden behind some bushes on the far side of the Eastern grounds.) Her bonnet was sprinkled, and now and then a dollop of soapy scum got in her eye, and she bent and struggled with the hem of her gown to dry it out. She had to get her back and hips into the scrubbing, and the curled up posture of her cage-bound sleep came to haunt her. The stamina in her legs bailed on her quickly. The rhythmic pumping of her thighs to reach the highest parts of the window made the bloated diaper swing between her legs. Still she worked, moving her bucket down the row of windows when each one was finished. By the end, Gillica resolved to cage herself. Her body ached, and she guessed it was barely ten in the morning. She leaned the mop handle against the wall of the Bisgrave Manse, walls that were made of large stone blocks, and felt herself. Wetter than she had been, more than could be accounted for than just sweat. The cage was calling. The cage lurked around every corner. She packed up her equipment. She took the bucket and dumped its contents on the leafy floor of the palm grove that flanked one side of the grounds. She took the squeegee off and threw it in a trash bin by one of the sheds. It was covered in a brownish-green grime typical of the seaside tropics. Yara used to complain about that muck all of the time. Browner than my cocksucking diaper, she would curse. She brought the bucket and the pole back to the closet, and this time, the servants didn’t fail to notice her. She didn’t bother to tell them that she was going. She simply said. “Yes sir.” The servant who saw her had been sitting at the servant table, taking a quick break with the newspaper. He saw her come and and as soon as she turned her back on him, he barked at her. He was one of the mean ones. Male and eighteen and clearly the communist type, despite his role as a servant. At least what Bisgrave does keeps them in check, was something she’d overheard him say in the servants quarters. Them being her kind, them being the wealthy who were wrong. He relished humiliating Gillica and Penelope, finding any opportunity he could to take them leashed and in just diapers and sandals to the town. Never thought it’d come to this, up there in your villas, all high and mighty. Did you? Over and over again he’d make her respond. “Yes sir, I didn’t sir. But I’m glad sir. I need it sir. I was wrong sir. You were right sir. Whatever you say sir. This is my place sir. Humility is a lesson I still need to learn sir, and I appreciate your patience with me sir.” You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance expected of you and expected of any woman truly committed towards putting their lives of crime behind them. “What are you doing, look at how much piss is in that thing,” he said, setting the newspaper down. Another servant, an older one, entered in from the kitchen, looked at Gillica, shrugged, and continued to the living corners. “What are you thinking? It seems like your disgusting ass likes it.” “I don’t like it, sir. I’m still learning responsibility sir.” “I think the cage is right for you then!” “I agree sir. I’m going to my place now.” Oh, how the little man enjoyed it. Boris was his name, and his teeth were still in braces and his hair was all mopped. She walked herself into the slave quarters, aiming herself for the cage. She wanted the cage. Earlier she thought to approach her day with a mind to minimize the amount she took the paddle, but now she hardly cared. She was so tired, and her cage was calling. Penelope could take an hour to filter down and wipe her pussy, and thus absolutely doom her from finishing even most of her chores, but at least her legs could rest. As she entered the quarters, something stirred next to her, and she saw that it was Penelope, on her back where she had been earlier. She was changing herself, and this time her diaper was far worse than Gillica’s. A pile of stained wipes grew to cover the open mess on the diaper. Gillica didn’t even flinch. This was life since the day they came for her, when she found herself with cold steel on her wrists, when Yara bricked herself because she knew she was going back. Penelope looked at her, and then returned to her work. Her neck craned down her navel to observe the work cleaning the shit off of her ass. There was nothing to say between either of them. “Don’t just fucking look at it, get in your cage and wait for me, you useless idiot.” Wordlessly, Gillica did as she was told. Even the thin mat and blanket felt comfortable on her aching muscles. She watched Penelope’s progress, knowing that the job of packing the dirty diaper up and bringing it to the disposal a few yards away would be her job. “Are you shitted?” “No,” Gillica answered. “Goddamn it,” Penelope answered. “You’re going to make me wipe your cooch all fucking day aren’t you?” Gillica didn’t answer. “You know. In four years. When I’m free of all this, I’m going to come and buy your ass off Bisgrave. You know I still have an estate, right? I’ll have enough if she’ll sell you. She’ll be tired of you by then. And then I’ll get back at your shitty ass. I’ll make it so miserable on you that you’ll finally learn to clench that wide open asshole you have.” Both of them were required to use their diapers. Penelope’s requirement was a legal one, a stipulation for all former occupants of Stenton prison who were still on parole. Parole was not a post-punishment phase, it was a reintroduction phase. Penelope had to exist in the world while being seen as the least of it, the base and mean denominator of all of Shamuria. If she tried to escape her new role in things, if she was ever found clothing herself more than ordered, or if she was found using a toilet, she’d risk trading her steel mesh cage for a concrete cell again. Some owners were lenient, Gillica heard. The top cop of Stenton was no-nonsense. Correctional did not mean forgiving. Gillica’s reasons were simpler. Finally, Penelope rolled herself off the table, a new fresh diaper taking the place of the old one. Gillica once again understood her queue to get to work removing the detritus of the old one, doing her best to avoid touching any of the shit that her fellow slave left behind. She balled up the diaper, taking care that all of the soiled wipes were contained within it. She used the tapes to wrap it into a ball, a technique she’d learned from countless prison guards ages ago. She carried it like nuclear waste over to the bin, stepped on the foot locker, and deposited on top of her and Penelope’s overnight briefs. Then she washed her hands in the bin, and began to undo her gown, while Penelope re-did her own. On the table once again, Penelope stood over her and got to work. Gillica felt the tapes of her PGV3000 come undone, exposing her pussy once again to the brick walls of the humble slave quarters. She tried to relax on the slab of the table, lowering her head and letting Penelope’s grunts and taps instruct her on whether to raise her legs or lower them. Just then, the door opened. It could only be a servant, and Penelope dropped the cold wet cloth she had been drawing through Gillica’s buttocks to face the door at attention. Gillica turned her head on the slab to see who it was, but she did not feel that, in this position, her movement was required unless it was Bisgrave herself. And Bisgrave herself never came down here. Instead, it was Boris. The shimmering of his braces flickered through his smile. His coarse orange hair was unkempt, and if Densen Polliver found him he’d order him into his quarters to comb it. He probably already had, but it was a losing battle. Boris’s hair was as untameable as he was. “Got bad news for you idiots,” he said. “Penelope. The domo just came by, and I told the domo that I caught you taking a dump in the Opiante room. He’s very displeased.” “Did you tell him that I was profusely sorry, and the need came over me and I couldn’t get out of the sacred room in time?” “You know he doesn’t care. He expects more out of his slave-one.” Gillica could feel the rage coming through Penelope, a quivering anger that threatened to rise up from her ankles into a fighter’s stance that would culminate in a savage punch to Boris’s askance teeth. And a trip back to Stenton prison, should she actually punch, and stripped of the small rights she had over Gillica, no matter how she begrudged them, and the cruel inevitability of the dock. What was more, Penelope had obviously tried to shit herself in the Opiante room on purpose, as a sign of disrespect. Gillica could see right through it, and could see that Penelope’s rage was half-directed at herself and the fury that her act of defiance had ended in capture. No room codified the brilliant patriotism and public service of the Bisgrave genealogy than the Opiante room. It was a room Gillica had heard of, and an event Gillica was very familiar with, long before her life changed and they came for her. The pride and joy of the Bisgrave family, the Bisgrave estate, and the Manse itself. At least when Gillica was caught soiled in there, there was the defense that she couldn’t do much about it. Penelope had no such defense. “I’m sorry sir,” Penelope said. She hid her anger well, but Gillica had known Penelope longer than Boris did. They’d overlapped at Stenton Prison, and Gillica knew the stance and tone of someone obeying a haughty guard. “I will accept whatever the majordomo deems necessary to correct my behavior.” “He said to cage yourself.” “I will do it gladly and await his further instruction, sir,” Penelope said. She turned briefly toward the cage, and then stopped. “Sir, should I finish changing slave-two?” Boris’s face expanded into a wide grin. He looked at Penelope, and stared at her from sandals to bonnet. “No, slave-one. The domo made it clear that your caging should be interrupted for nothing. I’ll finish with Gillica,” he said. The room was silent for a moment. The quivering anger that Gillica had observed in the twitching of Penelope’s calves, in the sway of the inches-deep padding of Penelope’s pristine white diaper, gave away. The anger was displaced by a stunned stiffness, stunned, like a small rodent paralyzed as the wheels of a mighty vehicle bear down upon it. Gillica’s pussy felt cold there on the slab. “Yes sir,” was all Penelope could say. She said it stiffly, and she didn’t look at Gillica. Instead she turned on a heel, exposing her diaper to the two of them, and walked toward her cage. Gillica could tell it took all of Penelope’s effort to hold her head high. Boris watched her go into her cage, and then stepped forward and found the key on a loop on the wall, and addressed the lock. Penelope was on her knees, her head bowed, her eyes staring blank out at the door to the slave quarters, as if hoping that by somehow watching, Densen Polliver would not arrive. “And you,” Boris said, coming closer to the slab that Gillica still laid on. “How far along in this change are you?” “Slave-one just started, sir,” she said, to the scruffy-headed eighteen year-old. “Alright,” he said. He looked over her nakedness like a starving man viewed a five-course meal. If it was left to the servants to deal with Gillica’s diapering, it was generally one of the older, more established ones. Never in his short tenure had it fallen to Boris, the newest and youngest of the group. Gillica wondered if he’d ever touched a vagina, or touched a woman at all. He seemed to know how it went, though. He found the wipes and got to work. He was not mindful of their coldness against Gillica’s skin. To his credit, he did not linger on her pussy, as she expected (and would have tolerated, no, would have enjoyed). Penelope treated her sex as if it were poisonous, even though Gillica knew for sure that Penelope had succumbed to the allure of tenderness during her incarceration. Gillica had no aspersions that her piss-covered pussy was romantic. She tried not to think about love at all, anymore, but sex was hard-coded into her body. The only way men touched her anymore was on a changing table, and her mind had learned enough to crave it. Even if the guards had discovered her sharing many cots in lockup, searching for the same tenderness that Penelope had sought, it was men she wanted, and it was changing tables where men found her. Even eighteen year old servants like Boris. “I always wondered why you chose this,” he said as he wiped the piss off her groin. “You’re not under threat of prison anymore,” he said. There were many answers to that. But Boris supplied his own. He took a wipe and held it up, showing to Gillica that there was more than pee, but less than poop on it. “Now I understand,” he said. Yes, you dolt. At least you know the difference between a pissed on pussy and a moist one. And no. It’s not for you. It’s just that your hand is male. You’re not Penelope, that’s all. And it’s certainly not why I swear myself to Attorney General Angelina Bisgrave! But she could do nothing but mutter a ‘yes sir,’ to him. It was a damn shame that she could not for a moment relish the cowing of Penelope before stumbling further into her own humiliation. She tried to distract her mind as her legs went in the air and he dealt with her asshole. Penelope. Penelope is in for it. Maybe I’ll be wiping her ass again, as it was for the short while after she arrived, until she stole that job from me. Maybe the shoe was soon to be on the other foot. Maybe her station was rising in the Manse. It didn’t matter if where you rose wasn’t high, it did matter if where your rose was as high as you deserved to go. There was something to be said for that. “You’re not out of the woods either,” Boris said, finding a fresh diaper for her. His words crushed her out of her brief reverie, and back into the disgusted awareness that his motions on her privates felt good. “You cleaned the windows, didn’t you?” If there was anything that could dry her pussy up, it was that question. She would have squirted for the mop-headed fool if it meant he could never have asked it. “Yes sir,” he said. “Well unfortunately, you’re going to have to do it again. You left streaks, big ones, on every window.” “I understand sir,” she said. Streaks, what streaks! Was this a joke? Her muscles cried out in rebellion. Cage, I just want to crawl into my cage. I thought it was going to be just me and my nice little cage! “The mistress herself came back in her car and was outraged. All of the servants will have to work extra hard to pick up the slack from the both of you. She wants you to give the windows another shot, and if she isn’t pleased the second time when she personally inspects them…” Boris shined his braces once again. This time, his fingers did linger as he spread lotion on her crotch. She felt herself moisten again. Felt his strength and imagined his cock. It had been so long since she’d felt a cock go inside her. She didn’t care who owned the next cock, she’d fuck it if she had a chance. But to feel like this in this context was torture. “Yes sir,” she muttered, again. “I will do the windows again, and accept the Mistress’s judgment,” she said. All she felt was a warm, rushing sensation. A pooling, trickling, splashing one. Boris yelped and stepped back in surprise. Gillica sat up to see a fountain of piss exiting herself onto the opened and formerly dry diaper that Boris had been preparing for her. “Disgusting, pathetic. Idiot. I can’t believe this happened to me on my first time!” Boris said, examining his shirt to see if she’d gotten pee on it. He continued to inspect himself, cursing and sputtering under his breath every time he found her urine on his servant’s uniform. Gillica laid down her head on the slab once again. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated.

Newer than real. Faster than real. Better than real. The TotalVerse is reality. Augmented. Advanced. Improved. Order your TotalSet today. … The prospects of the technology were, on their own, tantalizing. Lab-D technologies had outdone themselves, to the point where it seemed too good to be true. A non-invasive neural interface that delivered optical, stereoscopic, tactile, and olfactory feedback with precision that matched reality to a nearly analogue level. Already, demand far outstripped supply. If getting a PS8 had been difficult, getting a TotalSet to enter the TotalVerse was downright impossible. Scalpers made a mint. Influencers had to call in favors to get their hands on a set. Just owning one was a flex, to the point where people bought knockoff decals that looked like a headset. Visually, it was hard to tell the two metal chips the size of a pinkie nail from a fake, especially tucked behind the user’s ears, which made the fakes all the more appealing. Martin got his through a miracle. Refresh after refresh after refresh, watching all the store pages, none of it worked. Then he got the phonecall. “Hey, Marty–you know anyone who wants one of these headsets? My uncle got one and he says it makes him dizzy, he’s just trying to get back what he spent–okay, you can stop screaming.” It took a five hour drive upstate to get it, but within a day he was home, and in possession of his very own TotalVerse. Sitting on his couch, he buzzed with excitement as he wired it up. Two metal dots behind his ears, and a tiny pinprick of pain as the interface booted up. Then, his room came alive. A woman appeared in front of him, dressed in a purple tank top and matching purple skirt. Her hair, her eyes, and her jewelry were all the Lab-D Purple. His virtual assistant, then. “Hi! I’m Tallie. I’m here to help you set up your TotalSet!” she said. She looked real, as though Martin could reach out and touch her. In a childish impulse, he did so, and to his shock he felt real skin under his hands. His eyes widened. Tallie smiled. “I see you’re touching me. Your default setting is tactile feedback when not in a hazardous environment–would you like to disable that?” The options were already tantalizing. Sweating a little, glancing around uncertainly, Martin asked the awkward question. “Uh… Tallie. Could we have sex? If I wanted to. I mean–” “Certainly!” Tallie beamed, the smile highlighting the dimples on her cheeks. “There’s a suite of options for physical sensations. Would you like to customize my appearance first?” “I–no, not yet!” Martin said. “I just…jeez. Wow. Oh my god.” “I’ve finished calibrating your TotalVerse body settings,” Tallie said. “Your in-world body should match your own quite well, but you’re welcome to tweak the settings! More dramatic changes within the TotalVerse can be acquired from a licensed vendor.” There it was. The micro-transactions had made themselves clear; a TotalSet got him access to the servers, the unparalleled virtual reality world of limitless possibilities. If he wanted anything beyond that–rippling muscles, extreme physical enhancements, a dragon to ride around on–he’d need to get out his wallet. Martin didn’t much care. This was amazing. “Take me to the TotalVerse, please!” Tallie smiled. “Alright! Lie down in a comfortable position, please! I’ll be monitoring your body for safety, but it’s suggested you take breaks every hour.” He grinned, laid back on his couch, and shut his eyes. He opened them in another world entirely. The TotalVerse. Or, well, the TotalVerse lobby. He sat in what looked like an enormous convention hall, with prepopulated vendors selling basic cosmetics. Clothes, body enhancements, in-verse pets. He’d spawned with just a white T-shirt, black pants, and generic tennis shoes, but the stores offered him plenty of opportunities to customize. He’d do that later. For now, he wanted to go out into the world. “Tallie, I want to go somewhere,” he said. She appeared next to him, still beaming. “Your profile still needs a few details before we enter the TotalVerse–please review the following menus and confirm everything is correct!” A series of boxes appeared floating in front of Martin, confirming details. Even as lucky as he’d been, “Martin” had already been claimed as a username, but “MartinPalmer” was still open, so he just kept his full name. The slider options for his body were pretty useless, but he toyed with them to at least give himself the appearance of a slight summer tan and as athletic as the options would allow. He still looked like himself, just more ‘after a good summer’ himself instead of ‘done with a post-christmas binge’ himself. Still, he enviously eyed the greyed-out section on the slider. This was virtual reality, he wanted the body of an adonis. Of course, if he could do it, everyone could and it wouldn’t be special, but now it just meant that those with wealth or the time and discipline to exercise regularly would get the impressive looks, while he’d still be left out. There were minimal default clothes, just a few color options for the T-shirt and pants and an optional purple Lab-D Ballcap. He wanted fashion, but instead selected a blue T and white pants, skipped the tacky cap, and to his surprise when he hit ‘select’, they appeared in the air next to him and fell to the ground with a realistic flop. Glancing around, feeling awkward for stripping in such a large space–even a large, empty space–he stripped down to his virtual boxers and dressed in the new clothes. Everything felt real. If he hadn’t known he was wearing the TotalSet, he’d have no way of distinguishing this from reality. “Alright,” he said. “I’m set. Take me to the TotalVerse.” “Are you sure? Once you lock in your account, settings cannot be changed without spending Total Tokens for modifications.” “Sure,” Martin confirmed. “Just take me in.” “Where would you like to go?” Tallie asked. “Just…wherever. Is there a good place to get acquainted?” he asked. “Would you like to go to one of the TotalVerse Lounges?” Tallie asked. Martin shrugged. He just wanted to go anywhere. “Sure!” “Close your eyes, and I’ll take you there.” He did. She did. When Martin opened his eyes, he stood in a huge, elaborate cocktail lounge. Large steel balconies hung overhead, techno music thumped at a pleasant volume, and hundreds of other people milled about, dancing, chatting, or just taking in the sights. Many wore the same generic T-shirt/pants combination as Martin, but others had more elaborate wear–anything from high fashion to medieval armor. Several had inhuman features; tails, horns, or wings that let them fly from the ground floor to the balcony in a single sweep. Instantly, Martin felt a pang of jealousy. “How much are wings?” he asked aloud. Someone snickered next to him. Martin looked over to see a girl about his height, wearing a cocktail dress and a fabulous gold tiara. She had striking red eyes, and a body that drew Martin’s gaze for more than a moment. “If you want to talk to Tallie here, you have to say, ‘Hey Tallie!’–uh, no thank you. I’m done, Tallie.” “Thanks,” Martin said. “Hey Tallie!” Tallie appeared next to him, chipper as ever, standing between him and the girl. “How can I help you?” Martin leaned to the side. “Uh…” “She’s your Tallie, I can’t see her,” the girl explained, smirking. “Right. Hey Tallie, how much do wings cost?” Martin asked. Tallie raised her hand, and a menu appeared with a merchant page. “There are a variety of mod vendors who sell wings–prices range from fifty thousand to eighty thousand thousand Total Tokens. Would you like to shop for options?” Martin’s eyes widened as he did the math in his head, converting real money to tokens. That was way out of his price range. “No thanks.” Leaning aside again, he asked the girl, “How do I make her go away?” “You say, “I’m done, Tallie,” the girl explained. “I’m done, Tallie.” His virtual assistant blinked out of existence, leaving him facing the girl again. “Hi, I’m Martin.” “Daemon,” she replied. “You must be new here.” He chuckled. “What gave it away?” She looked him up and down. “No mods, no clothes, you don’t know how to call your Tallie–trust me, it stands out. Nothing to be embarrassed about, once you spend a few tokens you’ll be looking sharp.” Martin blushed. “Well, that’s the thing–” “Ah.” Daemon laughed. “Token poor, eh? Don’t worry, I know some people who can help with that.” “I’ve got a job,” Martin said. Daemon smirked. “Why don’t we talk somewhere more…private?” “Another room?” he asked. “Off the TotalVerse,” Daemon explained. “I’ll give you my Chaos handle, we can chat–you do have a Chaos account, right? The popular chat service?” “Oh, yeah. I mostly use it for gaming,” Martin said. “We should talk there.” Daemon looked around the club. “There’s eyes everywhere, and you don’t want to get in trouble and have your account locked–you only get one shot, y’know.” “Oh, sure.” Martin shrugged. “Okay.” They exchanged contact info, and she waved at him. “Talk to you soon, Martin. I can’t wait to see what you spend your tokens on.” Daemon disappeared in a blink, leaving Martin alone in the club. Glancing over, he walked to the bar, feeling a bit uncertain. “How much is a…how about a lemon drop?” “Just one token,” the bartender explained, leaning over the counter. With a start, Martin realized that she looked identical to Tallie, save for her outfit. “You want one?” Martin did the math in his head–one token was cheaper than a drink at a real bar. “Sure.” From nowhere, she passed him the shot glass, and Martin downed it in one swig. The alcohol hit him–a mild surprise. He’d known the sensory control was solid, but this was incredible–and he wanted to know what else he could experience. But to experience it, he needed tokens. “Eh, screw it,” he said. “Hey, Tallie. Take me back to real life.” “Alright!” Tallie said, blinking into unreality across from him. “Just close your eyes!” He obeyed, and felt his couch underneath him. The buzz of alcohol, though, hadn’t gone away. “Tallie, am I still tipsy?” Standing over him, his virtual assistant nodded. “Would you like to sober up?” “No, I just didn’t realize it crossed over,” Martin sat up. Reaching out for his phone, he pulled up the Chaos messenger, added Daemon’s user ID, and sent a message. ‘You mentioned tokens?’ Her message came back a second later. ‘I’ve got a lead on a way to generate tokens. Since the software’s still new, there’s a few exploits–from within your account controls, I can underflow the system to max out your tokens. It’ll only take a few minutes.’ Martin’s eyes widened. After the stroke of luck with getting a headset at all, he hadn’t expected to be rolling in virtual currency. ‘Won’t I get banned, though?’ ‘That’s the thing–the bug is untraceable. I did it on my own account, you saw what I was wearing, right?’ Daemon had a point. Martin considered for a moment. He didn’t want to get permanently locked out of his account due to hacking, but if she’d done it… And besides, what fun was virtual reality if he couldn’t do anything? ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘What do I need to do?’ ‘Just go into your user settings and pull a couple ID numbers for me,’ Daemon sent back. ‘I’ll send the list. That’ll let me tweak your account balance.’ ‘Okay, great.’ Martin said aloud, “Hey, Tallie. I need some numbers, can you read them to me?” He read Daemon’s list aloud, and when Tallie gave him the codes, he typed them in diligently. ‘Thanks’, Daemon said. Martin started to type out a response, but curiously, before he could hit send, Daemon’s name grayed out. “Weird…” He wasn’t sure what to do next. Maybe he already had the tokens. Maybe it’d all been a scam–but if it had, he wasn’t worried, he didn’t have an account balance to clear out. “Tallie, take me back to the club,” he said, laying back and closing his eyes. When he reappeared, he looked around for Daemon, but she was nowhere to be seen. He checked his account balance, but it still sat at a single digit number, his starting balance from opening an account. “You’ve got a message!” Tallie said. “From an anonymous user.” “Uh…” Martin frowned. “What is it?” “It says, ‘Fifty thousand credits, and we’ll give your account access back.’ And then there’s a TotalVerse Banking account number.” Tillie beamed while she spoke, totally at odds with what she’d just said. Martin looked around the club, shocked. He half expected to see Daemon smirking at him, but all he saw were the faces of other new users in their various attire, a few of whom were glancing at him curiously. “What?” “It says, ‘Fifty thousand credits, and we’ll give your account access–” “Yeah, no, I heard you.” Martin gaped. “Tillie, show me user settings.” “I’m afraid your user settings are password protected,” Tillie smiled. “Can you tell me the password?” “I…but…” Martin started to say. He had no followup. He’d fallen for a stupid scam within ten minutes of opening his account. And then he noticed the warmth in his pants. Looking down, his eyes widened, shocked as he saw a dark, wet stain spreading down from his crotch, turning the white fabric bright yellow. “Tillie, what the hell?” “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question,” Tillie said. “Why did I just–” Martin looked around, horrified to see the smirks being cast his direction. In a quiet hiss, he finished, “Piss myself?” “It looks like your potty training settings have been adjusted to zero,” Tillie said. “You can reset that at any time from your user settings. Would you like to go there now?” “Yes!” Martin snapped. “I’m afraid your user settings are password protected,” Tillie smiled. “Can you tell me the password?” Martin blanched. His account had been bricked, unless he was willing to pay a ransom or continue pissing his pants in the TotalVerse. “I…” A passing guy snickered. “You got scammed, bro!” While Martin took that in, Tallie chimed in again. “It looks like your clothes are dirty. Would you like to have them cleaned, or change to a different outfit from your inventory?” “I don’t have any other clothes!” Martin snapped. “Yes you do! Your inventory has plenty of options,” Tillie said, raising her hand. A menu appeared, showing he had one other piece of clothing in his wardrobe inventory–a plain, white, puffy diaper.” Martin swallowed. “Take me back to the loading room, please.” They vanished from the bar, and reappeared in the starting area. He took a breath. “How much does it cost to clean my clothing?” “You may have your clothing automatically refreshed once per day,” Tallie said. “Additional cleanings cost credits, depending on the item.” “Can I buy other clothes?” he asked. “I’m afraid that option is password protected,” Tillie smiled. “Can you tell me the password?” “Dammit!” Martin snapped. “Ok. Ok, this is fine. Can I still, like, buy stuff?” “Your ability to purchase mods and clothing is password protected, but your other options are currently available,” Tillie said. “Is there something you’d like to buy?” “No, I just…” Sitting down, Martin took a deep breath. “Shit. So I can either ditch my headset completely, or deal with…ugh. Diapers.” He’d have to think about it. It was just annoying enough that he might put up with the embarrassment and nuisance, if it meant getting the other benefits of the TotalVerse. Besides, as fun as the Verse parts were, the most important aspect was the augmented reality. Those settings would be lifechanging, the kind he’d wanted the set for to begin with. If nothing else, getting to bang Tallie whenever he wanted would be well worth the sticker price. “Okay, Tallie, I’m ready to leave the TotalVerse,” he said. “Alright! Close your–” He already had his eyes closed, and he returned to reality. Once again, he was laying on his couch, the t-shirt went away and was replaced with his tank top, and his wet pants… He was still in wet pants. Opening his eyes, he looked down, shocked to see that his jeans were just as soaked as his pants in-verse had been. “Uh…” he said. “Uh…” All his user settings had been modified. Not just the in-verse settings. If he wanted the potty training back, he’d have to take off his headset completely. “Uh, Tallie…” he started to say. She blinked into appearance on his lap. “Would you like to have sex now?” His concerns faded. He could take off the headset later. And maybe he could just buy some diapers for regular-day use, too. ... Hey there, author note! I'd like to know what you think of the concept in this story. Aside from the plot itself, there's a lot I could do with the concept of a VR universe like this. I'd like to hear your comments! Also... I already wrote another story in this universe, it's in early access on Patreon & SubscribeStar. "Gamer Pants: the Stat Dump" will be out publicly next month, but you can read it early if you want to support my writing! https://www.patreon.com/posts/67843661 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/628275

Three Strikes and You’re Out! By Horatio Husky One I swear if he’s out at the gym again for one of his ‘impromptu workout sessions’ I’ll bite his tail off. These musings came from the mind of a black and golden tan German Shepherd fur as he shivered, cold despite his thick fur and winter jacket at the doorstep of his friend’s house. The two had only been friends for a few months, but a lot had transpired between them during that time. Being a police officer, Rick was expected to keep his body in a state of fit physique and agility to operate at peak performance. Thus, he had found himself acquiring a gym membership after a few months at his new job when he had noticed a suspicious increase in mass around his midsection. Not wanting his fate to end like any other stereotypical donut munching cop, he had started to frequent his local gym several times a week, usually after his shift ended. At that establishment he found himself seeing a certain, rather athletic looking arcanine, who always seemed to be in the most chipper, friendly of moods whenever he saw him. After a few days of a few moments of eye contact and nervous smiling, he had come over to him and introduced himself as, ”Anthony, but you can call me Tony!” His confidence and self-assured grin had given him a friendly glow that Richard found he liked very much, and he extended his paw to shake and replied with his name. The following weeks turned into a blur as the two canines hit it off better than either of them had expected. Beyond exchanging their own little fitness tips and tricks their sense of humor was shared as well, and they found great excitement and amusement in exchanging their own ideas and perspectives on the world, which the two found that although they differed on many subjects they both found hearing what the other had to say about a particular argument quite interesting and engaging. They had gone out a few times too, to a few lesser-known bars that the arcanine had said he preferred to go too since he usually wasn’t recognized there. At this strange comment, Richard had raised his eyebrows, thinking that his friend was making a joke. Tony had smiled a little, the first time in fact that Richard had ever seen him look sheepish, as he explained that he was a locally well-known baseball player, and had found himself getting bothered quite a bit at some of the other establishments he had frequented previously. Richard had done a google search, at Tony’s suggestion more to humor him than anything, but found to his surprise a Wikipedia page confirming his newly made friend’s claims at athletic success. Tony had then told him something that warmed Rich’s heart. He had first begun to talk to the shepherd because he felt was searching for a friend who wouldn’t want to be close to him just for his fame, but someone who liked him as a person. This warmed the cop’s heart, and he had wrapped his arm around the hulky arcanine’s shoulder and smiled at him conspiratorially, saying that he was more than happy to be such a person for him. Naturally, after such a warm entrance into friendship, they had gotten plastered that night and ended up somehow both falling on top of each other back at Tony’s residence. Things had progressed down a path that the two had not fully acknowledged, even to themselves, but yet both somehow knew that would traverse if things continued. Tony had leaned forward into a passionate kiss, pushing himself against the shepherd in an act of shameless passion to which the drunken shepherd could only respond in kind. Their passions lead to the stripping of clothes and before Richard knew it the arcanine had begun to take control of him and his body in the most loving fashion he had experienced to date. Being straddled by the muscled beast he had whined and howled in pain and ecstasy, the arcanine leaning down to his ears and whispered sweet nothings into it, even going as far as gently biting the nape of his neck and embracing him around the chest as he thrust himself into him. The lovemaking had lasted a decent while, Richard remembered how he had marveled as just how well Tony had paced himself, most likely due to his athletic training and discipline. By the time Tony finished, at last, the shepherd found himself able to do little but pant and gasp for air in an orgasmic trance, having climaxed himself several minutes ago while Tony had still been going strong. The arcanine had grasped him under the chin and brought him up to his face. They kissed more, the arcanine rubbing his back and humming soothingly to the receptive canine, thanking him for a wonderful time. Richard could only smile goofily back, completely and utterly entranced by the wonderful being before him who he had so perfectly made love to. Richard stamped his feet, trying to keep warm even as his cheeks flushed with red standing in the cold at Tony’s doorstep, remembering how they had then fallen asleep spooning, Tony being the big spoon naturally, and how the shepherd had woken up to Tony cooking him breakfast, wrapped up in a snuggly blanket on his couch. They had spent the morning chatting about the previous night, now almost completely unabashedly speaking about their own preferences and even delving into fetishes. They had been surprised just how well they had meshed together in lovemaking last night, Tony causing Richard to blush when he told him how he wasn’t surprised at all how to find that the shepherd was so subordinate. “I mean come on, anybody looking at you even from a mile away could see that you totally scream bottom!” Richard had almost coughed his coffee out of his maw at this comment, causing Tony to only laugh louder between fork-fulls of syrupy pancake. The canine had blushed in response to the arcanine but smiled good-naturedly. Although normally his tough, police officer persona was the one he operated on most of the time, he found that he felt comfortable letting his guard down around the arcanine, even to the point of expressing his submissiveness to him. After his normally uncharacteristic blush, the arcanine had gently inquired about the shepherd’s preferences, whether he had considered himself a sub for long. The two spent the rest of the morning discussing their own sexual experiences, preferences, and even fantasies. Throughout their dialogue the arcanine seemed to work magic onto Richard, gently but firmly inquiring as to what he would enjoy and wouldn’t, as well as what thinks he would enjoy not enjoying. The shepherd’s heart rate rose up multiple times during their exchanges, excitement filling his body that not even his job offered him during moments of pursuing justice and chasing after criminals. “Wait here, Richie, I think I have something that you might enjoy.” The arcanine winked before rising to his full height and softly strolling out of the room, a devilish expression on his muzzle. Richard could only lean forward off of the couch and look after him, wondering what his attractive friend was wanting to retrieve. “Close your eyes, Richard.” The canine obeyed and heard Tony shuffle towards him before stopping in front of him. “You can open them now.” Richard opened his eyes and gazed up at Tony before looking down to see that the arcanine was holding something in front of the shepherd’s nose. Richard took a sharp breath and quickly realized what the object that lay in the arcanine’s outstretched paw was. A small, white chastity cage was being presented to him, complete with a steel, heart-shaped lock adorning the bottom. The German Shepherd’s heart pounded in his chest, and he looked up wide-eyed into Tony’s own well-knowing eyes, understanding what he was being offered. “What do you think buckeroo, wanna have some fun? I think I could go for dating a cutie like you. After all, I think after last night you’ve proven that you might be needing this. You made a mess all over my couch after all!” Richard’s cheeks reddened at the playful admonishment, but his eyes looked back down onto the cage in front of him. He opened his lips as if to speak, but found it difficult to articulate what he felt. Picking up on his apparent speechlessness, Tony squatted in front of him and looked up into the blushing shepherd’s eyes, his voice softening now but retaining the same firm assuredness that proliferated his entire being. “How about I help you put it on, would that help, pup?” The shepherd could only nod shakily in response, his breaths still coming in heavy and deep as his entire being seemed to grow warm and vibrate in excision and stimulation. The arcanine gently pushed on the shepherd’s shoulders and repositioned him onto his back. Scooching over onto the couch he unbuckled the shepherd’s jeans and slid them down, following with his underwear. Richard’s member had begun to grow slowly after he had been approached by the arcanine’s offer but had not yet reached full erection. Tsk-tsking at the apparent excitement the canine was displaying, Tony worked efficiently and quickly at sliding the tube over the shepherd's not yet fully excited head and looping the support ring underneath his testicles. Richard felt a firm pressure on his jewels, which increased to a more distinct pressing feeling as he heard a soft click, and then a louder one as the cage was locked firmly into place. His member now strained against his confines, but to no relief as the plastic prison kept his erotic excitement firmly and securely in check. Tony grinned, and almost cooed as he said. “Looks like our little friend here is having a hard time containing himself! It’s a good thing I was around to make sure that he doesn’t get himself into trouble now, no?” Tony’s words washed over him like a stimulating wave of air, causing a shiver to run through him as both tone and context of what the arcanine said turned him on immensely. The amateur baseball player had a charm and confidence that the shepherd could find almost irresistible. He couldn’t help but blushing slightly, as he gazed into the arcanine’s eyes, feelings of attraction and yearning coursing through his veins as he strained against the cage around his member. Tony offered a paw to him and helped Richard up to his feet before helping him redress, surprising him by delivering an impassioned and deliberate kiss on the shepherd’s cheek, causing him to his great embarrassment to stammer a little bit in response. Tony’s eyes glistened as he let out a loud laugh, grinning broadly and looking directly into Richard’s eyes and winking confidently. “Oh Rick, this is going to be more fun than I could have possibly imagined, I figured you were a total sub but to this extent? I think this is going to be a luxurious time.”

Sam had come to accept his life as normal. He lived with two men that took care of him. Jackson, only a few years older than Sam, worked from home as an independent software contractor and took on the role as Sam’s older brother in the household dynamic, looking out for Sam, while also being sure to make good use of him when Dad wasn’t looking. Jeff on the other hand, who played the role of Sam and Jackson’s Dad was a large muscular dude, who often worked 60+ hour work weeks in the field leaving the two home alone and unsupervised. But when he was home, he made sure Sam and Jackson had fulfilled their daily chores, and relieved him of any stress before tucking them both in for the night. Between Jackson and Jeff’s income, Sam was able to indulge in the lifestyle he had always dreamed about. He was the household baby. Waddling around in his often exposed diapers, filling them as he needed and happily going about his day playing with a variety of toys, or stuffies. Sometimes Jackson even let him play some of his video games, but nothing more than an E rating of course. Jackson on the other hand, had first been dating Jeff as his one and only submissive slave, indulging in both of their BDSM fantasies when Jeff started to express interest in having him live the ABDL lifestyle. Jackson wasn’t too fond of the idea, admitting that he might be willing to make small changes here and there to make Jeff happy, but didn’t see himself behaving in that manner at all times around Jeff. Eventually, the two had reached an arrangement that worked for the two, as Jackson had started to develop a liking for being in charge sometimes, but knew Jeff would never let that happen. So they came to an agreement to bring a third into their relationship, that would serve as a sex toy / maid for the both of them, and ultimately create a unique home life. At first, Jackson’s part in the agreement wasn’t totally of great interest to him, as his now Daddy would require him to be in pull ups at all times when he was around, only allowed to use the toilet for bigger messes. Jackson had started to enjoy the idea of letting go and being treated like a kid during after care. Sure it was fun to get tied down and fucked by Jeff, but the ABDL dynamic created a unique after care that helped Jackson unwind, especially with the addition of Sam. The three of them had talked a lot over video calls and instant messages, leading them to eventually meet up for a weekend in Sam’s hometown, and take Sam back with them. The time in town had been relatively normal, eating out, getting to know each other, getting comfortable and exchanging sexual comforts, history, etc. The late night hookups in Jeff and Jackon’s hotel, and eventually packing up Sam’s small apartment which he could barely afford and loading it into the back of Jeff’s truck. While they hadn’t actually got around to any ABDL specific stuff, other than open conversations about it, Jeff was dying to get started, to get immersed in a new world he had been preparing for ever since Jackson had agreed to bring in someone else to their relationship. Jeff was sure to dig through any open boxes, trying to get a sneak peak at Sam’s stuff both to assess what he had, but more importantly looking for any signs of the supplies that Sam said he had, and Jeff was desperate to make use of them after having waited all weekend. While his efforts proved to be fruitless, he was determined and reminded himself that he was in charge, so why not just demand what he wanted now that the three of them had started to settle in. “Hey Sammy, where do you keep your, uh, little supplies?” Jeff asked with a nervous but firm voice as he wasn’t quite sure what to call it. While he had been scrolling through Etsy shops and making many purchases throughout Amazon and other online vendors, he still wasn’t sure what to call it all as a whole. With Jackson, he could just demand certain items or actions, but he wasn’t sure that he was quite at that point with Sam. “Oh, I have those in my bag that I put in the car...did you want me to get them?” Sam called back from the living room where he was finishing packing up the last of his things. “Yea, and meet me in your room before we load up your mattress,” Jeff responded. Rather than stand around and wait, Jeff finished loading up the boxes still scattered around the bedroom and made his way back to find Sam nervously sitting on the bed, swinging his feet. He looked up at Jeff with a nervous smile, “Oh! Before I forget, the mattress is just gonna stay here, the landlord said it was ok.” he said trying to prevent any awkward silence. “Oh...yea that should work out well then because I think it would have to be strapped down to the roof otherwise. Bed Frame staying too?” Jeff responded. “Yea, I was thinking I wouldn’t be needing them anyways?” Sam said, hinting at the idea that a better option might be awaiting him at his new home. Jeff smiled, “No you will not.” He paused, a little nervous to push Sam too fast, but was dying to see him in a diaper, especially with a long car ride ahead of them. He took a deep breath, reassured himself that he was in charge and said “Alright, well we're almost done loading up the truck, so let's get you changed and ready for the trip home.” Sam blushed, obviously knowing what he meant. He reached for his backpack and started to unzip the bag. “Did...did you want to pick it out? I don’t have many options.” Sam said nervously, having never worn in front of anyone else. “I’ll let you pick this time, since you're being such a big boy right now and helping move all of this heavy stuff”. Sam smiled and pulled out a diaper, one that Jeff quickly recognized as he had been doing a bit of online shopping in preparation of bringing Sam home. It was white, with a fairly big strip around the middle containing images of childish cars and trucks. “Can you take your pants off like a big boy for daddy?” Jeff said as he felt himself getting overly excited and more into the role. Sam happily obliged and pulled his pants down, revealing his hairless groin that Jeff was seeing for a second time, after a fun night in their hotel room a few nights before. “Alright, lean back onto the bed for me and I’ll get you wrapped up nicely.” Sam laid back on the bed, having never been changed by someone other than himself before, he felt himself getting excited as the new experience unraveled itself around him. It had always been a fantasy to be treated just like a baby. Diaper changes and bottles, bedtime stories and lots of stuffies, but never did he think it would actually come true. He mainly chatted with people online in the hopes that he might find someone to fulfill the fantasy for a night or something and yet here he was, about to become fully immersed. Lost in thought, It didn’t take long before his cock was at full mast. Jeff saw this as he lifted Sam’s butt up in the air to slide the diaper under him but ignored it as he smiled and shook his head as he adjusted the tapes in the back for easy access. He pulled the diaper up over Sam’s erect cock and began to tape up each side, laying his erect cock tight against his stomach. Sam, still lost in the thought of his fantasy land while this was happening, was half expecting him to play with it, relieve him or at least say something, but instead he felt it tucked under the diaper without a word. They had a long day ahead of them so he didn’t say anything. Jeff lifted Sam back off of the bed. “Not bad for a first timer” Jeff said with a smile. “Hehe, yea it feels pretty good” Sam said as Jeff helped him pull his pants over his fresh diaper, pausing to take a second to acknowledge it up close. “I guess this outfit will due for today, but that will change when we get home, along with that other little problem we encountered.” Jeff said with a smirk as he pulled Sam into a hug from behind, reaching through the front of his diaper to point his slightly deflated cock downwards. “Yea...that's not going to fly in my house, little guy” Jeff whispered into Sam’s ear before kissing the side of his head. Jeff released Sam who was blushing and trying to use his hands to cover the obvious bulge where he had just been touched, now thickening back to its full extent. “Come on, let's finish up here and get out on the road.” The car ride was long. Jeff and Jackson had traveled close to 11 hours across states to come pickup Sam, but the three of them were having a good time. Jeff, as excited as he was to get this new dynamic kicked off, knew that he should at least wait until they got home and settled in before fully putting his plans into place. But that wouldn’t stop him from having a little fun along the way. Conversation continued as they exchanged stories, talking about life. They played some car ride games and stopped for gas and snacks, to which Jeff made sure that both of the boys got large Slurpees, sounding innocent enough to sneak his intentions past Jackson’s eye, but Sam had exchanged a big grin with Jeff as he knew exactly what Jeff was trying to cause, but Jeff had already made sure the newest addition to his family was wrapped up tightly and ready for this kind of adventure. Not even an hour later on the road, Jeff could spot the nervous movements of Jackson in the seat next to him and he squirmed around, obviously trying to hold his bladder. Having chugged down the Slurpee within minutes of resuming the car ride, Jeff had been waiting for this moment with a smile. “Hey, any chance we could stop at the next gas station?” Jackson asked. “We just filled up, should be good until we get home.” Jeff responded with a smile, trying to keep his eyes on the road rather than his squirming partner. “Yea, it's just that I’ve got pee,” Jackson responded. “You didn’t put a pull up on this morning?” Jeff responded with a smirk, knowing very much that he hadn’t since the two of them never officially said when their new agreement would start. “Oh...I hadn’t realized we started that,” Jackson said as he started to blush, embarrassed that he had just said that out loud with Sam in the back seat, unaware of the bonding time the two of them had earlier that morning. “We'll, why don’t I pull over and you can put one on,” Jeff said. “Yea, at the next gas station would be great,” Jackson said, unaware of Jeff’s plan. Almost instantly, Jackson’s stomach sank a little when Jeff began to pull over on the side of the road. “Oh...you mean like now?” Jackson said nervously. “Well you said you had to pee, didn’t you?” Jeff responded, now fully looking over at Jackson with a huge smile. Jeff reached inside the glove box and pulled out a pull up he had conveniently placed there before. Nothing childish or deeming, just some drug store quality ones he had picked up as a last minute idea the other day. “Oh you wanted this to happen…” Jackson said as he put the pieces together. Sam let out a laugh from the back seat as he watched Jackson take the pull up from Jeff. “Sorry, I just think this is pretty funny,” Sam said. “I bet your little brother already soaked his, didn’t you, little guy?” Jeff said in a silly voice while looking back at Sam. Sam blushed, as he buried his face behind his hands. “Just a few times…”. “Oh, Sam, are you already wearing a pull up?”. Jackson asked. “No…” He said in a silly voice. “Daddy put me in a fresh diaper this morning”. Jackson looked back at Jeff with a face of resent and excitement. Sure he loved incorporating embarrassment into the bedroom, but the side of the road felt a little public. There were almost no cars on the road though, and Jackson knew there was no fighting with Jeff. If Jeff wanted something from Jackson, he knew it would go better if he just followed orders. Hesitantly, Jackson opened the door and jumped out of the truck, pulling down his pants and unfolding the pull up. “Fuck, do you have to pull these on like underwear?” Jackson said as he realized they weren't like a diaper. “That's why they’re called pull ups, kiddo”. Jackson blushed at the new name Jeff had used for the first time, he looked back lovingly at his boyfriend and smiled. Usually, his nicknames were much more demeaning like, bitch, or cum slave, so this was a welcoming change for Jackson. Jeff was relishing in the moment, taking in the sight of his exposed boyfriend with his pants around his ankles on the side of the road as he struggled to figure out how a pull up worked. Jackson acted quick as a car flew by. He pulled his pants over his shoes and quickly slid on the pull up, rushing to then pull his jeans back over his shoes before jumping back in the truck. Without much of a hesitation, Jeff started to pull off the side of the road and get back to driving. “So now I just...like pee?” Jackson said, reminded of his full bladder as he got comfortable in his seat again. “Yea, I’d be careful though. Pull Ups don’t usually hold that much” Sam said from the back seat, snickering as he awaited what would happen next. “Wait what?” Jackson said as a sense of panic overcame him. Jeff smiled. It wasn’t a part of his plan for Jackson to soak himself beyond just his pull up, but he liked the idea that it was a possibility. Afterall, he could just have Sam clean it up when they got home. Jackson was so uncomfortable. His bladder was beyond full, but he couldn’t trick himself into peeing. He was scared to push too hard to keep it from flooding, but beyond that he just couldn’t. He kept pushing and pushing, trying to relax his mind, until finally, a little stream began to flow and he felt the wetness spread throughout the front of his pull up. Jeff looked over to see Jackson in a deep concentration, as he knew that Jackson was attempting to pee himself on purpose for the first time. It was hot and Jeff felt himself getting aroused. As Jackson felt himself reaching an end, his heart sank as he felt the wetness begin to leak onto his legs, polling into the bottom of his jeans, wetting the surface of his pants while he was at it. Soaked and mortified, Jackson finished peeing and sat there. He let out a deep sigh, prompting Jeff to look over. “Looks like someone had a little accident” Jeff said with a laugh as he looked over. Jackson looked back as Sam laughed in the back. “Can we stop at a gas station now?” Jackson said with little tone, accepting what had just happened but eager to get out of it. “Yea, we can get you cleaned up...if you do daddy a little favor.” Jackson looked over as Jeff motioned towards his now noticeably huge bulge. He knew exactly what he wanted as they had done this on a lot of their road trips. Hell, oftentimes Jackson offered just so that he wouldn’t have to drive. “This is really doing it for ya, huh?” Jackson said with a smirk. Already making his way towards his Daddy’s pants to undo them. Sam sat in the back seat, watching with excitement, trying to catch a glimpse at how big his new Daddy was downstairs. Jeff noticed him in the rearview as he helped pull his pants down for Jackson. “Don’t you worry buddy, you’ll get a chance later tonight. Why don’t you take a nap so that you're ready to help the big boys unload all of your stuff? Don’t want you getting tuckered out too early.” Sam blushed and nodded. Exciting for what lay before him later tonight and eager to not disappoint. Sure he wasn’t that tired, but the idea of taking a diapered nap in the back seat of Daddy’s truck was all he needed. Meanwhile, Jackson was now laid across the center console, with his mouth wrapped around his Daddy’s massive cock. Jackson, deep in the motion felt his daddy's hand reach around back and grab a hold of his piss soaked ass, firmly squeezing it as he moaned with pleasure. “We’re gonna have to make sure you don’t make accidents like this on a regular basis, kiddo”. Jackson slowly bobbed his head and whipped his tongue back and forth on the underside, occasionally using it to hug the massive cock. Slowly, he took in more and more of the cock until it was fully in his mouth, causing him to gag time and time again as Jeff purposefully hit pot holes here and there. Jackson felt one last firm grip of his soaked ass before Jeff’s cock began to twitch, shooting its load straight to the back of his throat. He gagged slightly, but was sure to suck up every last drop as he knew that his master, well his now Daddy, wouldn’t tolerate anything less and he was expected to clean up any mess made during play time. Jackson continued to suck as he felt the penis shrink back down in size. Taking his time to lick the different parts, ensuring that there wouldn’t be any trace of cum left. Jeff slowly ran his hand through Jackson’s hair and for a moment, Jackson was at peace. It wasn’t long until the next gas station came about, and the three of them pulled into the parking lot. As he parked, Jeff looked into the rearview to find his newest addition passed out in the back seat, fully unaware they even stopped. He smiled as he gestured for Jackson to get out. “Do you have anything to cover this?” Jackson asked, looking down at his obviously soaked pants. “No. Just get out of the car, people will probably just think you spilled your drink if anything.” Jackson did as he was told, as he had learned by now that there was no point in arguing. Daddy always won. Nervously, Jackson got out of the car and made his way into the store, quickly dodging into an aisle and out of sight of the cashier, scanning for the bathroom door that he saw in the back of the store. Quickly, he opened the door and ducked inside, desperate to get out of his drenched pull up. Jeff made no effort to quicken his pace as Jackson ran into the store. Instead, he checked the back of the truck for extra clothes for Jackson and made sure to grab a fresh pull up before making his way into the store. Jackson had just finished stripping his clothes and soggy pull up off when he heard the knock on the door, followed by Jeff’s voice. “Kiddo? You in there?” Beyond embarrassed, Jackson quickly unlocked the door allowing Jeff to enter. Jeff laughed as he entered, seeing Jackson in nothing but a shirt with his piss soaked pants on the ground. “What a little baby you are. Keep this up and we might have to send you back a few steps, mister” Jackson was embarrassed, but he was also aroused because this was just his thing. He loved to be embarrassed and used for his Daddy’s pleasure, and he could tell he was having a good time. “I brought some wipes and a spare pull up, so why don’t we get you cleaned up and changed?” Jackson stood still and Jeff took a baby wipe out and began to wipe around his privates. The wipe was cold to the touch, but Jackson felt himself getting hard nonetheless. “Oh, so I do have two helpless little piss boys that like to be taken care of, don’t I?” Jackson smiled and looked up at Jeff with the loving look he had always exchanged after a rough scene and Jeff sought to comfort him. “Awww, does that mean yes, kiddo?” Jeff asked with a teasing voice. “Yea…” Jackson responded as he dipped his head with embarrassment. “Yes, what?” “Yes, Daddy. I enjoy being your helpless piss boy.” It was something he never thought he would say out loud, especially when Jeff had first brought up the idea of ABDL, and yet here he was, hard as a rock and half naked in a grimy gas station bathroom with his piss soaked clothes and a wet pull up at his feet. Jeff smiled, and wrapped the wipe around Jacksons throbbing cock and began to move his hand in quick fashion. “If you can make this quick, Daddy will let it happen, ok?” Jackson nodded desperately. Luckily for Jackson, he was beyond hard and it didn’t take much before he blew his load into the wet baby wipe that Jeff had wrapped around him. Jeff pulled his head in and kissed his forehead as he slowed his motion. “Good boy. Let's get this pull up on and get back on the road. Jackson took a second to cool down, before taking the pull up from Jeff and began to slide his legs through it. Jeff tossed the wipe in the trash can and proceeded to wash his hands, obviously signifying that Jackson had got some on him, which would usually be Jacksons job to remedy, but he wouldn’t think about it to much. “Did...did you not grab any pants?” Jackson said as he looked around. “Sorry kiddo, they’re packed away somewhere in the back of the truck. But you can just ride the rest of the way home like that.” Jeff said as he picked up the pants off the ground. Without another word, Jeff made his way out into the store, leaving Jackson to scurry his own way back to the truck with no one to hide behind as he went through the store to grab a few things. Jackson, realizing he had no other choice, pulled his shirt down as much as he could and made his way quickly through the store, exposing himself for only a moment to the cashier as he dipped out the front door and jumped back into the truck. A few minutes later, Jeff returned and handed him a bottle of bug juice, something Jackson would have never expected. “Fitting,” Jackson said with a laugh. Jeff smiled back at him and started the truck, making his way back to the road to finish the trip home. Thanks for reading! If you enjoy my stories and want to help support me in creating more, please consider supporting me on my Patreon.