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Author's Note Hi this is my first story and I would appreciate your thoughts and any criticisms you might have! I'm going to start off slow so this first bit will be about world building and introductions. Later parts are sure to have the content you're looking for, so bear with me ?. I'm not sure how frequent I'll update this but I'll try my best to at least update once a week. I don't know what kind of content warnings are typical for stories like this. There will definitely be diapers and punishments but nothing explicitly sexual (like sex toys or mention of genitals). My writing is a bit rusty, but I'm sure the more I update this the more I'll shake it off. Also I'm not sure what tags to use, so if anyone has any recommendations I'd appreciate it! Well I think that's all I have to say for now. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! Part 1: Welcome to Nikos Emily hid in the shadows of the alley she had dashed into as the guards ran past. Smirking at having successfully carried out another job, she stayed close to the walls as she crept down the dark streets back towards her hideout. Emily Silverton hadn't asked for the life she had been given, but she didn't exactly regret it either. The world was harsh and cruel, only the strong survived. So she did what she had to in order to survive, even if it meant other people got hurt. The life of a rouge was lonely, and dangerous, but the rewards were well worth it. Sure she had to live a life steeped in secrecy and danger, but she was free. True freedom wasn't easy to come by, at least not when you lived in the royal capital. Strict laws and heavy patrolling by the guards created a heavy atmosphere for the residents of Nikos, well the poor ones anyway. The guards always seemed to be looking for the slightest infraction so they could carry out what they saw as 'justice' to some poor person, simply because there was nothing else for them to do. Obviously Emily was proof that there were still criminals in the royal capital, so there was a justifiable reason for the presence of the guards, it was just that they were too good at what they did. Every time a crime took place the criminals were in and out in minutes, the trail long gone by the time the guards arrived. This drove the higher ranking members of society absolutely nuts. Emily chuckled at the thought of the Captain of the Guards face going red with rage when his grunts told him how another rouge had managed to out maneuver them once again. He was a particularly nasty old man who seemed to have a heart of stone, carrying out the letter of the law no matter the circumstances. Emily had even heard of him throwing a child in the dungeon for forgetting to pay for an apple from a fruit stall. Of course it was probably just some myth, but Emily knew that there was always a grain of truth in myths and other tall tales. Pissing off cold-hearted bastards like the Captain was one of the benefits of her career, and one of things that made her love it so much. Checking to ensure she wasn't being followed or watched, Emily quickly made her way to the Sleeping Ogre. Opening the door Emily found the tavern to be empty as usual, save for the usual faces of her compatriots. The Sleeping Ogre was actually just a front for Emily and her crew. While they don't actually work on any jobs together, or particularly trust each other, they do share this little hideout. Living a life of crime in the royal capital was not an easy life, and the only way to live a long life this way was if you were careful. This motely crew had all had their fair share of close calls with the guards, and decided it would be better to band together. This way they could all sleep a little easier knowing they had someone keeping an eye out while they slept. "And what can I get for you young lady?" Erik asked as Emily sat down at the bar. Erik was the face for their hideout, he worked behind the bar and kept the place looking good. He was a bit taller then an average man and had shoulder length black hair and green eyes. His skin was dark brown and he always had a casual demeanor about him, and was a very good actor. "Oh whatever you recommend good sir." Emily answered with a laugh. They always liked to play this little act whenever completing a job, just incase there were some guards poking around. Erik chuckled as he set about getting some ale for her. "You seem chipper." Boomed Groog from his table near the door. Groog was the strongest of the group, he played the role of security for the Sleeping Ogre and was the watchdog for the group. He was practically the exact opposite of Erik in everyway. Pale skin, blue eyes, short sandy hair, and a stout but muscular build. The two were an odd pair and tended to be enough to scare the townsfolk away from the establishment. "What can I say? Life is good." Emily responded as she took a swig of her drink. A loud yawn from one of the booths pierced the silence of the room as Pete 'woke up'. "Well I'd say naptimes over wouldn't you?" Pete said as he got up and stretched. This was his code phrase for 'the coast is clear' and the rest of the group relaxed into dropping their facades for the evening. Pete was the oldest of the group and he played the part of grouchy old drunk. He pretended to nap in the booth and would pretend to be an angry drunk old man in order to chase people out. The Sleeping Ogre was actually named by the locals because of Pete and the group decided to stick with the name. Within their group of criminals he was the resident forger, so he did most of his work at the tavern. He had a bald head, a silver beard, and a fitter then typical build for someone his age. "So how'd the job go?" Erik asked as he rested his chin in his hands and leaned on the bar. "Everything went off without a hitch, as usual. The client will be pleased." Emily responded as she drank more ale. Erik jokingly pouted at her lack of details, since it's what he expected and finished cleaning the bar for the night. Emily never shared anything that wasn't absolutely necessary with the group, to prevent two things. One was to prevent getting to close to them, she didn't like having bonds with other people in this line of work since they tended to live short lives. The other reason was to prevent any future backstabbing, Emily knew that no one here would ever betray each other intentionally, but she couldn't risk them slipping up or being coerced into giving information to the wrong people. "Hopefully the client pays soon, we're low on ale." Groog said as he finished his mug. The client was just their code word for the Night Stalkers, who are the leaders of Nikos's criminal underworld. They are the reason that criminals are able to thrive in the royal capital, no one knows their real identities, or where they're located. The Night Stalkers manage crime in the city, when a crime occurs they're there before the guards and typically recruit the criminal and help hide the evidence of their crime. There's a few rare occasions where they have been rumored to actually turn criminals in, and that's only for truly heinous crimes. They deal out jobs to experienced criminals like Emily and her crew and take a cut for themselves, while allowing one time thieves and smaller criminals to get away while demanding a cut or favor in return. It's a complicated system that no one outside of the Night Stalkers fully understands, but the intricacies didn't matter to Emily as long as she got paid and stayed out of the dungeons. "Well maybe we wouldn't be so low if you didn't drink it all up! I swear you drink it like you need it to live!" Pete responded as he drank his own mug. "Who wouldn't need ale to survive dealing with you all day long?" Groog responded as he sat back in his seat, knowing exactly how Pete would respond. "Oh what a comedian you are! We'll see if you're still laughing when I whoop you at poker again! Come on big guy lets go!" Pete huffed as he sat down in front of Groog with a deck of cards. "Humph how about we settle this with a game of strength for once? Are you afraid that I'd break your arm like a twig in an arm wrestling match old man?" Groog said as he watched Pete shuffle the cards. Emily stopped paying attention to the normal bickering of those two as she said goodnight to Erik. She had to go to her room and package the stolen goods she had nabbed tonight so she could send it to the Night Stalkers. She didn't know who had made the contract with them to steal the stuff, and she didn't care, as long as she got rid of it as soon as possible and got paid for it. Her room was in the basement of the tavern, hidden behind the storage crates they kept there. She preferred the seclusion of the basement, and it allowed for her to work on a secret exit for herself in case things went south. Closing the door behind her Emily pulled out the jewelry she had been tasked with stealing. While undoubtfully beautiful, the set was also the strangest she had ever seen. The necklace was a simple gold chain, but the clasp on the back was a small padlock. Once it was adjusted and put around someone's neck it could only be removed with the key. Hanging on the necklace was a giant ruby, she thought it was supposed to look like a heart but it had two holes, one on each side. She couldn't tell if it was intentional or just unfinished. Either way it didn't matter to her, finished or not she would still get paid. The earrings were also gold with strange locking mechanisms on the backs. They were shaped like baby bottles with little heart-shaped rubies in the center of them. "Man nobles sure are weird." Emily mumbled to herself as she shook her head. She wrapped the jewelry in some parchment and placed it in a little box that she then tied shut with some twine. Tomorrow she'd meet the carrier and she'd never see the strange jewelry again.

Confession I suppose this is a sort of confession. I suppose it’s something I feel a little bit guilty about… although I’m not sure why. It’s something I like to do, because it makes me feel good and… I suppose… makes me feel sexy… even though, to most people, that’s the last thing it would do. OK. OK. I’m just going to say it out loud and then … well… it’s out there and you can mock or call me names as much as you like. Hell, over the years and in my confusion I’ve called myself all kinds of things but… it doesn’t stop me doing it. Yes, alright… I’ll stop putting it off and just tell you. But don’t judge me. Well, I suppose you will but… I feel that… well… this is the place I should be able to talk about this… without too much… too many erm… well, problems. I mean, we all have our little secrets don’t we? I’m sure some are worse than mine. I bet some are really weird… yer... weird… but I promise I wont judge you. So, be kind. I really need to get this off my chest even though I don’t know why and after all… isn’t the motto of this group… this forum… “If it feels good, do it”? A bit like the sportswear brand Nike “Just do it”. OK. OK. Sorry, sorry… OK... I’m just waffling now. Here goes. I like to wear… erm… I find it comforting to wear… under my jeans, or suit, or in bed… a pair of… don’t be shocked… erm… a diaper and a pair of plastic pants. *** Perhaps some of you want to know where my love of these items comes from. I’m sure everyone has their own starting point for this type of thing. The moment when they realised… ‘POW’… that precise moment in time when it all started. I remember reading about an older man who could tell you the moment, and the occasion, that he became obsessed with men. As a kid he was watching a Tarzan programme on TV and he realised he was jealous of the boy Tarzan was looking after. Tarzan; all muscles and all but naked body in a loincloth had a young boy with him dressed pretty much the same… he desperately wanted to be that boy. Since that TV programme he’d become obsessed about finding his own Tarzan character; big, strong, in charge but, as he said, it gets more and more difficult as you get older. He’s now middle-aged and, playing a little defenceless little boy in need of protection, is getting more and more difficult. Not that that is how I see myself. No. I don’t see myself as a little lad. Hell NO, what are you thinking? Although I can tell you when this obsession started and it was down to a little boy… my younger brother. *** As kids we shared the same bed. Well, when he was old enough to sleep away from my parents he ended up sharing my bed. He was 3 at the time and I was 7. As a grown-up 7 year-old I didn’t really want to be sharing my bed with anyone, least of all my little brother who I wasn’t convinced was toilet trained. In fact he was very slow in getting to use the potty and mum kept him in training pants during the day, and at night she’d slip a pair of plastic pants over them for added protection. One night, when he was 4 years old, mum had said that he didn’t need the training pants anymore as he’d had dry nights for several months. Like me he slept in just his pajamas and yes, that night, he wet the bed. Now, I was sleeping next to him and to be suddenly awakened by a wet patch took me by surprise and disgust and I literally kicked the little bugger out of the bed. He landed on the floor with a crash and banged his head on the bedside table, which caused a cut and he started crying. I panicked as mum and dad came to my room to see what the commotion was all about. Mum picked up my little brother and stared daggers at me for hurting her little baby, while dad grabbed my arm and pulled me from the damp bed. I tried to explain that he’d wet the bed and I hadn’t meant to hurt him but my dad did something he’d never done before. He put me over his knee and gave me a spanking. Never in all my 8 years had dad said so much as a harsh word to me let alone raised his hand, but over his knee he gave me such a hard hand spanking that my little cotton pajamas offered no protection and my bottom felt every fierce smack. By the end I was weeping more than my little brother, my bottom hurt and stung but my father told me to stand in the corner of the room with my hands on my head… I couldn’t even rub the pain away. As I stood there crying, and in shock, dad flipped the mattress and changed the bedding. He seemed to take ages and all I could do was sob in the corner with a stinging red bum and regretting ever having a pissy little brother. When he’d finished he called me over to him. He was sat on the bed and I feared I was in for another spanking but I wasn’t. He pulled me into his warm manly chest and gave me a cuddle. He kissed my head and held me in a comforting way until my sobbing had quietened down then he spoke to me in his usual, soft and mild tones about… responsibility. He told me about my responsibility to my brother… that when he or my mum were not around, I was in charge and I should be looking out for him; making sure he didn’t hurt himself or get into any trouble. He explained how he and my mum were relying on me to be a good brother, a thoughtful brother, a protecting brother… and all in all… I was made to feel I had let them down, but more importantly, I’d let myself down by this one act of nastiness. Dad hugged me and put me back into bed with a kiss and I slept on my front as my bum still smarted from the spanking. My little brother spent the night with mum and dad and, after thinking about my situation and what dad had said, I eventually managed to get some sleep. The following day David, my little brother, had quite a bruise on his forehead together with a small scratch. I really did feel guilty so apologised to him before I went off to school though didn’t know what to expect when I got home. Sleeping arrangements were the same, I went to bed and David was there only this time he was back in his plastic pants. I cuddled him that night, I wanted him to know that I was his older brother who would protect him and not harm him, and he scooted up to lie against my chest as I wrapped my arms around him. That was the moment… the ‘POW’ moment I was telling you about. The moment when I fell for a sensation and my life changed quite a bit. *** My pajamas were very thin and so were David’s and I could feel the thickness of the diaper and plastic pants through the material. As he snuggled up closer the back of his pajamas came down and mine had also ridden up a bit so, some of my hip came into contact with his plastic pants. I liked the feeling. As he slept I pulled down his pajama bottoms and had him sleep tightly up against me and I just loved his hot little body, his thickly padded butt and his shiny plastic pants rubbing up against my naked skin. I’m sure he had no idea what was going on, and in all truth, neither did I, but I do know that we innocently slept that way for many months. I often wondered if he ever wondered why he always woke up with his pajama bottoms around his ankles but nothing was ever said. We tried on several occasions to let David sleep without the protection and he’d go a couple of days dry before he’d have another accident and mum would put him back into the protective padding. This frustrated little David a lot and visits to the doctor and several help-features later, we still couldn’t stop him from his involuntary pissing. He seemed to stay dry when he was in all his protection but as soon as we let him out of it, he peed the bed. He was getting one angry little chap. He hated being like he was and, because he was still in his diaper or training pants, I think he was getting a ribbing from his friends at pre-school. Even at that age kids can be so cruel but he’d refused to wear those trainer or plastic pants to bed and started to wet even more regularly. No one at his school wore them, he argued in his boyish petulance, so why should he? He was determined that he wasn’t going to wear those ‘baby’ pants any more. We sympathised but every morning we’d both wake up to a soaked bed. The rubber sheet we both now slept on helped a bit but he still flowed almost every night. Mum would be very forceful with him and dress him for bed, making sure his night time diaper and plastic pants were in place but as soon as she left the bedroom he’d angrily remove them and chuck them in the corner. When I came to bed a little later I’d see them and, thinking about what dad had said about being responsible and David’s protector, would pick them up and try to put them back on his sleeping little body. However, one night, instead of re-dressing David, I struggled to get into them myself. They were very tight and clung to me like another skin. It was incredible… I loved the feel. I loved the way the bulkiness made me... I suppose… excited… as I’d gently stroke the soft malleable plastic material against my body. I didn’t realise it was sexual - all I knew was that I liked the feeling it gave me. This was even better than rubbing up against my little brother and I had no idea why it had taken me so long to undertake this most obvious of steps. *** The following morning we woke to another wet bed, I had forgotten the fact that I was wearing David’s diaper and plastic pants and so when mum came in, she saw me in them. At first she looked a bit surprised and then just nodded to me. At breakfast I was worried about what mum would say to dad but I was amazed. Mum said that I had hit upon a fantastic idea. She had read that a sibling, which I gathered was me, might set a better example than anyone else if I wore the same as my brother. At the time I didn’t quite get what she meant but I was just so happy that she had not said anything embarrassing to dad and that I was being held up for some praise. That night, when mum took David up to bed, she asked me to go with her. I was watching TV but with a smile and an encouraging nod from dad, I made my way upstairs. David was once again riling against putting on his night time padded protection but mum asked him - what if I wore the same as him, would he then wear them? She told him that he was not a little boy, and that we all knew it wasn’t his fault. I was shocked… somewhere in all this I suddenly realised what I was being asked to do. Even as an 8 year-old I thought, what I did in the privacy of my own bed and liked, was not necessarily what I wanted to be taken as the natural course of things. After all, I was a lot older than David; I was grown up for heaven’s sake. I hadn’t worn a diaper since I was 2. I was just about to voice these concerns when she told David that it was all my idea and that both she and dad were proud that I loved my little brother so much I was prepared to do this for him. She said that I was the best brother in the world and David should know just how much his older brother was trying to help him with his slight problem. She produced a new, slightly larger diaper like David’s and a pair of plastic pants and asked me to put them on. So, caught off guard by this turn of events and knowing I had no way out of it, I stripped off in front of mum and David and let her fasten me into them and the new, slightly larger and more rubbery pair of plastic pants, before pulling my pajamas over it all. I felt huge… if well protected. Seeing me like this David didn’t even try and argue, he let my mum dress him the same and with no more fuss kissed him a more relaxed goodnight. I was on my way back downstairs to watch TV and … well I don’t know what… possibly to try and talk myself out of the situation… when David called me back and asked me to come to bed with him there and then. I was about to argue but mum said what a good idea it was and I knew I was beaten. Even dad came into the room and kissed us both goodnight, he gave me a huge hug and said “Thanks” and at that moment I knew things would never be the same. I went through this nightly ritual for as long as I shared a bed with David, a further two years. Some times he’d go forever without getting wet as long as he had his protection on. When we tried to take him out of them he inevitably wet the bed. However, I had grown used to my nocturnal mode of dress and told mum I didn’t mind sleeping that way if it helped. I was happy and I suppose enjoying my first ‘fetish’, although at the time I had no idea that such a word existed but I suppose, even at that age, I knew it was nothing to shout about as I hadn’t told anyone how much I liked wearing all that stuff. *** Eventually, dad got a new job and we moved. In the new house we had a room each and in many ways I was sad to lose the comfort of my younger brother sleeping next to me, though at the time I think I was really made up about having so much space to myself. The strange thing was… David stopped wetting himself. Now he had his own room he just grew in confidence and his wetting stopped. Not gradually, but overnight… he pulled off his protection on that first night in his new single bed and never put them back on. Things changed for me as well. I had more privacy but mum, had stopped buying plastic pants and stuff to fit me, because she was able to stop buying those things altogether. However, I kept my diapers and plastic pants and occasionally would just pull on those very tight fitting stretched slippery pants and wear them in bed. I’m not clever or academic so I didn’t go to college but found a job locally just a week after my 18th birthday. On my first pay day I went out to the drugstore and quite openly bought a couple of new pairs of plastic pants and adult diapers and have been doing so, on and off, ever since. I’m 20 now and still live at home with mum, dad and my brother and it’s great, I have as much freedom as I need. I’m not sure if mum knows what I do. I don’t leave ‘evidence’ around the house but I did once notice that the draw I kept them in had been opened. I assumed it was mum putting away my ironed clothes but I never asked and she never said if this was the case. So, everything is fine. I wear my diapers and plastic pants for comfort, for memories and, well, because I like to. My job doesn’t pay a fortune so I’m not able to wear them 24/7 but at night, when I’m feeling that way out, there is simply nothing better than getting well-padded; slip on my diaper, some soft plastic pants and drift off to an amazingly comfortable sleep. I think I must have been in denial in the beginning because in truth, I do feel like a little boy in need of protection when I wear them. I have a footed onesie (a Christmas present from my parents would you believe), a bottle and a pacifier (which I bought myself) for when I feel the need and I just love to regress, even for a little while, back to when I shared the bed with my little brother. I dream of those times regularly and I always wake up happy and relaxed, even if I happen to have wet myself in the night, which, unintentionally, I occasionally do. I adore my thick protection. I enjoy the sensation of my plastic pants. I enjoy my bed being dry even when I’m not. Perhaps, in the future, I’ll get a daddy who wants to join me on these adventures, maybe even coming up with a few ideas of his own. Until then, I love my occasional ‘little’ life. **** tbc