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What started as a silly short story has now become something a little grander. Pick Your Battles is now a series of short-stories about real-life events. That is, these things actually HAPPENED. I live with my girlfriend who has just gotten into little stuff last year when we started dating. (I call her Mommy in the stories for simplicity, but I usually call her Big Sis when we do ageplay stuff). I also live with two other littles, my co-author @Pudding and my close friend @ChloeNova! So yeah, these are the antics we get up to. ALSO @bbykimmy will be contributing to this series with her own real-life stories, centered mostly around her and her partner of fifteen years! (Like me, she's going to be calling her partner Mommy for simplicity.) Make sure to Like/Comment! And enjoy! ~Sophie ------------------------------------------------ Pick Your Battles: Episode 1 (Or: Kimmy is a brat and got me in trouble!) By Sophie “Hey. I’m talking to you.” I blinked, looking up from my phone. I had been distracted the whole car ride home from work and Mommy wasn’t too happy about it. “Sorry. What were you saying?” I put my phone down for exactly one second, then glanced at it again. Another message. I opened it up and started to reply when Mommy plucked the phone out of my hands. “Hey!” “No.” One of her sharp, aggressive ‘No’s. The kind that made my heart race. “You have been talking to this girl all day and you can’t make two minutes for me?” “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “Now, like I was saying,” she went on, but all I could think about was my phone in her hand. “We have to shower if you want to stay up late tonight and play video games. You want that, don't you?” “Fine, okay. Give me-” “After we shower,” she cut me off. I puffed out my cheeks and crossed my arms over my chest. “At least let me say goodbye.” “No,” she said again. That harsh, certain ‘No’. I had to pick my battles, and this wasn’t the right one. Mommy unlocked my phone - her thumb had been set to my fingerprint scanner the day I got it - and typed something out. My heart raced, my eyes wide. “Hey, what are you telling her?!” “That’s not the business of a little girl, is it?” “I… I’m not…” She set my phone down on the bed, but when I reached for it, she took my hand. ‘Pick your battles,’ I reminded myself. Mommy always kept the water too warm in the shower. It took me five minutes to adjust to the temperature and another five to wash and condition my hair. As per our routine, I soaped her up with body wash, paying particular attention to her breasts and between her legs. She was the kind of girl who loved to be clean and I was the kind of girl who was a bit of a pervert. It worked for the both of us. I thought that was the end of it; I’d completely forgotten about my phone. But after rinsing off, she didn’t grab the body wash. She wrapped her fingers in my hair and pushed me down to my knees. They collided with the hard tub and I looked up at her with pain and confusion. “What are-” But I never finished my question. I never had to. She pulled on my hair until my face was against her crotch, lifting her leg onto the edge of the tub basin. “If you can’t lend me an ear when I’m talking,” she said over the sound of the running water, “then I’ll use your tongue instead.” Her fingers tightened in my hair and I let out a quiet yelp. I knew what she expected. I knew not to misbehave. ‘Pick your battles’, right? So I touched my lips to the skin between her legs. She moved me where I needed to be, as if I was too inept to figure it out on my own. It was no more than five minutes later that she stood me up on shaky legs. My eyes were glossy and my cheeks were on fire. She advanced on me until my back hit the tiled shower walls, until she could hover her lips only a centimeter from mine. I leaned in for a kiss, but she held us apart. “No,” she said again. That simple word, with so much power. I thought I would melt into a puddle and swirl down the drain. For the rest of the shower, I didn’t speak. She washed me. I let her put her fingers wherever she wanted. Then, she wrapped me in my big blue towel and pulled me back into our bedroom. I saw my phone on the bed. I looked up at her and then down at my feet. Could I pick it up? Would I be in more trouble? Or was this finally over? But before my quiet contemplation could become action, she spoke. “Come here.” It was that same tone as the ‘No’s. The sort of thing that told me it was very much not over. She sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but her towel, draped around her neck. Mine was still wrapped around my chest, preserving my modesty. I pensively walked toward Mommy, and as soon as I was within reach, she grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me down over her lap. The action was so fast, so unexpected, that I didn’t have time to think. While she fussed with the towel, lifting it up to expose my bottom, I tried to catch my breath. “No, no, no! Wait a second!” She didn’t wait a single second. Her hand came down hard on my ass and I winced as the sound echoed through the room. A second smack on the other cheek. But Mommy was never very intense with spankings - this would pass in no time. I knew how to pick my battles. The third spank came down on warm, pink skin. The fourth did the same on the other cheek. And by the time I had counted ten in my head, my winces had turned into audible whines. I kicked my feet and shook side to side on her lap, burying my face in the blankets. “Please, stop… please, I’m sorry…” Another spanking. Two. Three. Four. She hadn’t spanked like this in a long time. My will was breaking. “I’m sorry! I’ll be good! I’m a good girl!” “A good little girl?” she asked, before the echo of another spanking rang through the room. I was out of breath. “Y-yes… a good little girl… please…” “And good little girls don’t ignore their Mommies when they are talking, right?” Her hand came down on my sore bottom and I whimpered involuntarily. I nodded my head in a panic. Her hand moved off my bottom and I flinched, waiting for the shock and pain. But it hesitated. I thought maybe she was done. Just when the inkling of hope filled me up, it was shattered by another spanking. I was burning out… “You are going to lay on this bed and you will not move until I say otherwise.” Her offer felt like cold water over my red, burning ass. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t argue. If I did, she’d spank me again. This was my chance to escape more punishment. I had to pick my battles, and this wasn’t one I could win. “Y-yes Mommy…” “Say it.” “I’ll be a good girl-” “Good little girl,” she interrupted, with emphasis. Jeeze, this was embarrassing… “…good little girl… and stay on the bed ’til you say so…” She rubbed my bottom once, as a show of good faith, and climbed out from under the towel between us. I was exhausted. I couldn’t move. My butt ached but my pride ached more. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. It was over, I reminded myself. But Mommy was going to make sure, for the rest of the night, I knew my place. I heard the crinkling before I saw the diaper in her hands. White, simple. Easy to check if I was wet, she liked to say. I rolled over - naked without the towel - and scampered the other side of the bed. “I don’t need that!” “You said you were a little girl,” Mommy reminded me. “But that doesn’t mean I wear…” I blushed scarlet. This wasn’t fair! “Do you want to play video games?” I looked up at her with suspicion. What was she getting at? “Well?” “…yes,” I muttered. “And where are you going to do that?” “On the sofa…” I felt like I was walking toward a trap. “You’ll sit on the sofa?” she continued. I nodded. “Then wouldn’t it make more sense to have some padding on your sore bottom?” “But I don’t need-” “I didn’t say you did,” she cut me off. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” …it did make sense. I pouted and crossed my arms over my breasts. Damnit… “Well?” she asked. “…fine,” I muttered, and slid further down the bed. She pulled my ankles so my open legs fell on either side of her as she unfolded the diaper. I looked up at the ceiling in embarrassment, trying to hold onto the thought that I was a big girl. Trying to hold onto the feeling that I was a big girl. But the second that diaper was aligned under my raw behind, the feeling slipped away. She doused me in baby powder, rubbing it into my skin with the palm of her hand. When she was done, she tapped me on the nose with her index finger, leaving the scent of baby powder heavy and inescapable. My eyes glossed over as I settled into the bed. My muscles relaxed. My mind clouded over with thick, white clouds. The feelings of being a big girl were long gone. Mommy taped the diaper up between my legs and stood me up on my feet. She popped a pacifier between my lips and kissed me on the forehead. Maybe I should have stopped her. Maybe I should have thrown a tantrum or taken off the diaper. But if I tried, I’d only get punished again. Worse, this time. No, I should let her win this one. I had to pick my battles. [End] ------------------------- Thank you for reading! Please Like or Comment to show support! I also have a Patreon!

I wrote a story for @bbykimmy and she wrote one for me! (Mine is campy and hers is sexy af) Make sure to give all your likes to hers first! Enjoy! --------------------------------------------------- For Kimmy By Sophie It was the summer of 1982. The height of the Cold War had everyone in a panic. Paranoia was as common then as anxiety is now. Causation? Probably. At first, it was just about the bombs. Then spies. Secret code words that activated sleeper agents to dismantle the government from within. In an idiotic fit, we turned to drugs and super powers. LSD. Untested chemical compounds. When we realized they couldn’t alter a developed mind, we turned to infants. Then to pregnant women. Damn the consequences. “The Greater Good” was uttered every few steps. It was a dark time in American history. It was the kind of thing I used to roll my eyes at. Now? Well… My codename is Ladybug. I have a story to tell you. “Who is this girl?” I asked her. Sophie. My girlfriend of two years. She was pulling a party dress on over her head. Twenty-seven years old, and she still dressed like a toddler. “Someone I met online,” she told me. “On the forum.” The forum. Her baby thing. As long as I’d known Sophie, she always had an affinity for childish clothes and mannerisms. She wore diapers to bed every night, “just in case”. It was unnatural, but it was cute. I never thought more about it than that. I never thought it meant something. “Tell me about her,” I asked, folding Sophie’s onesies into her suitcase. Today was the first day of the Little convention. Sophie was dressed to the nines. Nine months old, maybe. “We are basically twins. We’re both into the same stuff. We like the same ice cream. We are both total brats. And she is a writer! Oh my gosh, I have to show you this story she wrote. Actually, we’ve been talking for weeks and she wrote me a story once and…” She went on and on. If I was a dumb girl, I would think Sophie had a crush on her. But I could tell the difference between a big girl crush and a little girl crush. Sophie had wanted a friend like this for so long. “…anyway, I’m so excited to meet her. I had a dream about her the other night, where we played hide and seek. She’s super easy to find.” “What’s her name?” I thought to ask. “Kimmy.” “Well I’m sure she’s adorable.” I packed her some spare diapers in the top of the suitcase and led Sophie to the car, crinkling with every step. It was a long drive to the convention. Thirty six years before this particular convention, two girls were born. Summer of 1982. Their mother had been pumped full of drugs for months. These two children were to be the saviors of America. Two weeks later, the facility was ablaze. Foreign chemicals filled the air. The smell of burning flesh. No one knew the source of the fire. No one knew how eighty-two people had died that day, but two young infants survived. But I knew. I’d done my research. “I planned it all out in my head,” Sophie told me as I curled her hair in our hotel room. The drive had been long and her diaper needed changing. But Sophie wanted to look her best for her friend Kimmy. “I’m gonna run up and hug her super tight and we might fall down, but whatever.” “That sounds like a wonderful plan. Are you talking to her now?” Sophie looked up from her phone. “Yeah. She’s downstairs.” “Nervous?” I asked. She nodded shyly. I kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t be nervous. You’re beautiful.” “But what if she doesn’t like me?” She pouted. Aww… “Well, there are plenty of other Littles in the sea.” “Yeah, but… she’s special…” I didn’t know how right Sophie was. December 1982. A man spoke on the phone as he held an infant girl in his arms. “You found her a place to live?” … “Adoptive parents are better than no parents at all.” … “I’m taking this one as far away as I can. If they ever meet again—” … “I know. Good luck.” The man hung up the phone and held the baby up to his face. “Such a small child, causing so many problems…” He set her down in the small capsule and closed the door. Cold air leaked into the chamber. The baby cried, but soon she would be quiet and still. They thought nine years could keep them apart. “I’ll be back for you when the war is over.” I thought when Sophie met Kimmy, she would hug her. That was the plan, wasn’t it? But she didn’t. She stood there, bewildered. Her eyes were wide. She stared at Kimmy and Kimmy stared back. “Um… anyway,” I said, trying to break the silence. “Aren’t you excited to meet your friend?” Kimmy’s partner asked her charge, playing with the tips of her hair. Kimmy didn’t say anything. Her partner and I exchanged weary glances. “Littles, am I right?” I asked. “Yeah, absolutely.” I stepped in front of Sophie and put my hands on her shoulders. “You okay, bunny?” I whispered. She blinked. She nodded. She blushed. This time, Sophie put out her hand to take Kimmy’s. Kimmy took it. Neither of them had spoken, but they seemed so… at ease. Calm. Then, the storm. Crying babies. Lots of them. All over the room, the Littles had taken to kicking and screaming and begging for their caregivers. But the ratio of Bigs to Littles swayed in their favor. There was so much noise… I took Sophie’s free hand to lead her away. The moment my skin touched hers, I felt fuzzy. The room grew around me. I teetered side to side, forgetting how to stay balanced, and fell flat on my bottom. The shock brought tears to my eyes and I started to wail. I juss wanted someone to help me up… I juss wanted someone to take care of me… I felt the wetness spread across my crotch, through my panties, soaking my pretty blue jeans. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to help it! It wasn’t my responsibility! I wanted my diapers… I sat up so fast I almost pulled out the IV. My head was spinning. Kimmy’s partner - Kachan - was hovering over my bedside in a hospital gown. “What… just…” “You’ve been out of it for a while,” she said forlornly. Like something was wrong. What was wrong? And where was Sophie? “Where am I? What happened?” “I don’t know… the hospital? It’s been almost a day, since…” A blush came over her cheeks. “Since…” I remembered touching Sophie. I remembered the feelings overwhelming me. I remembered feeling so small… so lonely… “Is that what they feel?” she asked me, under her breath. “Where are they?” Kachan nodded toward the television. The news. And there on the screen was my Sophie. She held Kimmy’s hand, talking, smiling, so happy… but the camera caught the clip from a distance. All around them, the city had fallen apart. Buildings levitated in the air. The street was torn open. Grown men and women sat in the grass, sucking their thumbs or crying with huge wet spots on their pants. I… I didn’t understand… “Look how happy they are,” Kachan smiled. Then, her smile faded and she looked me right in the eye. “But Littles can’t have fun forever. Let’s go get them.” I nodded. “Let’s.” The news crews filled the streets. A visible bubble of debris and crying adults filled the air. The police put up barricades, but they couldn’t keep out all the pedestrians. Some pushed their way through, into the bubble, and some hesitated outside it. No one took more than two steps before succumbing to the little feelings and wetting themselves on the spot. Once inside, no one made it out of the bubble. “Let us through,” Kachan said with authority. An officer stood in our way. “Ma’am you can’t go in there. Look at them!” He pointed at the growing crowd of infantile adults playing with their shoes just inside the bubble. “It happens to everyone.” I looked up at Kachan with concern, but she stood so confidently. She had to be there for Kimmy. I had to be there for Sophie. I looked up at the floating buildings, high in the air, casting shadows over the audience. With a deep breath, I steeled myself. Together, with our hands in one another’s, Kachan and I stepped into the bubble. Immediately, the feelings trickled over us, like water on the surface our skin. Warm. Comforting. Begging to draw us in. I had felt this before. The security and calm that came with littleness. The protection. The safety. But I knew the other side of the coin, something I didn’t understand until I last touched Sophie. There was no safety without someone there, holding your hand. Without Kimmy’s hand in Sophie’s, she was a scared, lonely little girl. Without mine in Kachan’s, I was no different. Hand in hand, we walked up to our little girls. They seemed almost entranced with one another. Their mouths moved, but no words came out. They smiled. They laughed. It was like they didn’t see us at all. Like the world around them had vanished. I looked at Kachan. We both nodded. “SOPHIE MADISON!” “KIMBERLY DANIELLE!” The girls’ nearly jumped out of their skin and their hands slipped apart. The buildings overhead started to sag and crash down to the streets below. The adults in soaked clothes stood up with confusion and shame. But nothing compared to the shock and embarrassment on our little girls’ faces. I let go of Kachan and took Sophie’s hand. Kachan took Kimmy’s. “You have been very bad girls,” we each said to our charges, “and it’s time to go home.” Sophie and Kimmy looked at each other with fear and panic. “But!” “No!” “Please!” “We just wanna play!” “We’ll be good!” Puppy dog eyes. Kachan sighed. “I think you’ve had enough playing for one day…” “But maybe,” I smiled, “we can set up a play date for next week.” Sophie’s eyes lit up with joy and hugged me as tight as she could. This was the joy in being a caregiver: the honest happiness I could bring someone else. Someone I loved. [End]