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Summary: After going through a traumatic childhood, Willa needs help. She's unknowingly admitted to Little Beginnings where she's going to have the chance to have the childhood she should've had (whether she wants to or not). ooOoo Chapter 1: “W-Willa…Willa Carolan,” the young girl stuttered. Her chocolate brown eyes focused on the black and white tiled floor as the receptionist typed upon the keyboard. She was the only one in the waiting room which she supposed made her feel a little better. She did not do well with interaction. The thought of even coming to therapy terrified her as she had never been before. She clenched her clammy hands into fists and counted backwards in her mind, trying to calm the beating of her heart. Suck it up. She thought. Plenty of people go to therapy. There was nothing to be worried about. That’s what she tried to tell herself. But she wasn’t so sure. She could barely talk to another person without stuttering or wanting to puke. How could she manage an hour long session? The whole point of therapy was to talk and she couldn’t even do that. “You can just take a seat in the chair right over there.” the woman smiled at Willa, finally having stopped typing. “Dr. Tischner will be out shortly.” Slightly nodding her head in thanks, she quickly scattered to the furthest corner in the small room away from the woman. With her knees pressed against her chest, she rested her head on them, taking in deep and rapid shallow breaths, ignoring the stack of magazines on the tiny table beside her. Willa didn’t know why she even agreed to come to this. She had managed to avoid it for the past ten years, silently suffering, never going out unless absolutely necessary. She was only twenty years old, had no friends, no job, and anxiety that riddled her mind and body. Adrian, her older brother was the one who supported her but she had a feeling he wanted her out of his home. His crazy ex- girlfriend of three years had just left and was still traumatized by... by everything. Willa thought his message was pretty clear when he scheduled the appointment himself and drove her, escorting her as far as the front door then leaving. She was pissed, rightfully so, that he would just abandon her like that. They were best friends. They had been for all of their lives. Even though her brother was five years older, they understood each other like no one else. She could count on him for everything. She didn’t have to hide away. They were exactly the same in everything from their caramel skin, eyes, round face and thick curly black hair. People would confuse them for twins because of how much they looked alike. So, yes, it hurt when he just dumped her at the building. He didn’t even say when he would be back and the unknown was what scared her the most. “Willa Carolan?” a new voice echoed throughout the room. Shooting her head up, a blonde haired woman dressed in a pink cashmere sweater and light jeans stood at the door with a clipboard. She looked to be about forty years old. Some lines were visible on her milky white skin but from afar she didn’t look to be over twenty five. On trembling legs, Willa walked across the room, ducking her head at the woman’s kind smile and followed her through the brown door into a small room. Sitting down on the lumpy grey couch, she examined everything around her. The walls were painted a mustard yellow and there was one small window which was the only light in the room. In front of her was a coffee table and a chair on the other side. An icy glass of water and a bowl of mints was situated in front of her. Her hand twitched, wanting to take a sip to cool her parched throat but she held off. Willa didn’t want to get too comfortable. She didn’t want to let her guard down. “It’s small, I know.” Willa jumped, turning to stare at the woman. The door shut and suddenly the two of them were alone. She sat down across from Willa with the clipboard and pen in her hand. Her blue eyes gleamed in curiosity. “I’m Dr. Tischner,” she said, her voice was low. Without realizing it, Willa slowly found herself relaxing at the woman’s soft tone. it was almost maternal, something she hadn't heard in many years. “You must be Willa. I believe it was your brother that set up the appointment, yeah?” Willa nodded her head. She kept her mouth shut, still inclined not to speak. Her foot tapped against the black carpet. Her eyes darted every which way, determined not to look at the doctor. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk. We can just answer, yes or no questions.” she waved her hand. “Everyone reacts differently to therapy so there is no one way to feel or act. It’s normal to be nervous or afraid. I like to go at the patient's pace. If you’re uncomfortable with any of my questions we can just move on. Does that seem fair?” Her eyebrows furrowed together, taking in what she said. Willa was not one to bare her soul to people, especially strangers. It was a relief to hear her say that because she didn’t know if she would ever be ready to share what happened. Willa nodded her head once again. It did seem fair. Looking down at her clipboard, she began to speak. “I just want to clarify a few things, first. Your report says that you are twenty years old; full name is Willa Jean Carolan; and that you were born November 12, 2000? ” The young girl gave a nod. “Great! Now that that’s out of the way I thought we could get to know each other a little.” she exclaimed. “My name is Marina Tischner and I’ve been a therapist for about ten years now. I love working with children and young adults such as yourself. I take a really laid back approach when counseling. I don’t push my patients into anything they are uncomfortable sharing and will not reveal to anyone what is said in this room unless it endangers the lives of others or yourself. Do you understand?” Willa tugged at a curl that had fallen loose from her ponytail. She bit her lip, humming a yes and hugged the pillow in her arms that sat beside her. Dr. Tischner continued to question her about different stuff in her life such as her favorite color, food, animal, etc, and by the end Will found herself slightly smiling, not as tense as she had been when she first arrived. There was something about the woman that gave off a maternal presence. Something she hadn’t felt since the death of her parents. Dr. Tischner cared about her. It wasn’t fake. She gulped, holding back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. Willa bit her bottom lip, drawing blood but sucked it away. “I’d like to talk about you parents.” she casually brought up, stopping Willa in her tracks. Her heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach. It was the one thing she refused to ever talk about. A single tear fell from her eye. “You witnessed your parents murder.” Dr. Tischner's voice was just above a whisper. “That’s when the anxiety and PTSD started, isn’t it?” Her chest rose up and down. She didn’t have the words to scream at her to stop the questions. Her shoulders shook as she continued to speak. Willa couldn’t breathe, she was gonna pass out. “You were only ten years old. I couldn’t imagine what that could do to a child.” she sadly shook her head. “You didn’t see your brother until you were at the hospital. That’s why he isn’t as affected as you are. Does that ring true?” The sound of a gunshot echoed in her mind. Her mother’s dead body fell to the ground. A pool of blood surrounded her. Willa’s father was already dead, having been murdered first. The intruders thought no one was home. That’s what they claimed in court. They never meant to kill anyone, they were just gonna rob her house. It didn’t make it any better because her mother and father were dead. She hid upstairs at the top of the staircase, terrified to make a move, afraid they’d hear her. It was two o’clock in the morning. Her brother was sleeping over at a friend's house. That was the day her life changed forever. “Take a sip of water.” Dr. Tischner calmly nodded toward the glass on the table. “We’ll stop the questioning.” She didn’t have to tell her twice. Holding the glass with shaking hands, she tilted it to her lips, gulping it down, barely noticing the change in taste. Willa finished it within a few seconds and collapsed back against the couch, suddenly overcome with fatigue. “We’ll stop for now. Why don’t you take a little nap… we’ve still got ten minutes left.” Dr. Tischner encouraged. Willa didn’t have to be told twice. A haze had clouded over her mind and suddenly she found it harder to stay awake. The only thing she could hear was the doctor’s voice calmly lulling her to sleep. ooOoo This couldn’t be real. Willa naively thought. The last thing she remembered was being at Dr. Tischner’s, her brother leaving her, recounting parents' death, and having a panic attack. She didn’t remember anything after that. A part of her desperately wished for this to be a dream but she knew it wasn’t. It was too real. Warm tears blinded her already blurred vision as her chest rose up and down, desperate to escape the entrapment she had been placed in. Willa wanted to be home in her own bedroom, laying in her queen sized bed. She wanted to be with her brother. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him. She wanted to be away from here. Away from this woman who was holding her as if she weighed nothing. . She couldn’t move her arms or legs. Her entire body was constricted in a tight swaddle by the light pink blanket. It had taken a moment for her to realize that as she slowly awoke, hearing the soft sound of the woman’s voice. That was ten minutes ago. Willa should've been freaking out more than she was. She should’ve been crying and screaming and having a panic attack. But the only sign of her panic were the fat tears that rolled down her cheeks, as she stared up at the woman who cradled her against her bare skin. The only thing she could focus on was her green eyes, unable to see anything else. If she tried to look more than six feet away it all became a big blur. “You’re alright, baby.” the woman cooed as she wiped away the tears. She spoke down to her as if she were an actual infant, unable to understand basic speech.That pissed Willa off more than anything. But she had no way to show it except for the glare in her eyes. “Mommy’s got you,” she spoke in a high pitched voice. “You’re safe with mommy now. You don’t have to worry about those big bad thoughts in your head. Just suck your paci.” she tapped the large object that was stuffed in her mouth. Willa was forced to suck on it, unable to spit it out due to the strap that went around her head. Pitiful whimpers rose from the back of her throat and the woman condescendingly cooed, rocking them both in the rocking chair. They were in the infant ward. The room was light pink and smelled of baby powder. Ten large adult sized newborn incubators filled the room and changing tables ran along the walls. There was also a rocking chair in each corner of the room. Everything was adult sized. Tapping her bottom, Willa’s eyes widened in horror as she felt a cushiony bulk on her bottom half. The woman’s smile widened, showing off her shiny white teeth. “Does baby Willa have to use her diapee?” She began to wiggle as hard as she could, trying to escape but she was too weak. Now she was sobbeduncontrollably as the weight of the woman’s words sank in. She was swaddled like a newborn, sucking on a pacifier, and in a diaper that she was expected to use. Her vision had been blurred. Her muscles were weak. She was as helpless as an infant. Willa was an infant. The woman stood up, pacing as she rocked her back and forth, supporting her head like you’d do a real baby. She wore no shirt and Willa’s cheek was pressed right up against her large left breast. Willa was only faintly aware of the woman’s hand, pressing on her stomach. The more she wiggled the looser her bladder became until suddenly a warm stream flooded her diaper. The thick padding expanded and she screamed and screamed through the pacifier, glaring at the woman in hate for forcing her to piss herself. It was warm and wet, sloshing around her bottom before being absorbed. She desperately wanted it off. She was twenty years old. She hadn’t used a diaper since she was two years old. “I’m so proud of you!” the crazy woman praised her. “You used your diapee like a good little baby-- you’re my good little girl!” She gave her a wet kiss on the forhead and placed her on the changing table, ignoring the screams. A moment later, another woman walked into the room through the sliding doors. Both had curly brown hair that fell right above their shoulders and fair skin. She crooned, brushing her hair out of the girl's out of her face. “I think she’s one of the cutest infants we’ve had yet.” the woman tickled under her chin, causing Willa to try to wriggle away. “She’s also a very smelly baby! I think it’s time for a diapee change!” The second woman held her down as her mommy undid the swaddle revealing he naked body and sagging thick diaper. She continued to sniffle, out of energy to fight. A strap was tightened over her waist and chest while the second woman held down her shoulders. Moving quickly, the straps were undone and the diaper removed. Grabbing baby wipes, she wipes down everywhere, running her finger over her now bare pubic bone. Willa’s eyes realized at the realization only for the woman to giggle. “Babies like you don’t need grown up hair. Infants are bare.” she covered her in baby powder, not wanting to cause a rash and retapped an even thicker diaper making her unable to close her thighs. Undoing the straps, Willa wanted to plead not to be swaddled again but it’s what her mommy did. She wrapped it around her body even tighter than before and supporting her neck, held her against her body. “I’ll go get a bottle.” said the other woman. “Little babies like her shouldn’t be up for so long. Little Willa needs to go nighty- night.”

"Ah, there you are. Welcome, my dear guest—we’ve been expecting you." "You must be exhausted. The outside world can be so demanding, so terribly unkind to those who don’t quite fit into its rigid expectations. But here? Here, we do things differently. Here, you are free to let go, to be who you were always meant to be." "Oh, I see that flicker of resistance in your eyes. That stubborn little spark. No matter. Some learn quickly, others take a bit more… encouragement. But rest assured, my dear guest, no one leaves Noctis without learning their lesson. The Headmaster sees to that." "For now, there’s no need to fret. Everything has been arranged, just for you. A new life. A simpler way. A second chance to be cared for as you deserve." "Now then—shall we begin?" Mr. Reginald Cromwell Noctis-Two moons The Daily Grind and the Night Descent Chapter 1: Delivery Routes Rain traced cold fingers down his spine, needling through worn seams. His boots slapped against the oil-slicked concrete of the loading zone, water pooling around crates and delivery skiffs. Corporate workers drifted past under awnings, their eyes sliding over him—like he wasn’t there. Like runners didn’t count. The Flea waited where he’d left her—last in line, always—her patchwork frame hunkered down like a beaten dog. The bike had started life as a Spektra Glide 300, sleek once, but that was years and a hundred bad repairs ago. Now, it was armor-plated with scavenged aluminum, welding scars crisscrossing the steel alloy beneath. Neon blue and green paint clung to the edges, peeling like sunburnt skin. Calum wiped rain from his eyes. “Alright, girl,” he muttered, voice low. “Don’t mess with me today.” Fingers stiff with cold, he pressed the ignition. The Flea sputtered—a sick, choking cough. Calum’s heart hitched. He jabbed the button again, harder. Another wheeze. Dash lights flickered—faint as dying fireflies—then blinked out. “Seriously?” His breath misted the air. He tried again. And again. Nothing. Rain drummed on the visor of his helmet. His pulse quickened. He pressed his palms to the handlebars, forcing down the knot in his chest. This was his fifth run of the day. Every stop had been harder—grip slipping on wet controls, shoulders aching under cargo weight. He was running on fumes. And now this. If the Flea was done, so was he. “Don’t do this to me,” he whispered. His thumb hovered, eyes closed for a second—like it might help. Click. Cough. A sputter. Silence. He hit it again. Harder. Silence. Again. The dash stayed dark. The Flea sat still beneath him, rain tracing along the ridges of rust like veins. Daan’s voice came unbidden into Cal’s mind. “You let this thing fall apart again, mate? What, hoping it’ll fix itself? Gotta love that strategy.” Cal could almost hear the grin behind the words. He remembered the first time they met, years back, in the alley behind the smog market, where the vents spat steam thick enough to choke you. He almost got away, weaving through crates and broken scaffolding like a rat born in the metal. But Cal was faster—or angrier. Maybe both. Daan tripped on a loose pipe, and Cal was on him before he could crawl away. Slammed him against the wall, knee pressing into his ribs. He squirmed like a cornered dog, but he was caught. “That my bike you tried to steal, huh?” Cal’s voice had come out sharp, half from rage, half from panting. “You wanna die today, kid?” No answer. Just those blue eyes glaring up at him, trying hard not to water. Small, thinner than Cal back then, sandy hair plastered to his face from the rain. But there was fight in him—Cal saw it. That made him even angrier. He shoved Daan’s face against the wall. “Name.” Grunt. Teeth clenched. “Daan.” Cal pulled the scrap of rubber tubing from his belt, wrapped it around his knuckles for show. “You know what happens to bike thieves here? They get the paddling of their life, then crawl home to mama—if they got one. You got one?” Silence. Breathing—fast, scared, defiant. Cal shoved his face into the bricks again. “I asked you a question, Daan.” “Na… no.” Yanked him forward, flipped him over like he was really going through with it. Daan yelped, struggled, but Cal pinned him easy. Brought the strap down—not too hard, just enough to sting. Three, maybe four times. Each swat made him flinch, but Cal knew he wasn’t breaking him. Just teaching him. Then he heard it—Daan’s stomach, loud like a damn engine sputtering out. The boy froze when he realized Cal noticed. Face flushed, like that growl had betrayed him worse than anything else. Cal let go. Daan hit the ground on his knees, staring at the wet pavement. “When’s the last time you ate?” No answer. That was answer enough. The strap slid back into Cal’s belt. “Get up.” Daan hesitated but got to his feet. Cal started walking. After a few steps, he heard the boy’s footsteps trailing behind. They went to the fry stall near Egelstraat—greasiest forge fries you could find, slathered in lava ketchup. Cal paid. Daan didn’t say thanks, just scarfed the food down like he thought it might be snatched away. They sat under the busted neon sign, rain still falling but softer now. Cal watched him eat, and he knew. Daan was his now. His little street brother. Whether he liked it or not. When the fries were gone, Cal caught the twitch in Daan’s eyes—that little calculation. He was about to bolt. Cal knew better. Before Daan could move, Cal grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back toward the fry stall’s back entrance. The kid squawked, but Cal hauled him inside. The boss—a gruff old man with grease-stained hands—looked up, ready to bark, until he saw the scrawny kid. “You need help?” Cal asked, holding Daan in place. The boss raised an eyebrow, glanced at Daan, then shrugged. “Could use a runner. Or someone to scrub.” Cal shoved Daan forward. “He’ll work. Keep him busy. Feed him. I’ll check in.” He gripped Daan’s shoulder, voice low. “Better behave. If I hear you caused trouble, you’ll wish you stayed hungry. Got it?” Daan gave a stiff nod. The fight was still in his eyes, but now there was something else—relief, maybe. Or hate. Probably both. Cal left him there. But he knew he’d be back. The memory faded, but the voice lingered—Daan’s teasing grin bleeding through it all. “You let this thing fall apart again, mate?” “Not now,” Cal hissed under his breath. He opened the side panel and fumbled with the wires. His knuckles scraped against the chassis, stinging in the cold rain. “Come on.” A jolt here, a prod there, and finally, the bike gave a reluctant cough. He thumped the side for good measure, and it sputtered to life, the dash flickering weakly back into existence. “Knew you still had it in you.” The knot of kids jeering nearby groaned at his success and dispersed, their taunts forgotten as Cal adjusted his seat. The growl of the engine sputtered unevenly as he guided the bike down the sloping descent toward the lower tiers. Calum weaved through the throng, his hover bike growling low like a caged animal. The streets simmered with life and noise, a boiling pot of vendors shouting prices, kids arguing over scraps, and drones hovering just out of reach like some mechanical vultures. Rain drizzled down in lazy streaks, turning the cobblestones slick and oily. Neon signs buzzed overhead, their garish colors spilling onto grimy puddles. A vendor’s cart spilled into his path, a tangled heap of plastic crates and dented cans of protein sludge. Cal jolted the bike to the side, its thrusters spitting out a sharp burst of heat. “Watch it, kid!” the vendor barked, shaking a gnarled hand at him. “Stay outta the road, old man!” The bike wobbled but held its course, skidding around a corner that opened into something barely resembling a street. Tall buildings leaned in, their facades smeared with layers of graffiti and grime from decades of neglect. LED panels dangled from their mounts, flickering erratically—ads promising everything from luxury implants to “premium oxygen filters” polluted the air just as much as the smog that stung Cal’s eyes. Another turn, another mess. Two gang brats, no older than twelve, were pelting an already-cracked drone with rocks. It whined and sputtered feebly, trying to lift its crooked frame off the ground. Cal could’ve sworn it screamed at them like an injured animal before one kid smashed its lens with a final throw. “Hey, scrap it somewhere else!” Cal shouted as he whipped past. One of them flung a rock in his direction, but it clattered harmlessly against the bike’s reinforced chassis. The ride down felt like falling—a long, steady tumble back into a world that felt like home, as gritty and chaotic as it was. Here, high-rise buildings slouched into hulking, mismatched constructions patched with graffiti and neon buzz. The antiseptic smells of corporate plazas gave way to wet metal, fried oil, and burnt circuits. Somewhere in the crush of stalls and signs below, Daan was probably running his mouth to some vendor, haggling for a better deal on synth supplies. The thought of him cracked a smile on Cal’s face, fleeting as the city blurred by. Daan’s overconfidence always seemed to pay off, even if it came with a risk Cal wouldn’t dare take. Cal zipped through the rain-slicked streets, the city alive around him. Vendors lined the alleys, their carts patched with neon panels advertising menus that promised nutrients and flavor but looked anything but trustworthy. Steam and smoke curled into the air like rival signals. Above, a floating ad droned softly, its holo-display projecting onto the low-hanging smog. A bright, impossibly clean bedroom materialized, complete with a shining blonde-haired boy about Daan’s age lying across the pristine bed. The words “DryNite: Rest Easy, Stay Confident!” scrolled beside him in cheery font. Cal snorted, his grin widening. The kid in the ad did look a little like Daan, minus the spotless setting. He could imagine showing it to him, teasing: “See? They got your good side, finally!” Daan would groan, probably flip him off while muttering something about corporate creeps. Cal shifted his weight on the bike, his eyes flicking back to the ad as it flickered into the haze. DryNite. He’d seen those plastered everywhere—on billboards, shop windows, even stamped onto delivery crates. Always the same message, like someone was obsessed with reminding the whole city not to wet the bed. His smirk twisted into something more skeptical. Did they need that crap up in Noctis, too? He pictured it—some perfect sky city, all gleaming towers and smiling families, everyone piss-soaked under their pastel jumpsuits. Maybe those rich kids had gold-plated diapers to match their parents’ chrome cars. The thought made him snicker, but there was a sour note under it. Because what if it was true? What if even in paradise, they were all still stuck in their beds like kids who couldn’t grow up? Shaking his head, Cal revved the throttle. Stupid. He didn’t know anything about Noctis. Didn’t know anyone who did. All he knew was here—smog, rust, and ads telling you to stay dry while you drowned in this city. But still… He glanced once more at the spot where the ad had hovered. Weird fucking world. The Flea surged forward, weaving through the maze of crumbling buildings and flashing neon. The moment of humor faded as the city’s weight pressed back in around him—but the question lingered. The building rose like a monolith, its exterior a seamless gray reflecting dull strips of distant billboard light. The bike hissed when he cut the engine, settling with a mechanical sigh. Cal swung his legs off, shaking out the stiffness in his arms. The damp city air clung to his jacket as he pulled it tighter around himself. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath, running both hands through his hair until it fell more or less the way he wanted. Adjusting the delivery’s satchel across his chest, he glanced at the corporate logo embossed on the drab package. Another faceless suit waiting for this, another payout barely enough to get by. Just another day. The sliding doors hissed open, releasing a wave of dry, processed air that felt like walking into a giant’s exhale. Cal stepped in, boots squeaking faintly against the polished floor, his gaze flicking over the reception area. Everything gleamed—white walls, chrome accents, artificial lighting so sharp it felt like a slap. The scent of sterilized nothingness filled his nostrils. Behind the desk sat a woman, her hair pulled into a severe bun so tight it seemed to stretch the skin around her temples. She didn’t look up, fingers darting across her console like she was playing some high-stakes game only she understood. The corporate uniform was sleek and spotless, a contrast to Cal’s patched-up jacket and scuffed boots. He sauntered up, the satchel of his delivery shifting against his hip. “Hey,” he said, leaning an elbow on the desk like he owned the place. “Got a package here. Thought maybe you’d like a break from crushing dreams with that death glare of yours.” The woman’s hands paused mid-typing. Slowly, she looked up, her expression unreadable, though the faint arch of her brow spoke volumes. “Got a name for the delivery?” Her tone was flat, clipped, like she hadn’t even registered the joke. “More like I was hoping to get your name,” Cal said, a grin sliding onto his face. “C’mon, you look like someone who knows her way around these sterile halls of misery. Maybe you could give me the grand tour sometime.” Her brow didn’t move. Instead, her eyes dropped back down to her screen as she typed something without acknowledging him. “Delivery box is outside the building,” she said, not looking up this time. “Use it.” “Uh, what?” “Box. Outside. For deliveries.” She gestured vaguely, her focus never leaving the screen. “This isn’t a drop-off point.” The grin fell from his face almost as fast as the heat rose in his cheeks. He blinked, a laugh catching awkwardly in the back of his throat. “Right. Sure. Makes sense. Why bother with human interaction, anyway?” She didn’t nod. Didn’t shrug. Didn’t even flinch. Her dismissiveness sealed the moment with the efficiency of a drone docking into its port. Cal straightened from the desk, adjusting his jacket like that would somehow patch up whatever dignity he had left. “Got it,” he muttered and turned on his heel, the satchel slapping against him as he pushed back through the entrance doors. Cal dropped the parcel into the delivery box with a hollow thunk. His watch buzzed before he could pocket it. A new message lit up the display, so brief yet potent enough to freeze him mid-motion: “9 PM. The Grasshopper. Drink’s on me.” No signature. Never needed one. Cal stood there for a moment, staring at the screen as the rain pattered down heavier now, tracing grimy lines down the window beside him. His mind skipped ahead to what waited—no, who waited. Dante Moretti. Steelhand. Even the name brought a weight to Cal’s shoulders. Dante didn’t just run this side of New Amsterdam—he owned it, every streetlight and shadow included. His reputation rippled through the Worker Blocks, through backdoor deals and whispered warnings. The syndicate’s leader had a way of getting his hooks into people like they didn’t even know they were bleeding. Cal wasn’t sure which he hated more: the charm Dante wielded like a weapon, or the fact it had worked on him. Dante had pulled him in months ago with promises too sharp to refuse, dangling opportunity like a magician dangling silver coins to a starving kid. Chance to survive. Chance to win. Or so Dante claimed. The message burned on the screen until Cal dimmed it. A drink at The Grasshopper meant one of only two things: trouble or a reckoning. Dante wasn’t the type to chat about the weather. Cal stared at the message, the faint glow of his watch illuminating his damp face. Rain dripped from the edge of his jacket, pooling at his feet as he stood frozen in the docking bay. Around him, the city continued unabated: drones buzzed, a vendor barked about “fresh” wares, and the faint crackle of an argument spilled out from a nearby alley. But Cal heard none of it. His mind had tunneled in on the message, playing and replaying it like a warning siren. The Grasshopper wasn’t a casual meeting spot. It was Syndicate ground, where Dante held court among his loyalists. No one got invited there without a reason—good or bad. Cal’s stomach tightened. A drink with Dante wasn’t an offer; it was a test, one where the stakes were never clear until it was too late. He dimmed the watch display and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to block out the cold creeping under his skin. What did Dante want this time? Another run? A job that would keep him tethered to the man just a little longer? It was impossible to say, and even more impossible to refuse. “Guess I don’t have a choice,” he muttered, the words swallowed by the patter of rain against the pavement. He glanced at his bike, still dripping from its sputtering trek through the city. It leaned slightly to one side, a rusted reflection of himself. Both battered, both running on borrowed time. For a moment, he thought about walking instead, as if the delay might change what waited for him. But the thought was fleeting. Dante didn’t wait for anyone. * * * The ride down felt like falling—a long, steady tumble back into a world that felt like home, as gritty and chaotic as it was. High-rise buildings slouched into hulking, mismatched constructions, their exposed metal bones patched with graffiti and rust. Neon lights buzzed and flickered erratically, pooling green, pink, and blue onto the rain-slicked streets. The city’s sounds rose like an orchestra of survival: boots clanging on metal, the chatter of drones, voices snapping in arguments down shadowed alleys. Water splashed against his boots as the bike cut through puddles, steam hissing faintly when the undercarriage scraped the drenched ground. Cal leaned into the curves, weaving past collapsed skywalks and crumbling platforms, his ribs aching from the pressure. He glanced up once—saw the upper tiers dissolve into smog, sterile towers hidden behind the murk. Down here, the air hit heavier. Wet metal. Fried oil. The tang of burnt circuits and damp rot. His stomach twisted, sharp and impatient, like it was trying to eat itself. He hadn’t eaten since that stale ration bar in the morning. The hunger felt familiar—an old companion, always whispering in the back of his mind, always tightening its grip. He pushed the bike harder, trying to outrun it, but hunger never needed to breathe. Daan’s voice cut through his thoughts like it always did. “You let this thing fall apart again, mate? What, hoping it’ll fix itself? Gotta love that strategy.” Cal could almost hear the grin behind it. He smirked despite himself, but his body sagged further against the bike. Daan wasn’t wrong—he’d always been the one patching up the flea when Cal ignored the rattles and leaks. Hunger twisted tighter in his gut, but this time, it wasn’t just food he craved. The lower streets pressed in tighter as he descended, alive with stalls and carts patched together from tarps and rusted metal. Vendors hawked under flickering signs, bold fonts flashing menus that made his mouth water. BitterSynth balls dusted with spice. Forge Fries drowning in neon-orange mayo. Smog Stroopwafels stacked like treasure, syrup glowing green as if it were mined from the city’s veins. The smells clawed at him, dragging his thoughts backward—to Daan, drenched from the rain, scarfing fries under that busted sign after Cal had given him a few swats and half a lecture. That same damn stall might still be there, grease in the air, the owner with his stained apron. The ache in his stomach sharpened, demanding more than just memory. He needed to eat. Needed something solid. By the time the rain thinned to a mist, Cal guided the bike into the narrow sprawl of Egelstraat. The street twisted into a maze of flickering signs and damp cobblestones. Stalls glowed faintly in the gloom, their lights dancing off puddles. Somewhere further down, he swore he heard Daan’s voice—sharp, laughing, maybe haggling with a customer. For a second, he considered stopping by, shaking him down for a free bite. But his stomach clawed again, pulling him toward the nearest vendor instead. He jerked the bike to a halt by a line of carts. Steam rose thick around him, oil snapping and batter crackling over flames. Signs promised nutrients and flavor, but everything here was a gamble. A woman in a rain poncho flipped something golden over a vat of oil. Another stand slathered skewers in glowing blue sauce that shimmered like coolant fluid under the lights. Cal’s eyes landed on a smaller cart—plain, no frills. Someone who didn’t need to dress up the food to get by. A stack of oversized stroopwafels sat under a scratched plastiglass cover, syrup glowing faintly green between ridged layers. The vendor, a stooped old man with birdlike eyes, pressed one onto a griddle with practiced flicks, the syrup bubbling sluggishly beneath the iron. Cal curled his lip but stepped forward anyway. Hunger didn’t care. “One of those,” he muttered, “and a Neo Oranjeboom.” The old man glanced up, voice like rusted gears. “Six credits.” “Six?” Cal scowled. “For a waffle and a drink? Syrup’s not made from real fruit.” “Prices went up. You want it or not?” Cal dug into his pocket, stomach twisting tighter. “Four.” The vendor’s eyes narrowed. Silence stretched. Then, a dry chuckle. “Five. Final offer.” “Fine.” Cal handed over the credits and took his food, ignoring the man’s grin. The stroopwafel was warm in his hands, syrup sticky through the paper. The algae scent hit first—salt with that faint chemical sweetness. Not appetizing, but not sickening either. It would do. He cracked open the Neo Oranjeboom—fizz and synthetic citrus stinging his tongue, metallic aftertaste settling in his throat. He leaned against a damp post, took a slow bite. Sweet syrup clung to his teeth, the salt cutting through the fake sugar just enough to make it edible. He washed it down with another swig of the drink. Daan’s voice stirred again, overlapping with the rain and the hiss of grills. “Gotta love that strategy.” Cal smirked. For a moment, the heat of the waffle, the sting of citrus, and the buzz of the city made things bearable. Not good—never good—but better than starving. It wouldn’t last. Nothing ever did. * * * The Flea purred to life as Cal kicked off the ground, its engine hiccupping before smoothing into a confident hum. He guided it through the shifting currents of traffic, the faint glow of its worn-out boosters cutting thin streaks through the grime-heavy air. The streets stretched darker and narrower the deeper he rode into the old Red District. Gone were the flashing holograms and buzzing nightlife—the legends of indulgence and glitter had long since withered, leaving behind hulking ruins and empty promises. The Red District still bore echoes of its infamous past. Its iconic window displays, once bathed in seductive neon hues, now flickered faintly or stood shattered, their glass panes smeared with grime. Where holograms once advertised fantasies, warnings about trespassing Syndicate-controlled areas now loomed overhead. Rusted grates replaced cobblestones, steam rising in uneven bursts from vents below. Waste fires smoldered nearby, their smoke biting at Cal’s throat. Above, scavengers moved along precarious catwalks, metallic footsteps clanging faintly like ghosts haunting the district’s remains. Cal tightened his grip on the handlebars as a figure loomed overhead. A scavenger perched on a broken catwalk glanced down, their shadow stretching across the street. He pretended not to notice the glint of a blade at their side, focusing instead on steering The Flea around a cluster of collapsed awnings. The boosters sputtered as he navigated the tight spaces, their sound reverberating off the towering ruins. A flickering green glow pulled his attention ahead. The Grasshopper’s sign hung like a beacon, its broken neon lighting up the street with fractured light. Even in disrepair, it commanded respect—a silent declaration of Syndicate territory. The carved emblem beneath the sign sent an unmistakable message: trespassers would regret it. Cal eased The Flea to a stop at the cracked curb, the cooling engine hissing softly under the drizzle. He stepped off, running a hand over his damp jacket as he glanced around, wary of prying eyes. The door swung open with a sluggish hydraulic hiss, spilling muted holo-screens and low murmurs into the damp night. Inside, the Grasshopper felt smaller than it looked from the outside. Stained booths lined the walls, their vinyl worn thin and patched. Tables, mismatched and scarred, were scattered unevenly across the floor. The bar had the sheen of desperation, its surface polished not by care but by years of wear. Runners clustered in groups along one side, their usual bravado stripped to uneasy whispers. Boys around Cal’s age leaned against walls or perched on stools, their glances darting toward the second-floor staircase like moths circling faint light. The heavy scent of rain-soaked leather and sweat thickened the air, amplifying the suffocating atmosphere. Most of the runners barely acknowledged him. They’d worked jobs together before, sure, but trust wasn’t something anyone here could afford. Cal moved to the edge of the cluster, keeping his distance but close enough to catch the tension rippling through the room. A tall guy with bleached blond hair and a split lip caught Cal’s eye before looking away, his fingers drumming erratically against the edge of an empty glass. His nerves were contagious—the entire group seemed strung too tight, like they’d been waiting too long for something they didn’t want. Cal didn’t sit. These weren’t his friends, and this wasn’t a place to get comfortable. The creak of the door broke the low hum of voices, pulling every gaze toward it. The sound sliced through the room like a warning, stretching the moment longer than necessary. When the door finally settled, the silence that followed felt thick enough to choke on. It loomed in full view now—the bench, its dark wood marred with scuffs and rounded edges from decades of use. It crouched low, angled with deliberate cruelty, straps dangling like waiting hands. The grain of the wood caught the dim light, revealing faint smudges and scratches—marks left by kicking feet and desperate palms pressed too hard. It wasn’t just a fixture; it was a monument, steeped in the weight of punishment and submission. Beside it, perched on an unsteady table, was the belt. Its thick leather was cracked and worn, the buckle glinting faintly in the dim light like an unblinking eye. Each crease in the leather and frayed thread of stitching seemed to carry stories no one wanted to tell. The sight of it turned the room colder, silencing even the faintest whispers. Someone shuffled uncomfortably. A scuffed boot dragged against the floor, the faint sound rippling unease through the group. No one spoke. No one dared. The bench and belt weren’t just objects—they were warnings, visible reminders of the price of disobedience. Cal forced himself to look away, focusing on the room instead of the memories clawing at him. The runners avoided his gaze, their attention fixed on the stairs or the floor. The room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone—to break the silence. Cal didn’t know what was coming, but he knew better than to let his guard down in a place like this. The staircase groaned under heavy, deliberate steps. The air shifted as Dante appeared at the top, his frame filling the doorway like an iron shadow. His salt-and-pepper hair gleamed under the murky light, combed back with slick precision, and his steel hand rested lightly against the railing as if even the wood knew better than to resist him. Every eye in the room locked on him—or away from him—depending on their nerve. “Boys,” Dante started, his voice a measured rumble, neither stern nor soft. It carried the weight of someone who didn’t have to raise it to command silence. “I call you 'boys' because that’s what you’re acting like.” A handful of the runners shifted where they stood, boots scuffing the floor. Dante took another deliberate step forward, savoring his dominance over the room. His tailored suit seemed out of place amid the peeling walls and soaked coats, but that contrast only solidified his authority. He didn’t belong here; he owned here. “This… chatter,” Dante said, gesturing vaguely toward the muted conversation that had frozen the moment he arrived. “This waiting game you’re playing between jobs, this… downtime you think you’re entitled to.” His gray eyes swept across the crowd, stopping just long enough on a few faces to make them twitch. “It’s good fun, sure. For kids. But I need workers, not children.” He descended slowly, each step deliberate, each word sharper than the last. “You think this business runs on charm? On your half-assed grins and sloppy improvisations out there?” A humorless smile tugged at his lips. “No. It runs on precision. Discipline. And a willingness to understand that mistakes”—Dante’s steel hand flexed, the metallic fingers catching the light—“can be costly.” The runners stood frozen. Some nodded quickly, others avoided eye contact, but no one dared speak. Dante stopped at the bottom of the steps, giving the group just enough time to absorb his presence. He smoothed one sleeve of his suit almost absentmindedly, like it was the silk that mattered most in the room. Then, his voice dropped. “Inside,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. “All of you.” Several of the runners were already moving before he finished the sentence. Cal lingered a moment, watching the others funnel into the room at the base of the stairs before falling in behind them. Inside, the lighting was dimmer, softer, yet more oppressive in its quiet. The hum of a ventilation system was the only sound. A boy stood facing the wall on the far side of the room. His blond hair was unruly, sticking out at odd angles like he’d been caught in a strong wind—or a worse kind of chaos. His bomber jacket, too big for his frame, hung awkwardly around his shoulders, one sleeve slightly tugged up to reveal a sliver of pale, freckled skin. Daan. Cal swallowed hard, his chest tightening. Daan was an annoying little brother in all but name—a whirlwind of bad decisions and overconfidence that Cal couldn’t help but feel responsible for. The kid had a knack for talking his way into trouble, but this? This was different. This wasn’t the usual scrape he could laugh off later. This was Dante. The runners filed in silently, forming a tense semicircle near Dante’s side. The room dulled further under the weight of his presence. Cal lingered at the edge of the group, his fists clenched at his sides as he watched Daan fidget by the wall. He wanted to say something, do something, but the sharp edge of Dante’s authority pinned him in place. Dante’s steel-gray eyes bore into Daan, who shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, his head bowed slightly. The silence thickened until Dante’s voice cut through, sharp and even. “Daan,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue with deliberate menace. “Why don’t you enlighten the boys? Tell them how you ended up here.” Daan’s shoulders pulled tight, bracing against the invisible weight of Dante’s words. His hands fidgeted near the hem of his bomber jacket, thumbs tracing the fraying fabric. When he turned, his wide blue eyes darted to Dante’s for the briefest moment before falling to the floor. His voice came low and halting. “Got… got stopped by the Watch,” Daan stammered. “Came outta nowhere. They… uh… tagged my bike. Took the stuff.” The runners exchanged uneasy glances, murmurs rippling through the room like static. Cal’s jaw tightened as he scanned their faces. None of them would lift a finger to help Daan. Not now. Not with Dante here. “Stopped?” Dante repeated, his tone colder now. “Gone. Just like that?” Daan swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to answer. “It wasn’t my fault,” he said quickly, though his voice lacked conviction. “They had drones, circling the corner—” Dante stepped forward, boots clicking faintly on the floor. The sound was enough to make Daan flinch, his hands freezing mid-fidget. Dante’s metallic fingers twitched as he gestured, the movement deliberate and slow. “The jacket,” Dante said softly, almost kindly. “Off.” The room tensed. Cal’s fists curled tighter. He wanted to yell at Daan to stop shaking, to stand his ground. But he couldn’t. Daan’s breath hitched as his fingers hovered over the jacket’s zipper. He hesitated, looking briefly toward the runners as if searching for support, but no one met his gaze. “Off,” Dante repeated, sharper now, his steel hand catching the dim light. Daan’s motions were slow and mechanical, like his body resisted every command. The jacket fell to the floor with a muted thud, pooling around his feet. The heavy material looked even more lifeless crumpled on the ground. Cal’s chest ached as he watched the kid he’d spent months trying to protect shrink into himself under the weight of the room’s judgment. “Pants too,” Dante said, dispassionately. This time, Daan froze completely. His usually animated face was distant now, locked somewhere far away. The room held its breath. Daan’s hands hovered over his waist, fingers uncertain as they brushed against the metal clasp of his belt. His gaze darted to Cal, desperate and wide-eyed, but Cal looked away, his stomach churning. Don’t look. Don’t make it worse. The leather belt slid free with a faint hiss. Daan’s breath hitched. For a second, it seemed like the room itself leaned in, waiting. Daan’s movements were halting as he nudged his pants down over narrow hips. They fell to pool around his ankles with a soft rustle, revealing boxer briefs patterned with faded cartoon rockets—a boyish design that made Cal’s stomach twist harder. A ripple of discomfort moved through the gathered runners. One kid shifted on his feet, then quickly looked away. Daan’s face flushed deep crimson. He squared his shoulders, forcing his chin up defiantly even as his hands twitched faintly at his sides. His eyes, unusually bright and wet-looking in the dim light, locked somewhere far above Dante’s shoulder in an effort to endure the moment. Cal’s chest burned. He’s just a kid, he thought bitterly, though the logic did nothing to loosen the knots twisting in his gut. You’re supposed to protect him from this. From himself. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not without dragging himself into Dante’s crosshairs too. “Brave face as always, is that it?” Dante said, almost amused. His voice was smooth, unhurried, like this was all just another piece of theater. His steel hand moved toward the bench, his fingers curling lightly around its edge. “Then let’s see it through.” He gestured with his other hand to the bruised and battered wood. "Lay down," he said, his tone calm, almost conversational, as if the instruction wasn't cutting the room like a blade. Dante ran the belt through his hands slowly, the leather whispering against his calloused palm and the glinting steel of his artificial fingers. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, as if each pass was meant to stretch the silence. He didn’t acknowledge the semicircle of runners watching, nor the tension stringing their shoulders tight as wires. His full attention pinned to Daan, who stood in the center of the room, trembling and half-bared. "You know, Daan," Dante began, his voice soft, almost conversational, “you remind me of my eldest, back when he was about your age.” He gripped one end of the belt and snapped it just once, the sound cutting through the air like a wet slap. Daan’s flinch was barely perceptible, but Dante caught it, his lips twitching into something resembling a smile. “He used to get these bright ideas, think he could outsmart everyone around him. Kinda like you, showing off, running faster than you can think.” Dante took a step closer, dragging one end of the belt against the edge of the bench. The sound was low, abrasive, a faint scrape that set teeth on edge. “And you know where those bright ideas landed him? On the wrong side of a situation we both regretted.” His artificial hand flexed, the metal digits tapping rhythmically on the wood. “But eventually, he learned. Because I taught him. I straightened him out.” Daan’s hands twitched, but he didn’t move otherwise. His chin was still slightly raised, though the defiance in his features had withered, leaving something fragile in its place. Dante raised the belt again, folding it in half with smooth, precise movements, testing the seam as though measuring its worth. “Does that sound familiar to you, kid?" His eyebrows arched slightly, mock sincerity shaping his face. Daan opened his mouth like he might respond, but no sound came out. His eyes flickered down to the belt, and the faintest shiver ran through him. Dante let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as though he’d expected as much. “All bravado until the moment comes. You try to run before you’ve ever learned to walk.” He turned the belt over in his hands again, its buckle sparkling faintly under the faint lights. "And look where that got you—a bench you’d rather not get acquainted with.” The room felt suffocating, the air thick and unmoving, saturated with expectation. Dante sighed, long and theatrical, tapping his steel hand against the wooden bench. "I don’t do this because I hate you, you know. Quite the opposite." His voice was soft now, almost fatherly, and that somehow made it worse. "This? This is guidance. This is setting you straight so you don’t land somewhere darker, somewhere nobody can pull you back from." He crouched slightly—not to Daan’s level, but enough to loom like a parent delivering hard truths to a wayward child. “This,” Dante murmured, one final, deliberate tap against the bench, “is discipline." His tone left no room for anything else. Dante’s steel hand shot out, seizing the waistband of Daan’s underwear with mechanical precision. The fabric bunched in his grip, taut and thin against the edges of his metallic fingers. “Please—don’t!” Daan’s voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a raw, desperate plea. His knees wavered, like they might buckle under him, but he stayed upright, trembling, arms motionless at his sides. Calum’s breath caught, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of him. His fists clenched tight, fingernails digging into his palms. His mind roared with static, a flood of thoughts that tangled and drowned each other out. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to do something, but he felt rooted to the spot, frozen in place as his stomach churned. The air felt thin, his chest tight, as if the room itself was drawing all the oxygen away. This couldn’t be happening. Dante flipped the belt over in his hands, pulling the smooth leather through his steel fingers like he had all the time in the world. The gesture was slow, deliberate, the kind made to keep every nerve in the room humming on edge. His gray eyes stayed locked on Daan, as if no one else existed, as if the runners gathered around had disappeared into the peeling paint of the walls. “You see, this isn’t just about you,” Dante said, conversational now, like he was explaining bedtime rules to a misbehaving child. “When you mess up, you’re not just putting yourself on the line. You’re making a statement. You’re saying to me—saying to everyone—that discipline doesn’t matter. That trust? It’s optional.” He snapped the belt taut between his hands, the sharp crack slicing through the dense silence. Daan flinched, his shoulders hunching instinctively, though he didn’t dare take a step back. His fingers twitched, brushing against the hem of his shirt, but he didn’t move to cover himself. His jaw was set, but his eyes darted to the floor, as if the tile might offer some kind of reprieve. Dante’s voice softened, a mockery of sympathy curling at the edges. “But you don’t really understand that, do you? You’re still just a kid, running errands, playing at being a big shot.” He tossed the belt lightly from one hand to the other, like it was a toy, the buckle catching the dim light with each arc. “You think your little screw-ups go unnoticed? Like there’s no price for making me look weak?” The runners standing off to the sides stayed stock-still, their breaths barely audible, eyes fixed anywhere but on Daan. Even the air felt still, tight with something unspoken. Dante paced a half-step forward, letting the belt dangle from his cybernetic fingers now, swinging faintly like a predator’s tail. “I could ignore it,” Dante mused, his tone light, conversational. “I could let you off with a slap on the wrist and some kind words about learning from failure. But then”—he leaned forward, his voice dipping lower—“what kind of example would I be setting for everyone else?” Daan’s lip twitched, words hovering just out of reach on his tongue. He froze under Dante’s gaze, a rabbit caught under the shadow of a hawk. His breath came sharp, uneven, his chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic motions that he couldn’t quite control. “That’s the problem with your generation,” Dante continued, as though Daan’s silence was agreement enough. “You think there aren’t consequences. That a nice smile, a quick excuse, is all it takes to scrape by.” He looped the belt in his hand again, his movements calm, almost rhythmic. “But it doesn’t work like that. Not here. Respect is earned, Daan. It’s proven through sweat, through blood, through knowing your place and keeping to it.” Dante tilted his head slightly, studying Daan like he was some puzzle he hadn’t quite solved yet. “You want to prove yourself, don’t you? You want to show me you’ve got what it takes to run with the big dogs, that you’re not just a scared little boy playing dress-up.” Daan didn’t answer, didn’t even nod. His shoulders drew tighter, every muscle in his wiry frame wound like a spring. The shadows of Dante’s words coiled around him, heavy and suffocating. The belt swung lazily at Dante’s side, swaying against the sharp line of his tailored pants. “You’ve got potential,” Dante said, his tone somehow both cold and fatherly, a layer of silk draped over iron. “But potential doesn’t mean a damn thing without discipline. Without obedience.” The belt snapped again, a quick, sharp crack that reasserted its presence in a way no amount of words could. The belt’s crack against bare skin echoed sharply, louder than any noise in the room save for Daan's sharp gasp, his body jerking involuntarily. Dante’s face remained unflinching, an almost paternal disapproval etched into his expression. “Do you know what your problem is?” Dante asked, his voice calm, as though carrying out this violent theater was part of a standard debriefing. “You think you’re the exception. That the rules don’t apply to you. But they do, Daan. Oh, they do.” Another strike landed, the same deliberate motion, the same sharp snap of leather meeting flesh. Daan lowered his head, his hands gripping the edge of the bench so tightly that his knuckles whitened. A strained grunt slipped from his lips, though he bit down on it quickly, his jaw locking. “I give you a task, and what do you do?” Dante continued, pacing behind the boy, the belt swaying at his side. “You take liberties. You make decisions. But you’re not here to decide things, are you?” He leaned in closer, his tone softening—mocking intimacy. “You’re here to follow.” Another strike. Daan’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched against the grain of the wood, but he didn’t let go. “That’s how this works, Daan. It’s how it always works,” Dante said, rising back to his full height as he took a step back, surveying the boy. “You think loyalty is enough? It’s not. It’s worthless without discipline.” Dante punctuated the word with another lash. Daan’s back flinched in response, his shoulders shivering involuntarily, though his mouth stayed shut now, refusing to let another sound escape. “You don’t just let the Watch take our goods,” Dante continued, every word landing heavier than the straps of leather. “You don’t ‘botch’ an errand. You don’t let yourself get caught.” This time when he swung the belt, it hit not with the same force, but with a deliberate finality. The snap was quieter, but the weight of it still hung in the air, leaving Daan trembling faintly where he knelt. Dante stepped back again, tossing the belt onto the nearby table in a motion that spoke of his practiced ease. He smoothed his tailored jacket, his steel hand clicking faintly as it adjusted his cufflinks. “Get up,” he ordered smoothly, as if he hadn’t been mid-punishment mere moments before. For a second, Daan didn’t move. His hands stayed glued to the bench, head still lowered. Then, slowly, shakily, he pushed himself upright, his movements stiff and uneven. His face burned. Shame pooled across his features as he avoided the gazes of the gathered runners, his bright blue eyes focused firmly on the floor. Dante turned slightly, gesturing toward the hallway. “Restroom’s that way. Clean yourself up. Compose yourself. When you come back, you’ll act like this never happened. Understood?” Daan nodded, a quick jerk of his head, but his voice faltered as he mumbled something inaudible. Dante clicked his tongue, a low sound of disapproval. “Louder.” “Yes,” Daan croaked, his voice hollow, barely more than a whisper. “Good boy,” Dante said, his tone sliding into mocking indulgence. He motioned with a flick of his hand, and the boy hurried toward the back hallway, the too-big bomber jacket dragged limply over one arm. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room in silence save for the faint hum of the holo-projector from the corner. Dante turned back toward the other runners, his gaze sweeping over their faces like a cold wind. “That,” he said finally, his voice heavy with meaning, “is what happens when someone doesn’t follow orders. You think I enjoy that?” He gestured toward the direction Daan had gone with a lazy wave of his hand. “You think I want to waste my time teaching a lesson that should’ve already been learned?” No one responded, though some shifted uncomfortably where they stood, their gazes locked on various points of the room to avoid facing Dante’s. “Loyalty,” Dante said, his voice cutting through the stagnant air. “Discipline. They are the pillars that keep us standing in this city. Without them”—he spread his hands, his steel one gleaming faintly—“we fall. All of us. And I won’t let that happen. Not for something so foolish as sloppiness.” He moved toward the table, his steel hand tapping lightly against its surface as he let his words hang. “You think this is harsh. You think it’s cruel. Maybe it is. But this world we live in—it doesn’t care about fairness. It doesn’t care about kindness. All it cares about is strength.” Dante’s gaze settled on each of them in turn, his expression unreadable. “So,” he said, his voice softening to something almost conversational, almost kind, “which one of you wants to be next to test me?” The silence that followed was deafening. Dante turned his head slowly, satisfaction carefully hidden behind a mask of composure. His steel-gray eyes pressed against Daan, heavy and unrelenting, as he gestured toward the far corner of the room. “Over there,” he said, his voice firm but stripped of its usual mockery. “Face the wall. Don’t move.” Daan swallowed hard, his shoulders stiffening. He didn’t argue. Each step toward the wall was deliberate, his bomber jacket swaying awkwardly with his uneven movements. When he reached the corner, he pressed his palms flat against the wall, his chin dipping to his chest. He looked smaller now—fragile, folded into himself—but he stayed silent. “Stay there,” Dante said. The finality in his tone left no room for anything else. He turned to the rest of the runners, his sharp motion scattering their attention. “Get out. All of you.” The room stirred with cautious shuffling as the runners filed out. No one dared glance at Daan or Calum. The door swung shut with a slow, stilted creak, leaving only three people behind. The silence stretched, pressing against Calum like invisible walls. Dante tapped his steel hand against the table. “Calum,” he said, tilting his head toward him. “You stay.” Calum’s stomach churned, his eyes fixed on the faint scuff marks near his shoes. The weight of the empty room pressed harder than the crowd had. Dante’s presence filled the silence effortlessly as he moved toward Daan. The room felt cavernous now, its silence stretching like unseen walls pressing inward. Calum kept his gaze on the faint scuff marks near his shoes, the weight of the empty space pressing harder than the crowd had. Dante’s presence filled it effortlessly, his every movement deliberate as he walked toward the corner where Daan stood, restrained by the wall's sullen gray. “Daan,” Dante said, his voice sharp and crisp, slicing through the thickened air. Daan flinched but turned, his usual bravado completely erased, replaced by a kind of vacant shame Calum hadn’t seen on him before. His eyes darted to Calum for a split second before settling somewhere ambiguous near Dante’s shoulder. “Tomorrow,” Dante continued, steel fingers tapping a measured rhythm against his human hand. “You’re going out with Calum. You’ll listen to him. You’ll stick to him. You’ll learn your place.” Calum barely suppressed a groan. Babysitting Daan? Again? The kid was a walking disaster—too cocky for his own good and too green to understand half the risks he took. Daan wasn’t just reckless; he was the kind of reckless that got other people in trouble, and now it was Calum’s turn to carry the fallout. Daan’s chin dipped lower, his lips pressing into a thin, pale line. He gave a subtle nod, the bomber jacket hanging unevenly off his small frame like a forgotten thought. He didn’t bother with words, and Calum bit back the urge to snap at him for once. Great, Calum thought bitterly. He screws up, and I’m the one who pays for it. “Understood?” Dante prompted, his tone now a command cloaked as a question. “Yes,” Daan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Dante turned then, his steel-gray gaze landing on Calum like a weight. “He’s your shadow for the night. If he screws up—if anything happens—it’s on you.” His steel hand scraped against the edge of the table as he spoke, the sound low and deliberate. “You know what that means.” Calum nodded stiffly, his stomach churning. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steady despite the frustration bubbling under the surface. He shot Daan a sidelong glance, catching the kid’s wide-eyed silence and slumped shoulders. You’re a lot less annoying when you’re quiet, he thought, though the resentment felt hollow. “Good.” Dante waved absently toward Daan, his dismissal abrupt. “You’ll find your bike waiting for you tomorrow morning. Try not to wreck it this time.” Daan’s shoulders twitched at the words, his expression flickering with something indecipherable—resentment? Gratitude? Calum didn’t care to figure it out. He just wanted to get out of there. “You too,” Dante said, his back already to them as he gestured toward the exit. His tone left no room for argument. Calum tilted his head toward the doorway, signaling Daan to follow. Together, they trudged out into the corridor, their footsteps muffled against the worn floorboards. The silence between them stretched heavier with every step, but Calum didn’t break it. He couldn’t decide if he was more annoyed at Dante for sticking him with this or at Daan for needing the babysitter role in the first place. “Keep up,” Calum muttered under his breath, shooting a glance back at Daan. The kid’s jacket hung off him like dead weight, and his usually defiant expression was nowhere to be found. For a moment, Calum’s irritation wavered, replaced by something closer to pity. He shoved it down quickly. This wasn’t about feeling sorry for Daan. It was about making sure neither of them ended up in Dante’s crosshairs again. * * * Daan winced as he finally gave his backside a tentative rub, his fingers brushing over the sore spots where the belt had landed. He shot Calum a quick, sheepish glance, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Calum leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You gonna make it, kid? Or do I need to carry you home like a sack of potatoes?" Daan’s face reddened further, and he straightened up quickly, trying to mask the discomfort. "I’m fine," he muttered, though his voice cracked slightly. He shifted his weight, his bomber jacket bunching awkwardly around his hips. Calum’s smirk widened as his eyes flicked downward for a split second, catching the unmistakable bulge straining against the front of Daan’s pants. He raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with mock concern. "You sure about that? Looks like you’ve got more than just your pride hurting." Daan froze, his hands instinctively moving to adjust his jacket, pulling it lower to cover himself. His face burned as he glared at Calum, though there was no real heat behind it. "Shut up," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. Calum chuckled, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. "Relax, kid. It happens to the best of us." He clapped Daan on the shoulder, his grin softening just a fraction. "Come on, I’ll take you home. You look like you could use a break." Daan shook his head quickly, taking a step back. "Nah, I’m good. I’ll walk." He shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. "I need the air anyway." Calum studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just don’t get caught by the Watch again, or Dante might actually kill you next time." Daan nodded stiffly, avoiding Calum’s gaze as he turned and started down the dimly lit street. His steps were slow and deliberate, each one carrying the weight of the night’s humiliation. Calum watched him go for a moment before shaking his head and heading in the opposite direction. Daan muttered curses under his breath, his hands reaching back to rub at the sting that lingered across his backside. His bomber jacket shifted awkwardly as he twisted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Man, what the hell. That hurt like—I dunno—like a hundred slaps from a hover propeller.” Calum leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his lips twitching into a grin. “Yeah? That’s kind of the point, genius.” Daan scowled, his hand still lingering over the insulted area. “Maybe Dante could’ve just yelled or something. Like a normal boss. That’d hurt less, you know.” “Oh, no doubt,” Cal drawled, his grin widening. “But then you’d probably just brush it off and go screw up again, wouldn’t you?” Daan shot him a glare, his cheeks puffing out slightly before he turned away and adjusted his oversized jacket. His hand finally dropped to his side, though his boots scuffed against the floor like he didn’t know where to direct the residual embarrassment. “Not like it’s any of your business,” he mumbled. Cal shook his head, stepping away from the wall and giving Daan an easy slap on the shoulder. “Come on, don’t pout. You’ll live.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “I’ll give you a lift back home. Make sure you don’t get yourself into more trouble on the way.” Daan’s eyes darted up, unsure, before he shook his head quickly. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll walk.” Cal quirked an eyebrow, scrutinizing his little tagalong as Daan adjusted his jacket again, the collar popping up around his neck as if he were trying to hide behind it. The kid’s usual cheeky bravado wasn’t sticking; instead, there was just this odd, sulky quiet. It didn’t take much guessing to figure out why he wasn’t in a rush to climb on the back of a hover bike tonight. “Wish you hadn't Dante’s handprint tattooed back there, huh?” Cal teased, smothering another laugh as Daan flushed deeper. Daan groaned, shoving his fists in his jacket pockets. “Shut up, Cal. I’ll be fine.” “Fine, fine.” Cal raised his hands in mock surrender. “Enjoy your reflective stroll or whatever.” He watched as Daan made his way toward the exit, shoulders stiff but movements unsure, like he half-expected Cal to say something else. It was kind of...cute, in a way. Not that he’d ever tell Daan that; the kid’s head would explode. As the door swung shut behind him, Cal smirked, shaking his head. His eyes flicked to the neon glow of a nearby Escapepod sign through the fogged windows. “Guess we both need a breather,” he muttered, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets as he turned toward the bar’s side exit. The engine of The Flea roared to life as Calum coaxed the stubborn hover bike into action. Neon light spilled over the slick pavement, streaks of pink and green reflected in the warped metal of his handlebars. He adjusted his gloves, the worn leather creaking under his grip, and eased the bike forward, weaving into the chaotic rhythm of the Red District. The night was alive with noise and grit. Music boomed from clubs, muffled by heavy steel doors that slammed open and shut with drunken streams of patrons. Laughter and shouting mingled with the metallic grind of machinery and the hum of neon signs. A faint haze lingered in the air, a mix of smog and synthetic perfumes that clashed with the distant scent of fried food from the street carts. Cal sped through narrow alleys and dodged the occasional stumbling crowd. His jacket flared behind him, catching the air as he leaned into tight turns. The Flea sputtered but held together, the patched-up engine whining in protest. He didn’t slow down. Speed had a way of making the world blur just enough to forget its weight. When he pulled up to the Escapepod, the rhythmic thrum of bass from a nearby club vibrated through the air. The building was a nondescript concrete block, except for the garish, flickering sign buzzing overhead. Dark-green letters spelled out "ESCAPEPOD" above a glowing arrow that pointed past a rusted steel door. Inside, the smell hit him first—sweat, cheap disinfectant, and the faint plastic tang of overused tech. The receptionist behind the counter glanced up from a well-worn InstaTab but didn’t bother with a greeting. Cal slapped a few crumbled credits on the counter, smirking as the credits were counted and swept away without a word. The attendant jerked a thumb toward the back. “Cubicle two-oh-six. Try not to break anything.” “Sure thing,” Cal replied, his voice edged with sarcasm. He pocketed his rental stub and made his way down the narrow corridor, the overhead lights flickering in protest against unreliable wiring. Cubicle 206 was barely more than a closet. The door screeched open, revealing a battered couch with stuffing peeking from its seams, a rickety table shoved into the corner, and an ancient VR setup that looked like it might disintegrate if someone so much as sneezed on it. Cal dropped onto the couch, his weight sending up a faint cloud of dust. He stared at the VR headset hanging limply from its stand, wires snaking down in tangled disarray. A touch of nostalgia flickered through him—not the good kind. He leaned his head back against the wall and sighed, rubbing his temple. “Guess they’re not wasting the budget on upgrades, huh?” His voice echoed faintly in the cramped space. Pulling the headset on, he tightened the straps until it felt secure, though it pinched uncomfortably against his ears. The padding was all but gone, leaving brittle plastic edges to dig into his skin. He adjusted one of the earpieces, tapping it lightly until a sharp hum crackled through the speakers. With a grimace, he pressed the worn power button on the side. The screen lit up—a mess of flickering pixels and distorted colors. “Come on, work with me,” he muttered to the machine, fiddling with the clunky controls until the image stabilized, albeit slightly crooked. The faint whir of the outdated processor sounded like a motor on its last legs. Lying back, Cal sank deeper into the couch’s uneven cushions, one hand settling on his chest as he stared into the hollow glow of the visor. The sky stretched wide and golden above him, cloudless and heavy with sunlight that soaked into his skin. Small green shoots pushed through the rich, dark soil under his fingertips, their leaves trembling as if in anticipation. Cal dug his hands deeper into the dirt, feeling the cool, grainy texture cling to his nails. It smelled earthy, alive, laced with the tang of something sweet—like honey wafting on a lazy summer breeze. He crouched there, a little boy again, barefoot and scrappy, his too-big shirt hanging off one shoulder. The noontime warmth softened the sharp edges of his thoughts, dulling everything to an easy, manageable hum. Around him, the garden buzzed with life. Bees flitted between fat, colorful blooms, their wings humming a tune that blended with the soft rustle of leaves. A lemon tree stood tall in one corner, its yellow globes gleaming like tiny suns. Somewhere, water burbled, a quiet and constant rhythm. The tree reminded him of something—not quite a memory, but close. Summers that felt too distant now, filled with laughter and light. He didn’t want to lose this, not yet. “Calum!” The voice broke through the stillness, firm and insistent, distant at first but drawing closer with every syllable. The golden sky flickered. His chest tightened as he pressed his hands deeper into the dirt, scattering seeds into the furrow he’d carved. He wasn’t going to ruin this—not now, not yet. Not for him. “Didn’t you hear me, son?” The voice came from directly behind him now, low and pointed. The golden warmth drained away. The sky shattered into gray static, the sun glitching into blank pixels before dissolving entirely. Calum tore the headset off with a growl, the strap snagging in his hair before it dropped into his lap. The booth’s VR machine whined unevenly, then stuttered to silence. The air around him smelled of disinfectant and hot plastic, jarring against the sweetness of the garden. The faint hum of the screen behind him blinked erratically before fizzing out for good. “Seriously?” Cal muttered, gripping the headset and inspecting the frayed wires sticking out from its side. The damn thing was ancient—just another broken relic in a city of broken relics. He pushed off the couch and yanked open the door, letting it slam against the wall as he stepped into the corridor. His boots thudded against the cracked tiles, carrying him toward the reception desk where the same disinterested man from earlier still lounged, scrolling through his InstaTab. “Hey. Booth two-oh-six is fried,” Cal said, dropping the headset onto the counter with a dull clunk. The man didn’t look up, flicking his finger across the screen lazily. “Not my problem, kid.” “It’s your junk hardware,” Cal snapped, leaning over the counter now. “You gave me twenty minutes of a busted sky before the thing crapped out completely.” The man sighed, glancing at the damaged headset with minimal interest. “You paid for the hour. You got the hour.” He shrugged, tapping his InstaTab and scrolling again. “No refunds.” Cal’s fists curled at his sides, the tops of his ears burning. He wasn’t even mad about the credits. It was the reminder—that even here, in some dingy VR booth, he couldn’t hold onto something good. “You’re kidding me. The whole thing died, and you don’t even care?” “Look,” the man said, finally glancing up, though his expression was as apathetic as ever. “You wanna waste more credits, there’s a shop ‘bout three blocks over. They rent better sets. My machines work just fine.” Cal snorted. “Yeah, they ‘work just fine’ as scrap. Don’t expect me to come back to this dump.” “Trust me, kid, I’ll survive the heartbreak,” the man replied, already dropping his gaze back to the InstaTab. Cal shook his head sharply, his lips compressing into a thin line before he pivoted and stalked toward the exit. His hand shoved against the metal push bar, sending the door flying open with more force than necessary. Outside, the night stretched on, smudged neon reflected in the puddles dotting the uneven street. The air smelled of damp metal and spilled oil, the chill biting at his skin as his breath curled faintly into the air. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and started back toward the dockyards, his steps echoing softly in the quiet street. The undercity loomed ahead, a warren of tight alleys and crumbling facades bathed in dim washes of neon. Pipes snaked along walls like arteries, dripping condensation that shimmered faintly in the light. The Flea sputtered as it glided to a stop in front of a squat building, its rust-covered exterior broken up by streaks of graffiti and scorch marks. Cal dismounted, kicking the bike stand into place before cutting the power. The hum died abruptly, leaving only the faint buzz of a flickering streetlamp overhead. Inside, the air hit him—a sour mix of mildew and burnt oil, thick enough to cling to his throat. He hunched his shoulders as he moved through the narrow hallway, passing scavenged doors marked by numbers half-erased by time. The place had its own kind of heartbeat—pipes groaning and water hissing through its veins, as alive and worn as the city itself. The communal showers were no better. A single bulb buzzed overhead, casting a weak yellow glow over stained tiles and rusted fixtures. Steam coiled faintly in the air, mixing with the acrid tang of wet grout. Cal dropped his jacket onto the rickety bench with a sigh, tugging his grimy shirt off and adding it to the pile. For a moment, he hesitated, fingers brushing the edge of the curtain. The water sputtered free in bursts, rattling the pipes before settling into a weak, steady stream. Against all odds, warmth licked his skin. He exhaled, letting the rust-colored water carry away the soot of the day, his head tilting forward as droplets slid down his neck and shoulders. The grime dissolved, but the weight stayed. The undercity didn’t just weigh on him—it clung to him, thick and heavy like the dirt he scrubbed off every night but never truly escaped. When the water ran cold, he pushed through, scrubbing his hair with numbed fingers. The air felt sharper against his damp skin as he dressed in the least-worn clothes he could manage—a cleanish hoodie and loose jeans from his stash. On the way back to his unit, he passed Joost leaning against a doorframe, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. “Cal,” Joost drawled, smoke curling like ghosts around his words. “How’s the Flea holding up?” “Alive,” Cal replied, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “For now.” Joost chuckled, tapping ash onto the floor. “Runnin’ ’er hard, no doubt. You spend more time fixing that wreck than riding it.” “Maybe. Keeps me busy, though.” Joost squinted, his gaze dragging over Cal like he was reading a puzzle. “You been to The Grasshopper tonight?” Cal stiffened. “Just passing through. Nothing big.” Joost didn’t push. “Keep your head low, kid. You’re a good one—I’d hate to see you in boots from the Syndicate’s last shipment. You know what I mean.” Cal swallowed hard, his hand brushing the keycode panel. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His fingers brushed over the keycode panel, punching in the combination without meeting Joost’s eyes. The lock clicked, then scrapped open. Behind him, Joost had taken another drag, muttering something under his breath that the sound of hinges drowned out. Cal stepped inside and let the door shut behind him, leaning briefly against it while the sounds of the hallway faded back into the ever-present hum of the building. Cal dropped onto the thin mattress, its springs groaning in protest as he shifted to find a tolerable position. The dim yellow light that seeped through a crack in the wall barely illuminated the room, mixing with the faint, pale glow of Noctis and the moon pouring through the small, grimy window. The air inside was cold, sharp against his damp skin, and the mattress creaked as though it resented his weight. The faint buzz of his neighbors arguing in muffled, distant tones blended into the groan of the overhead pipes, creating an unending symphony of the building. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the shadows of wiry pipes snaking above him. His fingers brushed over the threadbare blanket, drawing aimless patterns as his mind drifted. Joost’s words lingered faintly in his head. Keep your head low. You’re a good one—I’d hate to see you in boots from the Syndicate’s last shipment. Calum snorted softly, though the sound was swallowed by the room’s dull hum. Keeping his head low was easier said than done. The undercity had a way of dragging you into its grind, no matter how tightly you clung to the edges. Through the streaked glass, Noctis’s light stretched and shifted—waves of cold silver that painted jagged marks on the walls and floor. It moved like it was alive, like it was reaching for him. The light felt like a reminder of something distant, untouchable—hope, maybe. Or something he’d already lost. The pillow crunched faintly under his head as he turned, his gaze following the shifting patterns on the window. His thoughts tangled and unraveled, slipping between the hum of the building and the glow of Noctis, until the world blurred and quieted. Calum’s breath slowed. The faint arguments next door, the creak of the pipes, the shifting silver—it all dulled into the background. He let his eyelids fall, the light dancing behind them one last time before it faded completely. Daan shuffled down the narrow street, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his oversized bomber jacket. The neon glow of a shop sign caught his eye—Pleasure Palace—its pink letters flickering like a bad joke. He hesitated for a moment, glancing over his shoulder before pushing the door open. A bell jingled overhead, its cheerful sound clashing with the shop’s dim, cluttered interior. The air inside was thick with the scent of cheap plastic and artificial cherry. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with boxes of toys and gadgets, their packaging faded and peeling. A bored-looking clerk leaned against the counter, scrolling through an InstaTab, barely glancing up as Daan approached. “Uh, hey,” Daan started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You got anything… uh, synthetic? Like, realistic?” The clerk raised an eyebrow, setting the InstaTab down with a sigh. “Realistic? Sure. What’s your budget?” Daan fidgeted, pulling a crumpled wad of credits from his pocket. “Not much. Just… something decent.” The clerk smirked, disappearing into the back room and returning with a sleek black box. He set it on the counter with a thud. “This one’s on sale. Last model we got. Still sealed.” Daan eyed the box warily. The image on the front showed a glossy, lifelike figure with a smile that looked almost too perfect. He flipped it over, scanning the specs printed in tiny font. “How much?” “Two-fifty,” the clerk said, crossing his arms. Daan winced. “Two-fifty? That’s half my creds.” “Take it or leave it, kid.” Daan chewed his lip, glancing between the box and his meager stack of credits. He hesitated, then sighed, pushing the credits across the counter. “Fine. Deal.” The clerk smirked again, scooping up the credits and sliding the box toward him. “Enjoy.” Daan fumbled with the keypad to his unit, the box tucked awkwardly under his arm. The door clicked open, and he slipped inside, kicking it shut behind him. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of Noctis filtering through the grimy window. He dropped the box onto the bed and shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. His fingers trembled slightly as he undid his belt, the anticipation coiling low in his stomach. He pushed his pants down, freeing his erection from the confines of his boxers. The cool air made him shiver, but he barely noticed, his focus already on the box. He tore open the packaging, pulling out the sleek silicone toy. It felt heavy in his hands, smooth and warm to the touch despite its artificiality. Daan ran his fingers over it, testing the texture before positioning it on the edge of the bed. Slowly, he guided himself into the tight opening, a low groan escaping his lips as the pressure enveloped him. He paused for a moment, savoring the sensation before starting to move. His hips rocked forward in slow, deliberate motions, each thrust building the pleasure steadily. The room filled with the sound of his shallow breaths and soft moans, the rhythm of his movements growing more urgent. His hands gripped the edge of the bed tightly, knuckles white as he lost himself in the sensation.

Chapter 1 "I know someone for whom it's time for bed," I interrupted the peaceful puppet show of my little sister on the living room floor in a tone that, to my shock, almost sounded like my mother's. "Please Emily, just a little bit longer, I'm not tired yet," begged Sophie, looking at me hopefully with her big, brown eyes. It was the usual evening drama she played when she had to go to bed. "No Sophie, it's bedtime now, there will still be a tomorrow to play," I explained to her clearly. I had more than enough of her daily, evening disagreements. "But...," she started to whine, but I cut her off. "No Sophie, it's bedtime now, no arguing!" Sophie pouted, but when I took her by her hand, she got up without any further grumbling and allowed me to accompany her to the bathroom without resistance. After a few meters, I noticed that her walk was a bit odd. She was walking with her legs much more spread apart than usual, as if she were imitating the walk of a duck. At first, I thought it was just another game of hers, a way to make the trip to the bathroom more exciting. A Game that she might have learned at kindergarten. But then, suddenly, I realized why she was walking so strangely. "Sophie, can you wait a moment please," I asked her with a sense of foreboding, and stopped. I lifted her summer dress and saw that her pull-up was completely soaked. It was almost a miracle that she hadn't leaked yet. " You're supposed to tell me when you need to go potty," I scolded her sourly. She looked down ashamed. "I was having so much fun playing, I didn't want to stop, and then suddenly I had to go potty before I could say anything." Sophie was a highly advanced child for her age of four. Her language skills were significantly above average, and she could not only read the entire alphabet, but also already write several words. Even simple addition problems were not a problem for her. Despite her remarkable intellectual abilities, she struggled with potty training. She still often woke up with a wet diaper and had more accidents during the day than a typical girl her age. My mother had tried every imaginable method to help Sophie overcome this issue, but with no avail. She even experimented with alternative therapies, like Bach flower remedies and Homeopathy, but as expected, they were of no assistance either. Typically, I would have put Sophie on the potty one last time before bed, like every night, but I could spare myself this step now. Instead, we just made a quick stop in the bathroom to brush our teeth. Then I took Sophie to her room, where I placed her on the changing table. I removed her dress, took off her wet pull-up, cleaned her privates, and sprinkled some baby powder on her diaper area. Finally, I put her in one of her nighttime diapers. "Is this the pajama you'd like to wear, my dear?" I asked my little sister, offering her the princess-printed sleepwear she loved so much. She beamed with joy and put on pants and top with my assistance. "And which story would you like for bedtime tonight?" I asked, giving her the option to choose, even though I already knew the answer. With a loud rustling of her diaper, Sophie scampered over to her bookshelf, and, as she does every night, pulled out the storybook about the adventures of a little princess. "What a surprise," I said with a touch of sarcasm as I took the book from her hand, but she simply smiled contentedly. To my surprise, Sophie was still enamored with the book, despite having memorized every story inside and out. "Will Mum come to give me a goodnight kiss?" Sophie wanted to know as I helped her into bed and looked at me hopefully. "Mum is still out and won't be home until later, but I'm here if you need anything". Immediately, any trace of a smile disappeared from her face, although this situation was nothing unusual for her. Our mother was a highly sought-after lawyer and often had to work late at her office. In such cases, I was often the one who had to pick Sophie up from kindergarten and take care of her until our mother returned. Only on days when I couldn't or didn't want to, a babysitter looked after her. "Mom will give you a kiss as soon as she's back," I cheered up Sophie. "Remember that your potty is right beside your bed in case you need to use it during the night. And if you don't want to go by yourself, you can always call me," I reminded her, as I usually did, in the hope of preventing any nighttime accidents. "I know," Sophie replied with a touch of frustration, having heard this reminder every night before bed. It would only have been nice if she had finally put this knowledge into action. "The little princess lived in a grand and magnificent castle," I started reading to Sophie, and before long, her eyes began to close. So much for her insisting she wasn't tired yet. I continued reading a bit longer, until I was certain that she was soundly asleep and wouldn't stir even if I stopped the story. I placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and tiptoed out of her room. Chapter 2 The pleasant chirping of birds in the garden woke me up from my dreams the next morning. Only two weeks ago I had finished my final school exams and it was still unusual for me not to be woken up by the annoying melody of my alarm clock. Finally, I was free, I was no longer forced to adjust my sleep rhythm to the early morning school hours. I could get up and go to bed whenever it suited me. Of course, I was aware that once I started to go to university, the morning sleep-in would also come to an end, but for now I was going to enjoy every moment of my temporary freedom. Unfortunately, this freedom was still quite lonely. As soon as I had finished my final exams, my mother, my younger sister, and I moved from the city to the countryside. My mother had long dreamed of a small cottage, and she took the opportunity provided by the end of my school years to start a new life in a more idyllic place. Admittedly, the old house and the surrounding countryside were beautiful, but it didn't change the fact that it now felt like we were living at the end of the world. There was no club or bar in the immediate vicinity and nothing else to pass the time as a young person. Without a car, you were completely helpless here and I had neither a vehicle nor a driver's license. As a city child, I had never seen the need to waste my time with tedious driving lessons when you could get around more quickly by bike or public transportation in an urban area. But in the end, it didn't matter that I was not mobile here, it didn't matter that I didn't know anyone my age yet, because in no time at all I would be moving far away to England, the location of my new university. I was about to drift back to sleep when I suddenly realized something was amiss. The area around my buttocks felt uncomfortably wet. Had I sweated excessively in my sleep, causing the mattress to become soaked? But why did only the area around my buttocks seem to be wet? I wondered if I had gotten my period, but it was hard to imagine that the little bleeding I normally had could have caused such a mess. I quickly realized what had happened as I lifted my bedspread and discovered a circular, yellow stain around my buttocks on the otherwise pristine white bedsheet. I had clearly wet the bed, even though it seemed surreal at that moment. After all, I had enough experience finding Sophie's mattress in a similar state when we tried letting her sleep without a diaper at night, to know what such a mishap looked like. Repulsed by the wet, already smelling urine that now also stung my nose, now that the bedspread no longer trapped the odor, I rolled out of bed and immediately stripped off my pajama pants, which were also soaked with urine. No one was ever allowed to know about this mishap. I was 19 years old, not four like my sister. There was no excuse for such an accident at my age. I couldn't even imagine what my mother or friends would think if they found out. I could already picture the rumors spreading through my social circle and my new village. "Have you heard, Emily still wets the bed at 19 years old." I had to act fast. I quickly thought through my options. If I threw my bedding into the washing machine before anyone saw it, no one would ever know about my accident. I quickly took off my sheet from the mattress and also removed the covers. However, now that the mattress was uncovered, my mistake was even more obvious. The big yellow stain in the center of the white mattress was unmistakable and would immediately reveal what had happened to anyone who saw it. I had to turn the mattress over to completely hide the urine stain, but just at the moment I was about to start, there was a knock at the door. "Emily?" I heard my mother's voice. "Please don't come in," I panicked, but as usual, she had already entered without waiting for my permission. "I told you not to come in! You always come in without waiting for me to say it's okay," I yelled at my mother while desperately trying to position myself so she couldn't see my bedding and bed. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to quickly ask if you could unload the dishwasher later, after all, you shouldn't have much to do otherwise," she explained apologetically, but didn't make any effort to leave my room and instead looked curiously inside. She must have just been about to leave the house to go to the kindergarten and then to her office, since she was already holding my little sister at her hand. "Why isn't Emily wearing any pants?" my little sister innocently asked my mom when she saw me. I blushed. Out of sheer fear that my sheets and my bed could be seen, I had forgotten that I was standing half-naked in front of them, giving them an optimal view of my uncovered vulva. I couldn't recall the last time my mother had seen me this exposed, but regardless of when it was, it must have been before I hit puberty. "Uh, I was just about to change", I stammered and quickly brought my hands down to conceal my privates. "Why did you make your bed so early?" My mother wondered as she noticed that my sheets were lying behind me. "Did you get your period and is there some blood on the bed?" "Uh, yeah, that's right” I lied, grateful for this plausible explanation. Unfortunately, it didn't have the desired effect, and she didn't leave me alone. "Is there any stain on the mattress too? You need to act quickly if you want to remove it completely," she explained and before I could do anything, she stepped further into my room and looked at my exposed mattress. She appeared stunned. "Did you wet the bed, Emily?" she asked, clearly in disbelief. The question was rhetorical, she didn't need a response to know what had happened. I was speechless. I stood there, my face red, covering my nudity with my hands and hoping it was just a nightmare from which I would soon wake up. Unfortunately, it was not a dream, and I had to confront the unpleasant truth. To my shock, my mother reacted in the same way she always did when my younger sister had an accident. "Oh Emily, it can happen to everyone," she comforted me in a loving tone. Most people would probably argue that my mother's sensitive and considerate response was a positive thing, something to be happy about, but I would have preferred if she had screamed at me from the bottom of her heart. By reacting to my misfortune in the same way she reacts to my little sister's, I felt like she was equating me with a toddler who was expected to wet the bed once in a while and could therefore not be blamed. "We really have to go now. Are you okay?" my mother asked me with such a soft and concerned voice that I almost started crying. Her caring and considerate demeanor only made me feel that the whole thing was even more of a disaster than I had initially thought. I could only nod silently, as I knew that one more caring word would finally make me cry. "Just put the sheets in the washing machine and let the mattress air out before putting on new sheets," she instructed as she was already walking out the door. "Don't worry Emily, it's probably just a one-time thing. We'll see you tonight," she said finally and in the next moment she was gone with my little sister. Hardly had I been alone when I could no longer hold back my tears. For the rest of the day, I was occupied with crying my eyes out. Why did this have to happen to me and why was I so stupid to get caught as well!?

Hey everyone! I posted this story a little while ago, but took it down due to needing more revamp and ideas to make this story pop. I am the original writer of this story and there is a person on deviantart writing a very similar version that I allowed her to write. I hope everybody enjoys this story as much as I do. Enjoy! Chapter 1: Eva tossed in turn at the sound of her phone's alarm going off she was once again having one of her favorite dreams of her being cared for like the little baby she was dressed as by her neighbor at school Ms.Harper. The large woman was feeding her a baby bottle of warm milk and slowly rubbing her diapered crotch telling her how naughty of a little baby she had been as Eva continued to hear the alarm screaming at her knowing it was time to get up. If anybody was in the room with her you would be pretty shocked to see her the way she was dressed. Eva was 28 years old and stood at 4 feet tall. She was the teacher at one of the finest schools in the state of Florida that taught children with all types of special needs. When she was first hired she was shocked when she went into the classroom to find a large nursery instead of a children's classroom. There were 4 cribs, 4 High chairs, a changing table that could fit most adults, and the largest playpen in the world that she had ever seen along with what looked like an old broom closet that was suppose to be her office. As summer break was coming up she had learned from her neighbor Ms.Harper that all of the furniture and both of there rooms was being renovated for brand new items and would be removed when summer break began which excited Eva even more wondering if she could finally have the things she wanted most a nursery. When the day had finally come and her former students had left the classroom she watched as the maintenance crew rolled in with large boxes of what had to be the new items for her classroom. Eva quickly asked one of the men what they were going to do with the items and quickly learned they were being thrown out and asked if she could have one of each for her "niece". The men smiled telling her that it wouldn't be a problem and Eva was even more excited when she learned they were going to deliver the items as well. Eva stared at her phone knowing that summer had come to an end entirely way to fast, but now she had to get up and ready to meet her new students. She got out of the crib quickly noticing the sagging that was coming from the wet diaper between legs and placing it in the diaper pail beside her changing table. She walked out of her nursery loving the sound of her calling it that truly turned her on even more. She hopped into the shower turning the water on wondering to herself if maybe this year she could do something different. She turned the water off to the shower quickly grabbing a towel drying herself as she made her way towards her old bedroom. She called it old because for most of the summer she truly lived the life of a baby girl. She stared at her old bed seeing it still made up like she left it when summer began and walked towards her closet knowing she didn't have much time to get ready. She looked through all of the suits and adult dresses telling herself maybe she could try something new when she quickly had a cute idea. She walked out of the bedroom and into the nursery which contained a massive walk in closet. She quickly found what she was looking for it was a pair of shortalls she had worn for Halloween the year before and had the words "cutie pie" stitched on the bib. She took the outfit back into her adult room setting them on the bed. After sliding on some panties, socks, and one of her more childish shirts she slid the shortalls over her small frame she pulled the straps over snapping them in place. She walked into her bathroom quickly seeing she had 20 minutes before she had to be at her classroom as she stared into the mirror wondering what was missing. She reached into her drawers finding two red hair bows pulling some of her hair together before putting one bow on one side and then the other giving herself pigtails. She then noticed in the mirror that she truly looked nothing like the 28 year old educator, but a student ready for her first day at pre-school and decide that it was a bad idea. She reached for her phone quickly seeing she only had 10 minutes to be at her classroom. Eva ran out of her bathroom grabbing her purse and shoes before running out of her house towards her car. She started the engine and raced to the school as quick as she could. She was very happy that she had chose to live right around the corner or else she might of been in some real trouble. She pulled into the school seeing she had 7 minutes to get into the classroom knowing she always took the back way in knowing the front of the school was going to be packed with parents dropping off there students. When she got out of her car she then noticed a problem she realized she was still wearing the shortalls, but then knew she was going to have to worry about it later and hoped it wouldn't be that big of a deal. She pulled the back door of the school open running to her classroom that was around the corner of the hall she was on hoping there wouldn't be a line of parents waiting for her as she turned the corner quickly running straight into a stroller that she hadn't seen. Eva stared up from the ground wondering what she had just hit as a set of hands made there way under Eva's small frame as words began to form through her ears. She stared up at a woman asking her "are you hurt sweetheart? where is your mommy?" as Eva began to realize what the woman was getting at knowing the way she was dressed. Eva began to giggle at the woman telling her "mam, I am a teacher" as the older woman looked over Eva telling her "sweety it's not nice to lie to people" as Eva reached into her purse grabbing her badge showing it to the large woman. The larger woman smiled seeing the badge and reading the name "Eva Peters" and quickly responded saying "your my daughters teacher" as Eva saw the woman turn the stroller to her seeing the teenage baby inside of the stroller. The woman then stuck out her hand introducing her as Ms.Johnson and that the toddler inside was her daughter Danni. Eva opened the door to her classroom allowing the woman to push her child inside as Eva stopped to see the transition that her classroom had taken. The room had changed alot and seemed even more babyish then ever before. She walked over to the new cribs sitting beside the wall quickly seeing they were much larger then the previous one's and now had a strap inside to keep the child from moving inside. The next thing she noticed was the size of the playpen it was atleast 7 feet wide and 4 feet tall. Eva remembered the one she had at home she was just barely able to crawl out of hers and now if she was in this there would be no way of her getting out with out help. She quickly broke her trance with the soft knock at the door as she saw more children making there way into the classroom. Both mothers quickly pulled there teenage babies out of the stroller and placing them inside next to Danni. Eva walked over to introduce herself to the first woman, but quickly found herself being picked up and a hand being brought through the front of shortalls as Eva began to struggle as the woman she had met earlier Ms.Johnson quickly yelled "that's the teacher" as the older woman quickly apologized saying that makes since why I didn't feel a diaper as the three women began to laugh. Eva smiled sticking her hand out to the three women introducing herself as "Eva Peters". Both women walked over to the playpen as Eva followed listening as the first woman a tall blond with large breast introduced herself as Ms.Parker and her child McKenzie Parker and the next woman a Tall Asian woman named Ms. Martin and her child Cathy Parker. The three women began to giggle to one another as Eva asked what was so funny. They all stared at one another as they all asked "Why are you dressed like are children if your the teacher" Eva's mind began to go blank wondering what she could tell them as she quickly told them I did this so your children wouldn't feel intimidated by me and would see me just like them as Eva hoped they would buy the story. All three of them smiled at one another again saying you did a really good job as Ms.Parker spoke saying "its funny if you were wearing a diaper today you and my daughter would be twins" as Eva laughed with the mothers as the bell began to ring." Eva waved good bye to the mothers "telling them all that she would have them all taken care of" as the door began to close wondering what the day was going to bring. She looked towards the last crib wondering if she was going to have a 4th baby joining them today as Eva turned hearing a soft knock at the door wondering if that was them now. She opened the door finding the assistant principle Mrs.Ken standing there with a tall teenage girl. Eva spoke saying "good morning" as her boss quickly responded the same before saying "Eva you look so adorable" as Eva smiled thanking the woman saying "I found a new approach for the children" as Mrs.Ken told her "I knew you were going to be a good hire" as Eva smiled at the Teenage girl saying "who is this?" as Mrs. Ken said "this is Chauncey," she is in college to be come a special needs educator like yourself and volunteers with us for her school and will be your new assistant." Eva nervously smiled at the teenage girl introducing herself to her as Eva watched her crouch down her level saying "its great to meet you as well Ms. Peters and I am sure we will become great friends by the end of the semester" as Mrs.Ken spoke telling them "I am going to leave y'all to it" as Chauncey walked into the classroom past Eva who was hoping that with a new assistant wouldn't cause any problems.

This is my first ever time writing a Story. I have had this idea in my mind for a very long time. I do welcome feedback but please be nice.. The Girls Holiday (Part 1 ) "Welcome Home" was all I heard as I waddled into the house after returning from holiday. There stood my Mother in Law greeting us into the house. She came over to look after the house while we was gone. Emily my GF (Well Ex now) went and gave her a hug "Oh i have so much to tell you", "but first lets show Jake to his new room" i was picked up and carried up to my new awaiting bedroom and I just sobbed at what I saw. Lets rewind a little. My name is Jake and I am 18 Years Old - I suffer from a rare condition called Pygmism, basically my body is developed but I am no taller than a 7 Year old. It does have its advantages of being able to fit into places where normal people cant fit. Being able to fit into kids clothes that are cheaper than Adults but with all Advantages come the negatives of always having to produce my ID to go into anywhere. Some places even deny me entry cause of my height and structure, all my GF friends speaking in context of like I am a child. See I am very independent I can just about reach the kettle to make myself a cup of tea when needed or being able to make a meal when Emily decides to go out for the night. it does wind me up that everyone speak to me as a child "Do you need help hunny" "Can you reach". Emily I met when I was 16 we actually went to school together and decided once leaving to move into a house together, she is very supportive of me and keeps trying to encourage me to do more and more things. I am scared to leave the house for fear of being judged but she tells me to ignore what people think. Emily is very tall (well anyone would be taller than be to be honest) and some would say that she is a bit out of my league. "Honey, I am home" she yells out as she comes through the door kicking off her heels after finishing work at the local office. Sat in the living room as usual playing on the PlayStation I smile, Remember I have my friends coming over tonight to discuss "The Girls Holiday" she keeps calling it. She is soo excited at the prospect of going away that they have been planning it for like 2-3 months. I do not understand why as it is only a rubbish little getaway for 2 weeks down to the local Beach staying in a Caravan (oooo so excited) - Other hand I was more excited at the prospect of staying by myself for 2 weeks with no-one looking after me. See since we met and moved in there has been the odd occasion where she has left me but I have never been left overnight or a period of time by myself, I am unsure why I guess she has never felt the need to go anywhere but finally after 2 Years the day has nearly come. "If you need the toilet Jake then just go" She exclaims while sitting on the couch "I have been watching you jiggling that leg and doing the potty dance for the last 10 minutes". She was right i have been so focused playing on the PlayStation and finishing of the game that I have been holding it in. I guess some would say i have gotten a little Lazy and relaxed with our relationship to how it was before. I suddenly finish off and leg it to the toilet, tracksuit bottoms down I look at my childish pants, Due to my condition I only fit in Kids clothes as mentioned above we do try to get plainest items but you cannot get boxers for a 7 Year old so therefore I have to wear pants instead, I have come to acceptance of what will be will be but still it does get me down a little. While looking down I noticed a small little spot on them, "Oh no I must of dribbled a little" I exclaim, The embarrassing thing is this is not the first time it has happened. Emily got so mad last time and she keeps making comment that my pants smell of wee and maybe we should go to the doctors if it keeps happening, As I flush and get dressed I gulp thinking shall I tell her or not - I exit the toilet and was taken back as she was standing outside, "Jack did you make it in time" she says at me with a look on her face, Thoughts was racing round my head ( Shall I tell her the truth, Shall I Lie?) I snapped back "Of course I am not 5 I know how to go to the stupid toilet" - Suddenly she grabs my trousers and yanks them down, I could only hang my head in shame as I knew what she could see "What on earth is this Jake, A Wet Spot and then you lied about it to me, I am so Angry that you lied to me" " now quick please hurry upstairs have a shower and get dressed my friends are due any moment" "unless of course you would like to discuss your problems of keeping you pants dry to Charlotte, Jessica and Louise" I quickly shake my head now bend over and pull my trousers on and hurry to the top of the stairs. - Just in time I thought as I hear the familiar sound of the doorbell going....

This is the first story I’ve ever written on here after living my life as a major lurker. I’ve got a series in mind set in the classified universe but wanted to put out this little excerpt from a one off story universe idea I have. Here goes… —- Shaunna was your fairly typical 25 year old woman. She worked in a law firm as a paralegal, living for her weekend trips with the girls and longer vacations with her partner, Mike. As with Shaunna, Mike was a fairly typical guy with the exception that he’d inherited a substantial family wealth which he refused to dig into in anyway, unless it was an exceptional circumstance. Together, they made a fairly typical couple. Everyone thought they were typical. Their friends, their colleagues, family members and neighbours. In two years time, they’d surely settle down into a nice typically charted out existence. The trouble being, Shaunna hated it. She never really felt satisfied and it was something she struggled to put her finger on as to why. It didn’t stop her complaining to Mike that she felt unfulfilled, that there was something missing for her and in her life. Mike really tried his best. He surprised her with date nights, experimented with role-play only to find the sexy fireman outfit he donned extinguished any hope of sex on the evening it made an appearance. Frustrated, it seemed like things were headed for the skids. Until one day...Mike spotted an advert when scrolling social media. WHAT DO WOMEN WANT? UNLOCK THE SECRETS TO YOUR WOMAN TODAY. FREE, JUST CLICK HERE. He scoffed as he scrolled past, who falls for this kind of stuff? he thought. But something nagged at him. He scrolled back up, paused and hovered. He hesitated for a second and wincing, expecting a virus he clicked the link and prayed the impending computer virus wasn’t too bad. -- “Welcome, Good Sir!” A voice boomed out of his speakers. A face appearing on the screen. Shit, thought Mike. No way was this happening. How would he explain this. “Fear not, for I am no virus…yes, really. Yes, I am reading your mind.” “How, what?! Stop it!” Mike found himself captivated by the figure on his screen but unable to describe him, he looked more intensely. “Yes, continue to look my way. Stay with me for thirty seconds and I shall unlock the ways of knowing what your woman wants before even she does. Yes, that does sound impossible, but believe me, it is entirely possible.” Mike tried to pull his attention away but couldn’t, he resisted for a few seconds more before suddenly the screen went blank, his mind following suit. Suddenly struck by an urge, he pulled out his phone. He texted Shaunna. Get home tonight for around six. A surprise will be waiting for you. You’ll never believe how much you want this. Mike grinned to himself as somehow a fully formed idea came to his mind. Grabbing his wallet, he headed for the door. He had some shopping to do. — Oh god, what now thought Shaunna. She’d had a hard enough time with her mental health and being unable to know what was missing for her. She appreciated Mike, she’d tell him as much. “Thanks, babe, I just don’t find firemen sexy, you’re sexy as you are.” She’d say, not believing a word of it. Somehow though, there was a gentle stirring inside Shaunna. Maybe, maybe something is different this time. She couldn’t explain it but she was already beginning to feel different. She took her hand, placing it between her legs over her work skirt and tights, gripping at herself. “Shaunna, where is that report I asked you for?!” Yelled her boss, Dan, from across the room, ripping her right out of her fantasy. “Coming!” She yelled as she tried to put her excitement to the back of her mind. As she stood up, she barely noticed a small trickle of piss emptying away from her bladder into her panties. — Mike strolled through the specialty shop. He looked the shelves up and down, a determination across his face stopping even the most eager salesperson approaching. This was a man who knew what he wanted. Yes, some of this. Some of these. One of those, a couple of those things. Mike filled a cart with goods. Shaunna was going to love this. He didn’t even stop to pause for a moment as to whether he would. His cock straining at his trousers told him that somewhere, something was working. He made his way to the counter, grinning as the wide eyed salesperson eyed up his purchases, the bell from a collar around her neck dinging as she scanned his items and bagged them. “You’re making a girl very jealous, this is serious sugar daddy level purchasing.” She said. “It is.” Mike said, firmly. Smiling, the salesperson nodded and scanned through the rest of his purchases and handing over the bag. “I hope the lucky girl and you have a great time.” “Oh, we will” Mike said, winking at her as he left the store. -- Shaunna fumbled with her car keys as she tried to remove them from the car as she sat in the drive outside their house. She had a funny feeling in her stomach that gave her a sense of urgency. It also made her horny as hell, as it felt like she was holding back on something. Nerves began to hit her as well. What exactly did Mike have planned? She approached the door, all fingers and thumbs only to find Mike at the entranceway opening it for her. “Come on in, Princess” he said. Shaunna blushed, princess, that felt just right, but how, why, how did Mike know that would hit the spot when she never? She tried not to question it as he closed the door behind her. “Welcome home, Princess.” Mike said. A feeling at the pit of his stomach told him to stop, but somehow, a force stronger than that sent him straight to the next part of his plan. “Sit down, let me take your shoes off!” he said to Shaunna. She balked at the idea for a moment, before something clicked in her mind. It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Without questioning it a second longer, she sat on the stairs at the doorway, almost docile as Mike removed her shoes. As he did, he slipped her tights down her legs. “It’s too warm for tights in the house, isn’t it Princess?” Shaunna found herself nodding before realising she’d just been stripped down without even pausing. Suddenly self conscious she thought about standing up, but Mike getting there before her put his hands on her hips holding her in place. “We’re not finished here, Princess. Are we?” She shook her head. “No, Daddy.” Her stomach did a somersault, where did that come from?! She felt immediately embarrassed and tried to hid her face behind her hands, realising that Mike had a hold of her arms, stopping her doing so. How did he know what she was going to do before she did, she thought. She scanned his face, curious as to his response. He had taken it in his stride, a grin across his face. Did he like being called Daddy, in fact did Shaunna like calling him Daddy. It seemed like it she thought to herself, wandering away into a daydream. Suddenly, her world came crashing down as Mike’s hands wandered up her thighs, which she willingly opened awaiting his eager touch only to be met with the dampness of wet panties. It felt different from being turned on, it was cold and suddenly she found herself crinkling her nose, smelling. Had she pissed herself. In any case, Mike didn’t seem to care, he stroked her pussy through her wet panties as she pushed herself forward on the stair, willing his fingers to touch her clit as he passed his fingers over her wet panties. “Steady, princess. Seems like someone has finally realised what they want, isn’t that right?!” Shaunna snaps to her senses for a split second, turning red at her own behaviour. Does she want this? Why were her panties wet? What was happening? Just then, her phone rings. WORK. She doesn’t stop when Mike takes her phone away from her, answering it on loudspeaker. “Shaunna, it’s Dan. Erh, how do I put this? Did you piss your desk and floor?” Shaunna is rooted to the spot as a smiling Mike offers her the phone to reply, very much still on loudspeaker. How will she get out of this, she thinks. “Shaunna?” With no response forthcoming, Mike answers, taking the phone off loudspeaker so Shaunna can’t hear the rest of the conversation. “Hi Dan, it’s Mike. I know, she has to have come down with something. She’s usually such a big girl and makes the bathroom.” He grins wildly at Shaunna, who has unconsciously taken to sliding herself back and forth on the stair, forcing her wet panties to press against her pulsing pussy. Shaunna glares at him, trying to stop herself from rubbing against the carpet. “I’m joking haha! Yes, I think perhaps she’s ill. A week should do it. Brilliant. See you at the barbecue.” Mike smiled at Shaunna, desperately humping the stair, helpless to stop as he made her arrangements for her. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he questioned if somehow Shaunna was re-wired as well as him because he had never seen her so furiously horny before. Shaunna attempted to stop, how dare Mike speak to Dan on her behalf. What did he mean, pissed at her desk. The cold panties, surely not, she thought. She’d have noticed, right? “I’m a big girl!” Squeaked Shaunna before she realised she’d even thought it. Oh no, she thought. Where did that come from? “Yes, baby. That’s right. You’re a big kid now, right?!” Something clicked for Shaunna, somewhere deep inside her as she felt something unlock. She began humping harder, a feeling of content coming over her, broken by Mike who lifted her up. She snuggled into his chest, legs against his arm which she felt press against her wet panties. Far from being embarrassed, she pressed against his arm, feeling his bicep push against her pussy as he carried her like an infant. Her eyes widened as she walked into the the living room, spotting a playpen and just outside it, a changing mat. Some senses came back to her as she thought her desire. “Mike, no. What’s going on, this is weird!” Mike just held on to her. “It is a little Princess, but it’s what you want, isn’t it.” He said more as a statement than a question. She thought about turning around and questioning it but before she knew it, she was laying on the cold plastic of the changing mat as Mike used a pair of scissors to expertly snip off her wet panties. “You’ll not be needing these again.” He said matter of factly discarding them into a small plastic bag. He did the same with her skirt, which she belatedly noticed had a massive damp stain across the bottom and her blouse, which too sported a wet spot.” How had she done this without noticing. Shaunna began to panic, but as she spiralled, Mike slipped a hand into his pocket, revealing a pacifier which she unwittingly took and began to suck as she searched her mind for any memory of the day. Mike smiled as he looked at her, his cock straining as he wiped her down, softly pulling a pull-up from a packet next to the play-pen. Across the crotch, a blue piece of writing spelled out Northshore. Mike recognised it as a wetness indicator but didn’t know where that particular piece of knowledge came from. He slipped the pull up over Shaunna’s damp crotch, carefully pressing his fingers against the padding as she absent-mindedly pushed at his fingers, the suckling sound of the pacifier intensifying as she stared into air. Shaunna wracked her mind, searching desperately still for any recollection of pissing herself. Of what she did that day. Of any kind of hesitation for the treatment she was facing. Nothing. She smiled as Mike pulled a small t-shirt that hovered at her midriff over her head, pausing to put her hair into two simple bunches. Mike kissed her forehead, as she leaned in keen to kiss him, she felt the soft plastic of a pacifier mouthguard push against her lips. Where did that come from?! Mike laughed as Shaunna’s eye’s widened, his cock almost bursting with pressure as the pacifier guard connected with his lips. What a silly girl he thought. “Dawdy. Pwease. Whap’s happuning?!” Shaunna said through the pacifier. Mike laughed. “I’m giving you everything you ever wanted. By the end of the week, you’re going to be exactly who you want to be and we’re going to be in the best place we ever could. Isn’t that right?!” Shaunna instinctively nodded, somehow she felt seen. There was something missing right now though she thought. As she tried to think about what it was, Mike began to undo his belt. “Are you ready for a treat, Princess?” Mike said. Shaunna nodded eagerly, trying to pull at Mike’s jeans. “Not yet, what’s your catchphrase, little one?!” Shaunna stopped. Catchphrase, but she didn’t have a catchphrase. She was a big girl, not a cartoon. But suddenly, a thought clicked into place as Mike revealed his cock, her pussy pulsing against her pull-up which suddenly became warm & squishy, the north shore blue writing fading a little. Whatever Shaunna was holding back on as she'd parked up her car had disappeared. “Ahm a big kid now!” She shouted through the pacifier. Mike’s eyes rolled back in his head as he removed her pacifier, swapping it for his cock which she eagerly took on instead. — More to come. Feedback welcome.

Still working on sequels to A Change Would Do You Good and The Academy at Red Hills. In the meantime, I've been working on a few short stories to share! Here's a fun Mechanical Nursery story with a pair of snooping friends and an evil stepmother. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER ONE “So, what do you think is in here, Kayla?” “I honestly have no idea. Rebecca is so weird. She hides out in here a lot while my dad is away for business. I swear, I thought she just married him to be a trophy wife but she’s just…so weird.” Kayla turned on the light to the large building that Rebecca had erected behind their estate. She had originally pitched it as a she-shed but the finished product was closer in size to a guest house. Eventually, curiosity had gotten the best of Kayla and she convinced Jenna to sneak in one night to explore. The two friends weren’t quite sure what they were looking at. Some sort of conveyor belt took up the middle of the space and fed into a giant plexiglass cage that took up the majority of the room. There looked to be a big control panel on a raised platform overlooking everything else. It looked clean…sterile…boring. “Is she making something? There’s nothing here. I don’t get it.” Jenna walked towards the enclosure and tapped on the glass as she looked inside. It was empty, like a giant aquarium waiting to be filled. “This part definitely looks to be the controls. Maybe we can turn it on and see what happens?” Jenna and Kayla climbed the small set of stairs to the control panel and looked for a way to turn the machine on. Jenna noticed a small key towards the top and tentatively twisted it while shrugging at Kayla with a sly smile. The conveyor belt sprang to life and started slowly chugging along. Kayla and Jenna winced and prepared for the worst but nothing else happened. So far this whole thing had been a bit of a letdown. As Jenna descended the stairs to continue exploring, Kayla followed close behind while looking over her shoulder to make sure that her stepmother hadn’t returned to catch them in the act. The bumbling blonde didn’t notice that her friend paused at the bottom and the momentum of their collision carried them forward as they both tumbled onto the moving belt. “Oof! Watch where you’re going, Kayla!” “Occupants Detected. Initiating Safety Protocol.” Jenna was dazed from being launched onto the belt and looked to see where the robotic voice was coming from. As she moved to a seated position she felt Kayla grab her arm and turned to push her away. But when she looked down, it wasn’t Kayla’s arm at all. Strange robotic arms had risen from below the belt and now had a grip on both of her arms. Turning behind her, she saw that Kayla was also fighting to free herself from their tight mechanical grip. “Hey! Stop it! Kayla, what is this?!” Jenna thrashed and was flipped head first onto the belt to face her fearful friend. Within seconds both girls were forced to lay on their backs as the conveyor belt continued its maddeningly slow crawl through the room. “Occupants Secure. Initiating Garment Removal Process.” “Wait…what?!” Kayla began to thrash and lifted her head to see what all the fuss was about and was surprised to see that Jenna had been spun around to face her. A small container was placed between their feet and Kayla watched as both of Jenna’s shoes landed in the container and watched her fight as her tight jeans were peeled off of her legs. Jenna’s legs were lifted straight into the air as her black panties were removed and Kayla saw a side of her friend that she had never seen before. Jenna was bare from the waist down and too shocked to make a sound. Kayla made up for it as she screamed and continued to pull against the strict hold of the mechanical arms not wanting to meet a similar fate as her friend. As Jenna was pulled into a seated position for her top to be lifted over her head, she was given a clear view of her friend’s disgrace until they were both completely naked and sitting toe to toe. They each took a moment to briefly study the other’s nude form before making awkward eye contact and looking away. “Jen, what are we going to do?!” “Don’t ask me! What the fuck is you’re crazy stepmom up to in here?!” “Scan complete. Beginning cleansing and hair removal process.” “I don’t like the sound of that!” Both girls had their arms lifted into the air as they were given an unwanted spongebath by sentient robot hands. They giggled and shouted as their underarms were washed and moaned and looked away from each other as each breast was carefully and meticulously scrubbed. Their arms were pulled and held down over their heads as they were both forced to lay on their backs on the conveyor belt before their legs were lifted high into the air for the cleansing process to continue. The mechanical hands proved to be very nimble and thorough as the two lifelong friends bore the indignity of having their nethers cleaned in front of each other. Through clenched fists, Kayla and Jenna squealed as the sponges were exchanged for cool shaving cream and screamed indignantly as each had her womanhood shaved away one strip at a time until they were both completely bare. “Commencing health check.” Kayla raised her head to look at her friend through her raised legs. “What does THAT mean?” “No, no, no, no, Nooooo!!!” Jenna squealed as the thermometer entered her smooth bottom without warning. She looked up to see an identical thermometer poking out of her friend’s bare ass. “Ugh!!!” Thermometers removed, both girls were given a clean bill of health as the conveyor belt inched forward. “I’m going to fucking kill you Jenna! Why do I let you talk me into this stuff?” “Me?! This was YOUR idea, bitch!” “Inappropriate language detected. Initiating Pacification Protocol.” “Pacification protocol? What the…mmmph!” Kayla raised her head to check on her friend and was met with a pacifier aimed directly towards her mouth. She tried to duck away but was no match for the machine and both friends found themselves pacified and fuming. As soon as the mechanical hands released their grip, both girls spit out the pacifiers and raised their heads to look at each other through their raised legs. Jenna was about to speak when she was interrupted by the voice of their mechanical overlord. “Pacification rejected. Disciplinary Action required.” Jenna’s eyes grew wide as she saw the wooden paddle being raised behind Kayla’s head. Seeing Kayla’s shaking head and wide eyes, she correctly assumed that a similar paddle was heading in her direction. “No! Please! No!!!” SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! The paddles alternated from one girl to the other, as both girl’s smooth bottoms were spanked for the first time in their privileged lives. SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! “Owww!!! Oh god… stop…please!!!” The paddles retreated and pacifiers were lifted back to each girl’s bewildered face. Kayla looked to Jenna who had already accepted hers and decided it wasn’t worth risking another spanking as she begrudgingly accepted the rubber bulb into her mouth. They stared at each other for a moment, tear filled eyes behind plastic mouthguards designed to keep them quiet and compliant. Kayla laid her head back down first, resigned to whatever would come next. Jenna saw the box of supplies coming over her head before it was announced. “Pacification complete. Initiate Dressing Protocol.” Jenna laid her head down and stared at the ceiling as the box of supplies was pulled over her head and landed between the two pacified and exposed girls. She closed her eyes and tried to remember some of the deep breathing exercises she had learned during a yoga retreat in Bali. The rustling and crinkling noise pulled her from her trance and no amount of breathing exercises prepared her for what she saw next. Two sets of hands were rubbing large diapers back and forth, fluffing them to invite more and more poof. Though she had never seen a diaper that big before she somehow knew that they would inevitably fit her and her involuntarily infantile playmate. Kayla looked up and sighed. With the pacifier in her mouth she guessed that she shouldn’t have been surprised and her sore bottom was a reminder that there was no use trying to fight this machine. If this crazy gadget wanted her and her friend in diapers, then they were going to find themselves with padded bottoms sooner rather than later. Their toned bottoms were raised simultaneously as the thick padding was placed beneath them. Soft sweet-smelling powder fluttered down onto their freshly shaven bodies and the familiar ripping sounds of tape let them know that their degradation was almost complete. Once the girls were firmly taped into their first diaper in decades, they were pulled to a seating position to face each other. Each looked down at her own diaper before looking across to her friend and blushing. Their arms were pulled skyward as they were finally given a bit of modesty in almost identical tops: pink for Jenna and purple for Kayla. The obscenely adorable tops barely came down to the bottom of their breasts leaving their full midriff exposed. The friends pouted at each other behind their pacifiers as their hair was brushed and pulled into braided pigtails with matching ribbons. As they neared the end of the conveyor belt, each girl was also fitted with matching padded mittens and booties, ensuring that they would be unable to remove any of their new wardrobe or get into any trouble. Jenna and Kayla were lifted under the arms from the end of the conveyor belt and placed into the empty glass prison. They stared at each other in utter confusion and disbelief as the mechanical arms rescinded and they were left alone where they didn’t dare move for several minutes. Kayla decided to risk it first as she spit out her pacifier and let it dangle from the clip attached to her purple top. Both girls froze in place as they waited to see if they would be punished again for disobeying. After a few moments of nervous silence, Jenna also spit out her pacifier. “What are we going to do?” Kalya prodded at her diaper with her locking mitts and shrugged. “Hello girls! Are we having fun?” Both girls struggled to their feet and fought to maintain their balance in padded booties as they looked towards the control panel. “Rebecca! What the fuck is this place? Why are you doing this?!” “Oh, I’m not doing anything…at least not yet…you brought all of this on yourselves by snooping around where you don’t belong.” “Let us out of here!” “Yeah, this is weird! Come on!” Rebecca cackled, glad to finally put these two brats in their proper place. “I’ve been looking for a way to further my experiments and then you two fall directly into my lap. Kayla, I’ve been wanting to take your bratty ass over my knee since I married your father and Jenna has been such a bad influence on you that I think a weekend in puffy diapers is exactly what her cute little bottom needs.” “You bitch!” “Did she say a weekend?” The evil stepmother leaned back in her chair and put her hands behind her head before leaning forward to press the microphone button again. “The cube you find yourself in is perfectly sealed with a locking timer to ensure proper protocol is followed. It will not release for 72 hours and the only way in or out is via that conveyor belt with my mechanical friends.” Rebecca looked down at the two friends and tried to decipher if their pouty expressions leaned more toward fear or indignation. Either way, she was going to enjoy the hell out of this. “Yes, the three of us are going to have a lot of fun together. I have so many fun surprises in store for you!”

Hi guys, If you want to read this full story and more ABDL content, check out my Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Adopted by a Family, Diapered Senpai, and Heather's New Baby. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Too Good to Be True (Regressed & Diapered by the Landlady) Hi guys, This is a gender-bender version of the classic Room & Board. It's basically a similar setting and situation, although the escalation differs a lot by the end. Hope you like it. Chapter One — Room & Board It had seemed too good to be true. The rent was affordable, the house was within walking distance from campus, and the room itself was clean and already furnished. Anne knew there had to be a catch—there always was—but after a month of rejections and price-gouged listings on the student housing app, she was willing to overlook a few quirks. The only real downside? It was just a room in someone’s house. Not an apartment, not a basement unit. Just a bedroom in a two-story home owned by a woman named Mrs. Owens, who must’ve been in her fifties, though she didn’t look a day past forty-five. There was something slightly off about her from the beginning, though. Nothing Anne could point to exactly—she was polite, well-spoken, and even a little charming in a Midwest-motherly kind of way—but the way she talked to Anne bordered on condescending. Near the end of their first meeting, Mrs. Owens had glanced up from the lease and asked, completely deadpan, “You don’t wet the bed, do you?” “Excuse me?” Asked Anne, taken aback. “Bedwetting,” she repeated, as though it were any other line-item concern. “Some of my past tenants have had... issues. And I don’t rent to anyone with that problem. It’s non-negotiable.” Anne had stammered a firm “No,” trying not to let the weirdness of the question rattle her. Mrs. Owens had nodded and pointed out the clause in the lease as if she expected Anne to change her answer. But Anne had never had a problem like that in her life. Weird clause aside, the room was a steal—and in this town, that meant something. The university had over-enrolled, dorms were packed, and off-campus housing was fiercely competitive. So she signed the lease, thanked Mrs. Owens for her hospitality, and tried to convince herself that it would be a perfectly normal arrangement. At first, it was. The house was quiet. Mrs. Owens kept to herself most of the time. Anne had class in the mornings, study sessions in the library in the evenings, and nights to herself. Meals weren’t included, but the kitchen was fully stocked and Anne was welcome to use it. She agreed to help with a few weekly chores in exchange for a rent discount. The plastic mattress protector was a little odd, but she shrugged it off. Probably one of the bedwetting tenants had to use it before. Anne agreed to leave it on the bed for the first month just in case, but she knew she wouldn't need it. That assumption, however, didn’t hold up for long. Two weeks in, after a night of hard partying and too many Jell-O shots, Anne woke up groggy, head pounding, and mouth dry. Her sheets were tangled around her legs. Her pillow felt like sandpaper. She squinted against the morning light bleeding through the curtains and rolled over—only to stop dead. The sheets were damp. Her stomach dropped. She threw back the covers and stared in horror at the large, unmistakable stain beneath her. The scent confirmed it: she’d wet the bed. “Oh my god,” she whispered, pressing a palm against her forehead. Her memories of the night before were fuzzy. She remembered dancing, laughing, beer pong with a few friends she had made, and then…then stumbling home past midnight and crashing face-first onto the mattress without even brushing her teeth. But this? She had been drunk before, and she had never had a problem like this. She peeled herself out of bed, frantically pulling the sheet loose and bundling it up, trying to minimize the damage. Maybe the mattress protector had held. Maybe— The sound of footsteps in the hallway made her freeze. “Anne?” Mrs. Owens’s voice was muffled but close. “Are you decent?” Before she could respond, the door creaked open. Anne stood there, stunned, still holding the balled-up sheet in her arms like a guilty kid caught red-handed. Mrs. Owens took one look at her, then at the bundle, and then at the bed. “I thought you said you didn’t wet the bed.” Anne flushed. “I don’t. I mean—I didn’t. It was just last night, I drank too much, and I guess I—” Mrs. Owens walked over briskly and peeled back the remaining bedding to inspect the plastic cover underneath. “At least this held,” she muttered, running a hand across the surface. Then she turned to Anne. “Do you know how expensive a mattress is?” “I’m really sorry,” Anne mumbled. She felt queasy, embarrassed, and still mildly hungover. “Well, that explains the headache and the mess. You’re not the first freshman who partied too hard and woke up to a puddle. But I warned you. It’s in the lease.” Anne’s stomach clenched. “Please—I’ll clean everything, I swear. It won’t happen again.” “That’s what they all say.” Anne looked up, panic rising. Mrs. Owens gave her a long, assessing look. Then, with a slight sigh, her tone softened—just a little. “I’ll give you a choice.” “I’ll do anything…” “You can pack your things and be out today. I’ll give you a neutral reference, but I won’t lie if someone asks why you left the house. And I’m guessing it’ll be hard to find anything mid-semester without a good reference.” Anne’s throat tightened. “Or,” Mrs. Owens said, “You can stay. But if you do, we’re doing things my way.” Anne didn’t like the sound of that. “What do I have to do?” “The way I handled it with my girls when they were young. When accidents occurred, they wore protection. Just at night. It was simple. Effective. And the bed stayed dry.” Anne stared at her. “You mean…” Her voice faltered. “You want me to wear diapers?” “Just while you sleep. No one else has to know. But if you want to stay in this house, I need to know the bed is protected. This isn’t negotiable.” Anne’s cheeks burned. She hated how logical the woman made it sound. She hated that she didn’t have a better solution. But it was clear she was in the wrong. “And how long would I have to…?” “Every night for a week. If you keep them dry, then we can transition back to big girl panties,” she paused. “But one single accident and it will be diapers until the lease is up or you decide to leave.” She turned to leave. “Come see me when you’re ready for bed tonight. We’ll get you set up.” Anne stood frozen, her arms still wrapped around the damp sheet. Her mind whirled. Diapers. She hadn’t worn one since she was a toddler. But what choice did she have? Most of the day, she’d managed to push the whole thing to the back of her mind. After throwing the sheets in the washer and scrubbing the mattress cover twice over, Anne had gone out for coffee, caught up on notes in the library, and even met a classmate for an early dinner. She had been so caught up in her responsibilities and social life that she completely forgot about Mrs. Owens. But the woman had not forgotten about her. That night, Mrs. Owens crept into her room like a ninja. “Almost forgot our arrangement, didn’t you?” she said, with a smile on her face. “Come on now. Let’s get you ready for the night.” Anne followed Mrs. Owens down the hall in awkward silence, heart thudding as they reached the linen closet at the end. The older woman opened it without a word and pulled out a folded white rectangle from the top shelf—a disposable diaper, thick and crinkly. Anne couldn’t take her eyes off it. It looked absurd in her hands. Too big for a child. Mrs. Owens turned and handed it to her without ceremony. “There’s powder and wipes in the upstairs bathroom,” she said. “I suggest you use both.” Anne nodded, face burning. She took the diaper as if it were radioactive and scurried into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. For a few seconds, she just stood there, staring at herself in the mirror. Her reflection looked back at her—twenty years old, honor student, newly independent—and now, apparently, about to put herself in a diaper because she’d wet the bed once. One drunken accident, and suddenly she was being treated like a child. She set the diaper on the counter and began to undress. Once she was naked, she opened the diaper. The padding felt soft and thick. There were tapes—two on each side—but she couldn’t figure out the angle until she lay back on the bath mat and awkwardly pulled the front panel up between her legs. The tapes barely stuck at first, and she had to redo them twice. Eventually, she managed to get it right. Standing up, she looked in the mirror again. The thick bulk between her legs was impossible to ignore. She felt ridiculous. Infantile. But it was only one week. There was no way she would wet the bed again. She padded back into the hallway, arms crossed over her chest. Mrs. Owens was already waiting in her nightgown, holding something else in her hand. “What’s that?” Anne asked hesitantly. Mrs. Owens lifted the item. “Plastic pants. Just for added protection. Sit down and I’ll help you with them.” Anne opened her mouth to protest, but couldn’t find the words. She sat on the edge of the couch as the older woman gently guided her feet through the leg holes and pulled the waterproof layer up over her diaper. “There we go. All set.” Anne stared straight ahead, her cheeks burning. She could feel the elastic gripping her thighs, the snug press of padding under her sweatpants. Mrs. Owens gave her a satisfied nod. “Sleep well, dear. You’ve got nothing to worry about now.” Anne didn’t respond. She just nodded mutely and shuffled back to her room, the soft crinkle of plastic trailing behind her with every step. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy Part II: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F1DFN2B9 or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Camille's Diapered Stepmother: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7S44THM Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

The LETO Syndicate A girl wakes up on a bus on it's way to a large, windowless building in the middle of nowhere, strapped to a large car seat, alongside a couple dozen others like her. No doubt you've heard this story before. But I hope I can still surprise you all with my own little twist on the much loved scenario! This one is a lot shorter than my usual stories (mine are usually 40 and an epilogue, though some go way above that), at around half my usual length. It's also very different from my usual stories, but I won't spoil anything. Regression, humiliation, strong Nannies, a strict Headmistress, lesbian romance... it's got it all! Two chapters per week, as usual. Every Wednesday and Sunday. And as usual, if you want two weeks early access to chapters of my current ongoing story, you can sub to my Patreon. You'll also get access to my discord server to discuss chapters there and stuff. And also to tease me apparently. Grr. I hope I've covered everything that needs saying and I hope everyone enjoys this story as much as my other stories! Please feel free to leave comments and feedback, I love reading it all! Also, please link to my stories rather than posting them as files when sharing with others! Chapter 1: Arrival The LETO Syndicate – LittleFallenPrincess Pulling against the straps holding me in place, strapped tightly into this stupidly comfortable seat that felt more like a baby’s car seat than a normal bus seat, I wondered to myself how I got into this position. I struggled against the wrist straps first, hoping they would give way, even if only the tiniest amount, to allow me to attempt to escape. But alas, they were on as tight as possible. So when that failed, I tried my legs. I quickly found they too were secured to the seat and I was unable to move them. The best I could do was wriggle, and the only part of me that wasn’t completely secured was my head and neck. They even put a strap around my waist, holding me back in my seat. Thankfully, as I stopped focusing on myself, and started focusing on my surroundings… I saw I wasn’t the only one. And just like me, they were all wearing identical white scrubs. Turning to my immediate left, sat next to the window, I saw what looked to be an angel. Beautiful long, blonde hair… shining blue eyes… petite and looking she was around her late twenties… this girl was beautiful. Like the kind of girl I always dreamed I’d be with, but knew I had no shot with. Not that I’m a bad looking gal, just… this girl was gorgeous. Those dazzling blue eyes were concentrating on the window, looking out into the barren green fields, out into the middle of nowhere. “There’s nothing out there. Plus the windows are tinted…” I said to her, trying to initiate conversation. “Sorry?” She said, quickly turning around to look at me. “If you think you’re going to flag someone down to rescue you… no one can see in. I saw this van from the outside before I was taken.” “Oh… no… it’s not that. I just… it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She asked, sounding so… carefree right now. I looked out of the window at the picture-perfect country scene. “I suppose it is. You… you don’t seem worried…” I said, suspicious of why she sounded so carefree right now. “Neither do you…” She replied. “Oh I am, believe me. But my Dad always taught me to keep calm if anything like this ever happened. To not antagonise your kidnapper. What about you, why aren’t you worried?” “I figured this would happen to me.” “Wait… what? You figured you’d be kidnapped by some shady, burly men in guard uniforms and shoved on a bus with tinted windows?” “Not exactly that… but…” She took one long sigh and looked me in the eyes. “My sister went missing last year. She looked just like me. Only a year older than me too. And out of nowhere… vanished. I spent the last year worried that it’d happen to me too. You hear about all these girls going missing in town… I knew it would happen sooner or later.” “Where are you from?” I asked her, wondering what town she had been taken from, which town she was talking about. Her accent sounded Northern, but I was useless with accents so couldn’t pinpoint exactly where she was from. “Sheffield. Why, what about you?” She asked. “I’m from Bath. Sorry, I was just wondering where your accent was from.” “So… so we’re completely different ends of the country. That’s weird.” She said, rolling her eyes towards the window again. “Yeah… they must take girls like us from all over the country and take us to… wherever they’re taking us. Do you recognise any of the landscape?” “Nope. It’s nice though. Very nature…y.” She smiled, making my heart flutter. “Yeah it’s quite nice. I… I wonder where they’re taking us though, out in the middle of nowhere.” “Probably some secret facility.” She whispered, grinning. “And how do you know that?” I asked. “Just a guess. It’s what I’d do.” I laughed, causing me to gain the attention of one of the guards at the front of the bus. “What you’d do?” I whispered. “Yeah, if I kidnapped a bunch of pretty girls, I’d take them to a facility in the middle of nowhere.” ‘Wait… does she think I’m pretty?’ I thought to myself, my heart aflutter. “And what would you do with them? Sell them? Experiment on them? Fuck them until they’re your obedient little whores?” I joked. She paused for a second, thinking, making me worry I had gone too far with the joke. “Probably just play video games with them and eat pizza.” She grinned. “Remind me to get kidnapped by you next time.” I replied, smiling. She smiled back in what looked to be a flirty manner. But hey, what do I know? I haven’t done the whole dating game thing in a while. “So… what were you doing when you were taken?” She asked. “I was at a bar, getting hammered with my mates. Susie had just ordered another round, and I got a phone call. So I went outside, out into the back alley to take the call, and… that’s when I was taken. Bag over head, injection in my neck… world went black. Woke up slightly as they were loading us all on, that’s when I saw the outside of this bus, but quickly went under again. Then, like you, woke up on this journey to nowhere. What about you?” “I had just gotten off from a late night at work. Walking home… I was followed by a couple of rough-looking guys. Tried to dodge them by heading down another street… but they had backup. Grabbed me, shot me with something in the neck, bag over head just like you. Fun times.” “You’re awfully more relaxed than everyone else on here…” I commented. We both looked around at the other passengers. The ones currently in the same predicament, tied to these ‘car seat’ things. Three guards patrolled the aisle, keeping an eye out on each person. Upon closer inspection, some passengers were still asleep. Obviously whatever drug our kidnappers had used worked differently depending on the person. Some were wide awake… but were gagged. They had probably tried to fight back or argue… or even bite. Some were just like me and my new friend, chatting and trying to keep calm, but there were only a few of those. Most were panicking. “I’m not exactly a glass-half-full kinda girl. Not exactly optimistic in the first place, even before being kidnapped.” My new friend shrugged. “Ah… same.” “Sorry, Where are my manners…” She said, “I’m Sarah.” “Judy.” I replied. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Judy.” Sarah smiled. “It’s nice to meet you too, Sarah. Hey… just wondering…” “What?” “Can… Can we try to stick together, whatever happens? I think it’ll improve our chances of getting through this in one piece if we watch each other’s backs.” I suggested. “I mean… sure? I don’t know how easy that will be though… We still don’t know what they have planned. And they could easily split us up.” “QUIET!” One of the guards shouted, the one at the front. “We’re arriving…” “Arriving where?” I whispered to Sarah. “I guess we’re going to find out…” Sarah replied, shrugging her shoulders. The bus turned off the main road, down a private road leading to a large prison-like gate. Stopping at what was probably a checkpoint, the front door of the bus opened and the bus driver started chatting to one of the guards outside. I tried to listen to what they were saying, but I couldn’t make out anything at this distance, it’s a shame we weren’t sitting closer to the front. “What are they saying?” Sarah asked. “No idea. Probably just checking in.” I replied. The doors closed suddenly and I saw the gate in front start opening slowly, rattling the whole way. “Looks like we’re here…” Sarah said. My heart was racing as we slowly drove down the long road, towards what looked like a prison complex. At least that’s what it looked like on the outside. But not one of those usual old prisons we have in the UK, but a much more modern one. One that looked more like a billionaire’s nuclear bunker or something, or a super modern art gallery. Just big blocks of white stone with no windows and only one door on the front. That probably isn’t the only door, but that was the only one in view. “That… is an evil villain’s lair…” Sarah commented. “Yeah, not the friendliest-looking place…” I replied, smirking. “Maybe it’s all kittens and rainbows on the inside?” “Oh and teddy bears and hugs?” She laughed quietly, as to not alert the guard. “And pillows and sweeties!” “That wouldn’t be so bad…” “QUIET!” The guard shouted again. The whole bus then slowly came to a standstill, and not a single noise was made as the engine calmed down. “No talking. Or else. No resisting. Or else. No trying to escape…” That’s when I fucked up. “Or else?” I asked. A gasp of around a dozen people or more filled the bus as the guard who was talking stared directly at me, clearly pissed. “What was that?” The guard growled as he walked slowly down the aisle towards me. “I… I…” “I said ‘or else?’” Sarah said from beside me, as if she was willing to take the blame for it. I turned to my side and looked Sarah in the eyes. She just stared back and smiled. “We stick together.” She whispered to me. “Oh, it was you was it?” The guard asked, looking at her. “Yes. I was just confirming…” “It was me. I was just confirming…” I interrupted, before being interrupted myself by the angry-looking guard. “You both want to own up to it? Big mistake. One strike for both of you.” He growled. “And three strikes and we’re out?” I asked, in a cocky manner that I quickly regretted as the tall, muscly man looked down at me. “One strike equals one punishment.” He grinned, cockily. “Ooooh punishment! What, are you going to spank us?” Sarah joined in, laughing. “Have fun later, girls…” He said as he walked off to the front of the bus again, pulling out what looked to be a computer tablet and pressing a couple of buttons on it. I swear I could see a picture of me and a picture of Sarah on it as he closed it down and slipped it back into his large pocket. “That… wasn’t that bad. Though we really shouldn’t have pissed off that guy… it could backfire on us.” Sarah said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’m pretty sure it has. But thanks for sticking up for me back there.” I replied, smiling up at her sweetly. “Hey, you said we stick together, right? I’ve got your back, if you have mine.” “Of course. I wonder what punishment we’ll get…” “Well we still don’t know if this is like a sex thing or a prison thing or an illegal experimentation thing. Either way… I’m not looking forward to seeing what we get.” Sarah sighed. “RIGHT! ONE BY ONE. LETS GO BOYS.” The main guard said, as the other two went to the front seats and then just as I thought they’d undo the restraints to get the first passengers off… they just lifted the whole damn seat out and carried it out of the bus! Like… how freaking strong are they? As they carried the first two victims off, out of the bus, my hopes of trying to escape whilst I was unrestrained were dashed. And then a minute later… the guards returned. Taking the next two… they did this a bunch of times, making their way from the front of the bus to the back end where me and Sarah were sitting. They slowly removed each and every victim that they had most likely kidnapped and took them off the bus, without removing them from these weird baby-car seat things. I counted along, seeing how many they had taken, as I couldn’t tell on the way here from where I was sitting, but it looked to be about twenty in front of us… and I had a feeling there were maybe six behind us I think? And before long… It was our turn. “Time for the troublemakers…” the main guard said, taking over from the guard who was doing our side. “I’ll get little miss trouble, you get the bratty little princess.” The other guard didn’t say a word, he just nodded. Uncoupling my seat from the bus, the main guard lifted me up with no effort and carried me towards the front of the bus. And that’s when the pit of dread started forming in my stomach. But nothing would have prepared me for what I saw next. ========================================================= So... thoughts so far? I know it's only the first chapter, but it's not my usual kind of story and so far those on my patreon are loving it, so I hope you all love it too! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! Thank you to all my patrons for their support! Don't forget, the next four chapters are available on my Patreon which can be found here if you go for the second tier. New chapters of LETO Syndicate every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post! Thanks!

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Chapter One The Job Jake crouched in the shadows of the sprawling estate, the weight of his duffel bag pulling slightly on his shoulder. He adjusted his gloves, the cool leather stretching snug over his knuckles, and scanned the mansion for signs of life. It was massive, the kind of house people dream about when they imagine making it big. Jake smirked. For him, it wasn’t about dreams. It was about opportunity. The place looked dead—no cars in the driveway, no lights on in the windows. Exactly as his research had suggested. He’d spent weeks watching this house, noting the schedules of anyone who came and went. No one was supposed to be home tonight. His breath fogged in the crisp night air as he moved to the side of the house. The lock on the basement window was a joke. A couple of minutes with a thin blade, and it popped open. He slid inside quietly, landing on carpeted floors. The faint scent of lavender hit him as he straightened, but he ignored it. Focus was everything now. Jake pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, the beam barely cutting through the darkness. His goal was simple: quick in, quick out. Jewelry, cash, maybe electronics if he had time. Nothing too bulky—stuff he could flip fast without raising eyebrows. The mansion was even more ridiculous on the inside. Everything was oversized, polished, and pristine. It screamed wealth, from the marble flooring to the ornate chandeliers. Jake’s chest tightened slightly as he moved through the rooms, his footsteps silent on the rugs. This kind of place was out of reach for guys like him—always had been. But tonight, a small piece of it would be his. The first haul was easy. A couple of expensive watches from the bedroom dresser, a sleek tablet, and a gold bracelet from a jewelry box on the vanity. Jake worked efficiently, his movements automatic. He didn’t stop to admire the decor or question how someone could afford all this. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out before anyone noticed anything was gone. Then he found that room. Jake paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Something about this one felt different. The rest of the house was all open spaces and luxury; this door was plain, almost out of place. It was locked, but the lock itself was basic—a cheap tumbler mechanism. Jake didn’t think twice. A quick twist with his pick, and the door clicked open. His flashlight beam swept across the room, and he froze. It wasn’t a storage room. It wasn’t an office. It was something... bizarre. The walls were painted pastel pink, and shelves lined with stuffed animals and other childish knick-knacks hugged the perimeter. But the furniture was what hit him the hardest—an oversized crib, a highchair clearly made for an adult, and a wardrobe partially open to reveal rows of frilly dresses that could only be described as costumes. “What the hell...” Jake muttered under his breath, taking a step inside. The smell here was different—sweet, powdery. Something about it turned his stomach. Curiosity outweighed caution. He walked further in, his gloved hand brushing over the smooth wood of the crib. He didn’t understand it. What kind of person owned a room like this? A joke? A kink thing? His brain scrambled for an explanation that made sense. Rich people were weird—he’d seen enough during his jobs—but this was on another level. Jake moved to the wardrobe, reaching for one of the dresses. He wasn’t sure why. Something about it felt unreal, like he needed to confirm it wasn’t some elaborate prank. The fabric was soft and frilly under his fingers, and he quickly dropped it back into place, disgust curling in his gut. A sound behind him made his blood run cold. The lights clicked on, and Jake spun around, his heart slamming into his ribs. Standing in the doorway was a woman. Tall, elegant, and composed, she had sharp features framed by dark, perfectly styled hair. She wore a sleek black dress that hugged her figure, and her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped inside. Jake’s instincts kicked in, and he dropped the flashlight, reaching for the knife in his pocket. Before he could pull it, the woman raised her hand. “Don’t bother,” she said, her voice smooth but commanding. “You’re not going to use that.” Jake hesitated. Her eyes pinned him in place. She didn’t look scared. She didn’t even look angry. She looked... amused. “Listen, lady, I don’t want any trouble. I’m leaving.” His voice sounded shaky to his own ears, and he hated it. He didn’t wait for her to respond. He moved toward the door, but she blocked his path. “I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere, Jake.” The sound of his name stopped him cold. His chest tightened as panic bubbled up. “How the hell do you know my name?” The woman smiled, and it sent a chill down his spine. “Oh, I know everything about you. Your name, your little ‘side hustle,’ even the last three houses you broke into. You’ve been sloppy.” Jake’s grip tightened on the knife. He could push past her. He could run. But something about the way she looked at him made him hesitate. “I could call the police,” she continued, tilting her head. “Show them the security footage of you breaking in. But that’s not nearly as interesting as what I have in mind.” Jake’s mouth went dry. “What are you talking about?” Her smile widened, and she stepped closer. “I’m offering you a choice, Jake. Prison... or me. Stay, and I’ll teach you some lessons you clearly never learned.” Her eyes flicked to the room around them, and Jake’s stomach turned. “Lessons in discipline. Obedience. Manners.” His mind raced. Prison would mean years behind bars—he’d never survive that. But staying here, with her, in this... nightmare of a house? Every instinct screamed at him to run, to fight, to do something. And yet, all he could do was stand there, frozen, as her words echoed in his ears. “You’re going to thank me for this one day.” The last thing Jake felt was the door shutting behind him. Chapter Two Jake’s Nightmare Jake’s wrists burned where the zip ties dug into his skin. He sat slumped on the floor of the strange room, his back pressed against the oversized crib. The polished wooden bars felt cold and unyielding, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his rising panic. His legs were stretched out in front of him, useless with his ankles bound the same way as his wrists. “What... what are you doing?” His voice came out shaky, more desperate than he wanted. Madame Evelyn didn’t respond immediately. She was at the wardrobe, methodically pulling out items and laying them on the changing table—a stack of diapers, bottles of powder, and frilly clothes he couldn’t even bring himself to look at directly. Her calm, deliberate movements made his skin crawl. It was like she had all the time in the world, and that scared him more than if she’d been angry or frantic. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” Jake twisted his arms against the restraints, wincing as the ties bit deeper. “This isn’t funny, lady. Let me go!” Evelyn finally turned to face him, holding something in her hands that made his stomach drop—a large, white diaper, absurdly oversized. She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with his struggling. “You agreed to my terms, Jake. This is part of your rehabilitation.” His throat tightened. “No, no, no. This isn’t happening.” He kicked his bound legs, scooting away from her as much as he could, which wasn’t far. His shoulders banged against the crib bars. “You can’t—this is insane! You’re insane!” Evelyn didn’t flinch. “Insane, perhaps,” she said with a faint smile, “but effective.” She crouched in front of him, her dark eyes locking onto his. “You’re not in control here, Jake. That’s the point. The sooner you accept it, the easier this will be.” Jake’s breathing quickened. His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that it drowned out the rest of the room. “You can’t do this. I’ll—I’ll report you. You think you’re untouchable?” He tried to sound threatening, but his voice cracked. It wasn’t convincing, even to him. “You’ll report me?” Evelyn’s voice dripped with amusement. “And tell them what? That you broke into my home and now you’re upset about the consequences? Be my guest.” Jake opened his mouth but found no words. She was right. He had no leverage, no way out. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and he slumped back against the crib. She stood and crossed the room again, grabbing a pair of scissors from a nearby shelf. Jake’s stomach twisted as she approached. “What are you doing with those?” He tensed, instinctively trying to scoot away again, but she reached for his zip-tied wrists. “Relax,” she said sharply. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not physically, anyway.” The plastic ties snapped under the blade, and his arms fell limply to his sides. He rubbed at the raw skin on his wrists, glaring up at her. His anger flared for a moment, but it fizzled as she gestured toward the changing table. “Up,” she commanded. Jake blinked. “What?” “Up. On the table. Now.” Her voice had an edge that left no room for argument. He shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m—” Evelyn didn’t wait for him to finish. In one swift motion, she grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet with surprising strength. Jake stumbled, caught off guard, and before he could regain his balance, she shoved him toward the table. “Get up, or I’ll make this worse for you,” she said, her tone ice-cold. “You’ll learn soon enough that defiance doesn’t get you anywhere.” Jake hesitated, his muscles locking as he glanced at the open door. Could he make a run for it? The thought vanished almost as quickly as it came. Even if he got past her, his legs were still tied. He wouldn’t make it five steps. Grinding his teeth, he climbed onto the table, the padded surface creaking under his weight. Every fiber of his body screamed at him to fight, to resist, but fear kept him rooted. Evelyn wasted no time. She secured his ankles to the table’s built-in straps, immobilizing him completely. Jake struggled instinctively, but the restraints held firm. “This isn’t happening,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. His fists clenched at his sides. “This isn’t real.” “Oh, it’s very real,” Evelyn said, her voice maddeningly calm. She pulled a fresh diaper from the stack and unfolded it with a practiced ease. Jake turned his head away, his cheeks burning with humiliation. He felt her grip his ankle and heard the sound of the Velcro straps tightening further. “Don’t you dare—” His protest was cut off by the cold air hitting his skin as she unceremoniously tugged his pants and boxers down. The fabric bunched around his restrained ankles, leaving him exposed. Jake’s face burned hotter. “Stop! What the hell is wrong with you?” Evelyn didn’t respond. She simply lifted his legs by the ankles with one hand—like he weighed nothing—and slid the diaper beneath him with the other. Jake squirmed, but it was useless. She had complete control. “You need to stop fighting, Jake,” she said as she sprinkled powder over him. The scent was cloyingly sweet, and he gagged slightly, turning his head further away. “It’ll only make this harder for you.” “This is sick,” he spat. His voice cracked with frustration, and he hated himself for how small he sounded. “You’re sick.” “Perhaps,” she said, pulling the diaper snugly between his legs and taping it into place. The sound of the adhesive tabs fastening made Jake’s stomach churn. “But I’m not the one who thought breaking into a stranger’s house was a good idea.” When she stepped back, Jake refused to look at her. He stared at the ceiling instead, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The diaper felt bulky and foreign against his skin, a constant, humiliating reminder of his helplessness. Evelyn walked to the side of the table and leaned down, her face close to his. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jake finally snapped, his voice rising. “You’re insane! You think you can just—” Her hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him. Her eyes bore into his, calm but deadly serious. “I can, and I will,” she said softly. “You have no idea what’s in store for you, Jake. But you’ll learn.” When she let go, Jake stayed silent. For the first time, the reality of his situation began to sink in. He wasn’t just trapped in her house. He was trapped in her world. And there was no way out. Posted April 6, 2024 Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Melissa’s Re-Potty Training It was a beautiful day. Boys and girls were playing in the park, teenagers were hanging out at the mall, and twenty-one-year-old Melissa was stuck inside her nursery. If there was anything that made the whole baby treatment unbearable, it was how time seemed to slow down as the day grew older. She sighed. By now, her friends would be at the beach or with their boyfriends. But not Melissa. No. Babies have no boyfriends. Babies aren’t allowed out of their playpens when Mommy’s busy. And her stepmother was busy. She was busy with her real daughter. Three-year-old Amelia had already been potty trained and was allowed to do more things than Melissa. And she was twenty, almost twenty-one. An adult. But here she was, diapered and wearing a ridiculous baby girl dress. If her friends could see her now, would they laugh? Would they help her? Would they change her already-soaked diaper? It had been weeks since she was last allowed to wear big-girl panties. Weeks since she tasted the sweetness of freedom. Independence was now out of the question. She doubted she could make it without someone looking after her, changing her, bathing her, feeding her. Was this to be her life now? No longer an adult but a baby. Chapter 1 The Re-Potty Training Idea As Melissa entered the elegantly appointed dining room, her heart raced with apprehension. With each step, her unease grew heavier within her chest. The once familiar surroundings now felt suffocatingly foreign, as if she were a stranger in her own home. Her gaze drifted toward the large portrait hanging above the fireplace, where the stern visage of her stepmother, Helen, stared back, conveying nothing but disapproval. Melissa had always felt that Helen saw her as an inconvenience, a constant reminder that her husband had had a full life before her. And Helen was a jealous woman. She had always belittled Melissa, and now that Melissa's dad was gone, she was alone with no one on her side but her best friend, Dana. Sadly, Dana didn’t live with her, and she needed an ally. "There you are, Mel," said Helen as Melissa entered the room, "I've been waiting for you." Helen's presence filled the room with an air of menace, casting a shadow over Melissa as she took her seat. As they sat together at the polished wooden table, the silence grew heavy between them, broken only by the soft scraping of silverware on porcelain. Tea, as Helen called it, was a constant ritual at home. “How you been?” “All good.” “How’s job hunting treating you?” “There’s not much out there unless I want to work for KFC or something like that.” “I see. Anything else you’d like to share with me?” Melissa shook her head, thinking about one thing she didn’t want anyone to know. But her step-mother reached across the table and gently placed her hand upon Melissa's trembling fingers, her eyes cold and calculating. “I think it's about time we addressed your... little issue." Melissa didn't know what to say. She had been having the same problem for about a month. It started as something small, but it had spiraled out of control, and now she had no idea what to do. She had wet herself so many times so far that it was a miracle no one had found out. "What issue?" asked Melissa with a soft and doubtful demeanor. Maybe if she played dumb she could end this awkward conversation. "Look, if you want to pee yourself, that's okay," said Helen, "But you won't do it in my house. Not when I'm working so hard to potty train your sister." "Step-sister. And it's not your house. It's my dad's." "And according to his will, it's now mine." "And mine!" There was a short moment of silence. "Look," said Helen, grabbing Melissa's hand, "I want us to stop fighting all the time. Your father would've like that. What do you think?" Melissa nodded, hesitant, though. She wasn't fully convinced by Helen's intentions, and rightfully so. In the past, Helen had shown no kindness towards her. Helen leaned closer, her voice softening, "I don't want you to feel ashamed anymore. We can help you fix this." Melissa glanced down at her hands, gulping, "I don't know what to do." "Well, I was thinking. Amelia is going through potty training. She's still too small to understand much, right? So, why don't I potty train you alongside her?" Melissa almost choked on her own saliva. "What do you mean, potty training me? I'm an adult!" "I know. I know you are. But listen to me, it's easy. We just need to teach your body how to hold it until you go potty. That shouldn't be too hard. As you said, you are an adult, and I bet a couple of weeks should be enough. Because if you cannot control it, I'm afraid diapers will be the only way." Melissa's jaw dropped, "You're kidding, right? I'm not... there's no way I'm wearing diapers. I'm an adult, remember? And at twenty-one, I get my dad's money, and I'll be out of here." "True. But you aren't twenty-one yet. And you are here, ruining your clothes and my furniture and setting a terrible example for your sister." Melissa didn't really have an argument; she just knew she didn't wanna be back in diapers at twenty-one. “Step-sister,” she said, “What do you mean potty training me?" “I think that part is self-explanatory, right? We take you potty on a schedule until you stay dry in between potty trips. Then we decrease the frequency until you earn your big girl panties again. Eventually, your body will get used to it, and you'll go by yourself. How does that sound?" "How does that help me now? I mean, I will still," she paused, blushing and ashamed, "Wet myself until we get it under control." "We can do what I'm doing with Amelia," she said, smiling, "Protection under your clothes." "No! I told you, no diapers." "Pull-ups aren't diapers. They are protective underwear." "What's the difference?" "For starters, they don't use tabs. They are easy to hide under your clothes. They are less bulky and noisy. They are completely different and they are very helpful during potty training..” "I don't know," said Melissa, thinking about how awkward it would be to have that "protective underwear" around her crotch. And what if someone found out? She was already not popular with people her age. Her only friend, Dana, was a little odd herself. Maybe she wouldn't mind. But there was no way she would tell her about it. "I just want to help you," said Helen. "Besides, this could be an excellent way for us to connect—you know, have that mother-daughter experience we never had.” Melissa sighed, ”When do we start?" "What about right away?" Helen wasted no time. She grabbed Melissa by the wrist, softly leading her deeper into the house. Through halls and corridors and stairs until they were in a room painted soft pink. It was Amelia’s room, and she wasn’t there. “Amelia is playing outside," Helen replied, "In her sandbox.” “She won’t know?” “She will. But she won’t care. She’s only three.” Helen grabbed some white underwear with the design of some Disney princess on the front. It was small, but then again, Melissa was quite thin. Tall, yes, but thin. “Try this on,” said Helen, placing the pull-up in Melissa’s hand. It was defiantly thicker than regular underwear, and the deign was childish. But Helen was right, they didn’t look that much different from her panties. “A little privacy, please.” Helen left the room, leaving Melissa in the nursery. She carefully dropped her pants to notice her underwear was already damp. Sighing, knowing she actually needed the protection, she took her panties off and cleaned herself with some baby wipes she had close by. Finally, the moment of truth. She slid into the pull-ups, feeling the soft thickness of them against her smooth crotch. She didn’t dare to look at herself in the mirror. She rushed to get her pants on again, and when she was sure her protective underwear wasn’t visible, she left the room. Chapter 2 Potty Time While Helen prepared lunch, Melissa sat at the dining table, staring blankly into space. Each clink of the dishes sent a shiver down her spine, reminding her of what was around her crotch. The pull-up wasn't as uncomfortable as she thought it would be, but it was definitely not something she liked. She had kept it dry so far, though it had not even been an hour yet. Helen entered the room carrying a tray laden with fries, nuggets, and fresh salad. She smiled gently at Melissa, something the young woman wasn’t used to. Next to her was her younger stepsister, Amelia. At three, she looked like a mini version of Helen herself. It was obvious she was destined for popularity, unlike Melissa, and somehow, even if Amelia had always been nice to her, she always resented her. “Mel's potty training, too, Mommy?" asked Amelia as she grabbed a handful of fries. "That's right, hun." Melissa tried to smile back, but it seemed forced. Helen noticed her discomfort and quickly added, "Don't worry, sweetie. We'll take it slow, and I'll be there to help you every step of the way." Feeling slightly more reassured, Melissa nodded. "Thanks." As they all sat down to eat, Melissa couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Helen's behavior. Helen seemed to genuinely want to help her, but she wondered why. "It's time for the potty," Helen announced once everyone was finished with the meal. Helen gave them no time to argue as she grabbed both their wrist, pulling them towards the living room, where a plastic potty awaited. "Is that really necessary?" asked Melissa in shock. "It's just part of the process. Show me you can use the plastic potty, and you can move onto the toilet. It shouldn't be difficult. Should it?" Before Melissa could continue arguing, she was interrupted by her stepmother. "Who wants to go first?!" asked Helen again with a devilish smile. Amelia raised her hand. Within minutes, the younger of the three had done her business like a professional. "I'm a big girl!" said Amelia, smiling from ear to ear, "I'll be potty trained first!" Those words weighed heavily in Melissa's mind. The little brat was as competitive as her mother. It had been cute a few years ago, but now, she was just annoying. Melissa felt her rage growing stronger, fueled by the constant tease. But she fought back against it. After all, Helen was only trying to help. And Amelia needed the encouragement. "Yes, you are," said Helen, "But I think Melissa will surprise us too, right, Mel?" Melissa nodded. Despite her frustration, she decided to give it a try. If nothing else, she owed it to Helen since she helped her when nobody else did. Taking a deep breath, she lowered herself onto the seat of the tiny plastic potty. In contrast to Amelia's confident demeanor, Melissa felt vulnerable and exposed. However, knowing that she must prove her mettle, she closed her eyes and focused on relaxing her muscles. But nothing. A minute passed. And then another. She pushed harder. Nothing. She pushed again, and a loud fart echoed in the room. Melissa blushed as her stepmother and stepsister giggled. One more minute passed. Another. And nothing. "Alright," said Helen, "I don't think it's going to happen." "No, wait!" said Melissa, pushing harder now, "I can do this." "Honey, you're going to give yourself a stroke if you push that hard. It's okay. You didn't make it this time. Let's just try again later." "I made it to the potty, Mommy. I'm winning!" said Amelia, happy as just a kid could be. But as Melissa pulled her pull-up and pants back up, she couldn't help but feel pathetic and like a failure. She was an adult, and she couldn't even control her body enough to pee by herself. "You'll make it next time. It's okay. It's the first time you've tried. I'm sure you'll make it," said Helen, and for the first time since Melissa met her, she actually felt as if her stepmother cared about her. Perhaps this potty-training idea wasn't that bad after all. With her first time on the potty a failure, Melissa had nothing left to do but wait. She was to call for Helen's help if she felt the need to go, but the thought of having to ask for help to pee was too embarrassing to even consider. She was a big girl. She could make it to the toilet without any help. And so she waited. "Potty time," said Helen an hour later as Melissa worked on her resume. It wasn't looking that good, but she wasn't twenty-one yet, and she needed the money if she wanted to go out that summer with her friends. "One minute," said Melissa, staring at a blank page. Maybe tomorrow, she could try again. It's not as if she were in dire need of a job. If only being an adult weren't that difficult. She stood up and went straight to the living room, where Helen and Amelia were waiting beside the plastic potty. "Your sister's dry," said Helen, "What do we say?" "Congrats," said Melissa, pretending to care enough to form a smile. Helen approached Melissa with a gentle, almost motherly demeanor. "Now, let's check our big girl." "What are you...?!" Helen's finger found their way to the elastic band of Melissa's pull-up. The young adult blushed, trying to get away but failing. "My dear," said Helen, removing her fingers from Melissa's crotch, "You're wet. "What? No. I'm not!" Melissa rushed her hand to her padded crotch, only to notice it was bigger and warmer and obviously full of urine. It couldn't be. She didn't feel it. She was a big girl. She should be able to make it to the potty. Her eyes turned watery, and her knees began shaking. "I'm sorry," she said, fighting back the tears. Helen embraced her with no hesitation—a warm embrace—the sort of touch only a mother could provide during times of distress, and for a second, Melissa felt less of a failure. "It's okay, honey," Helen said, patting her back carefully, "That's what your pull-ups are for. You'll make it next time." It sounded familiar, like some of those truisms parents tell children to encourage them. As much as she despised admitting it, her stepmother's kind words did help. Perhaps Helen was right. She might very well make it next time. It was just one accident. She would make it to the potty next time. There was no way she would lose the race for potty training against her younger stepsister. But for the entire week, Amelia outperformed her. “I’m a big girl!” She would sing as she made it to the potty. Meanwhile, Melissa sat there, and nothing would come out. As if her body was actively working against her. Every day she would have to use three pull-ups or more while her younger step-sister was about to graduate to big girl panties. “Maybe we started you too early,” said Helen as she checked Melissa’s underwear. “It doesn’t seem you’re making any progress. If anything, it looks like you’re regressing.” Melissa blushed at her words. “We’ll keep trying tomorrow. But we might need a different approach if things keep going this way.” Melissa said nothing as she got ready for bed that night. Now alone in her room, her thoughts were flooded with the idea of failing her second potty-training. What would she say to Dana? She had been avoiding her best friend all week in hopes she could get her accidents under control. Melissa sighed, closing her eyes, hoping the next day would be better. However, when she woke up, she noticed something new as she moved in her bed. The padding between her legs was heavier and colder. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Introduction William (or Will for short) Williams, 45, is a man who stumbled into the world of marketing and found himself running his own marketing firm, though he never planned on it. Despite his success, he now spends his days as a stay-at-home dad, leaving behind the once-bustling business world. Though he’s content with his role at home, it’s clear that the shift hasn’t been without its emotional and personal challenges. Peggy, 47, is a force to be reckoned with—driven, accomplished, and highly intelligent. With a J.D. and an MBA, she had the tools to conquer the corporate world, but it wasn’t until Will nearly lost the family business a decade ago that she stepped in to save it. Today, she is the driving force behind one of the city’s largest and most successful companies, managing a global customer base. Her ability to balance both her career and her family is admirable, but it's also clear that the sacrifices she’s made have impacted the dynamics at home. For Zoey, 18, the family structure has always been a little different than what her friends might experience. As a high school senior, Zoey has long known that her mom is the one in charge—both at home and in the business world. Zoey vaguely remembers the time when things began to change: her dad moved out of the master bedroom, and her brother, Max, was getting potty trained. Her mom, Peggy, in an attempt to maintain some semblance of order, told Zoey that when she’s busy, Zoey would be in charge—not Tim. This moment, though subtle at the time, marked the beginning of a shift that Zoey would carry with her into adulthood. This was already a decade ago and her Mom was going on another business trip, this time to Tokyo. A Typical Tuesday The morning began with Peggy issuing marching orders from the kitchen like a four-star general. "Zoey, make sure your brother finishes his homework before his Minecraft marathon starts “Will, the recycling hasn't moved since last Thursday. Move it before I demote you to worm-wrangler in the garden." “Yes, ma’am,” Will muttered, saluting with a banana peel before hustling outside in his slippers. Zoey peered over her cereal bowl, eyebrow arched. “Dad, if you want to gain rank, I suggest fewer dad jokes and more action. Mom’s starting to think Alexa is more helpful.” Will looked wounded. “Alexa doesn’t know how to grill burgers.” “She also doesn’t lock the keys in the car twice in one week,” Zoey said without missing a beat. The Twist Despite his position on the bottom rung, Will wouldn’t trade it for the world. He loved being part of this upside-down empire. His family functioned like a well-oiled machine — even if he was mostly the oil, occasionally leaking all over the carpet. And every so often, when Peggy was stressed and Zoey had teen drama to navigate, Tim’s quiet strength, dad jokes, and emergency chocolate stash made him the unsung hero of the Carter Kingdom. Because being last in the pecking order doesn’t mean being the least important. Sometimes, it just means you’re the foundation everything stands on. Peggy leaned against the counter, her eyes scanning the kitchen as she mentally ran through her checklist for the day. She had to be quick—another business trip meant more responsibilities waiting at the airport. “Alright, everyone, listen up.” She was starting to feel that familiar tension of being pulled in multiple directions. The to-do list in her mind seemed endless, but her family needed the usual reminders before she could escape. “I’m leaving for the airport today for a few days, so let’s get a few things straight.” Her eyes landed on Will first, who was still fiddling with a piece of toast, looking only half aware of the situation. “Zoey’s in charge. As always. She’s the one running the show while I’m gone. Got it, Tim?” Will just nodded, trying to look serious but failing miserably. “Yes, ma’am.” “Good. Zoey, you get the master bedroom this time. I’m not taking the risk of coming back and finding that disaster zone.” Peggy tossed a glance at the living room, where the mess was already piling up. “Which means, Will, you’ll be moving to the guest room. We’ve been over this. No complaints. I’m serious. The couch has no place for a grown man when there’s a perfectly good guest bed available.” Will gave a mock salute. “Aye, captain.” “And,” Peggy added, crossing her arms, “there’s one more thing. Zoey’s officially 18 now, so we’re all on the same page about this: Zoey decides what you eat. No more asking her opinion on what you want for dinner. She’s the adult now, and you’re the one who’s cooking, got it?” Zoey shot her mom a look of amusement. “Thanks for the trust, Mom." Peggy didn’t miss a beat. “You’re in charge, Zoey. And that means you make the calls. But that doesn’t mean you get to go easy on your dad. I trust you’ll keep him in line.” Zoey leaned back, looking as calm as ever. “No promises. He’s a lost cause.” “Well, you’ll be the one left cleaning up the mess, not me,” Peggy said, knowing full well she was leaving her daughter to pick up all the slack. But there was a part of her that couldn’t help but feel pride. Zoey was stepping into her role, growing up faster than Peggy ever expected. “Alright,” she said, taking one last glance at her family. “I’m off. Don’t make me regret this.” Regime Change When Peggy Carter boarded her flight to Tokyo, she left behind the usual thorough itinerary. But tucked behind the meal plan and emergency contacts was a second page, handwritten, and marked simply: For Zoey’s eye’s only. Rules for Zoey Enforce bedtime for Will (8:00 PM sharp). No excuses. If he argues, remind him that even Dad needs his beauty sleep. No couch naps unless chores are done. Actually, no couch at all! If Will wants to sit, he can sit on the floor. Let him know that the couch is a privilege, not a right. Confiscate his remote. You’re in charge of TV privileges. He’s not. And remove the TV from the guest room. If he wants to watch something, he’ll have to earn it. Bonus points for taking it one step further and hiding the remote entirely. Max can have soda. Will cannot. You may demote Dad’s snack privileges. If he sneaks in one too many of your snacks, take a stand. Make him earn them with a chore. Bonus points for creative snack rationing. If he calls you “kiddo” while trying to dodge a rule — add a new rule. Immediately! No hesitation. Make it stick. Car Rule - You drive. He sits in the back. If he pouts, turn on Zoey’s Playlist and sing all the words, loud and proud! Make sure it’s the entire drive. Extra points for harmonizing. Dinner Decision Making: Zoey’s the one in charge of meals now. She decides what’s for dinner, and Will has no say, though he must cook it. No Whining: Will cannot complain or there will be consequences New Rules... Zoey may add rules as she sees fit. Now, most importantly, if I come back jet-lagged and cranky you have my permission to put me in timeout for the night. No phone. Just a blanket and tea. Enforce this rule without mercy. The household binder was off-limits to Will—strictly reserved for the adult in charge. And now that Zoey was officially 18, that adult was her.

This is a story that I'm working on using ChatGPT...I've had a lot of fun asking chatGPT for new takes on some of my existing favorite stories. This one is inspired by Babydoc's Room and Board Chapter 1 Jacob stood at the doorstep of an old, well-kept house nestled between two towering oak trees. The autumn leaves crunched under his feet as he shifted nervously, glancing down at the address again. He had been searching for an apartment in this bustling college town for weeks, but everything was either too expensive or already taken. This place, owned by Mrs. Williams, was his last hope. The door creaked open, revealing a tall, elderly woman with sharp eyes and silver-gray hair pulled into a neat bun. Her clothes were pressed to perfection, and there was an air of precision in the way she held herself, as if every move she made was calculated and deliberate. "You're Jacob, I presume," she said without much warmth, motioning him inside. "Yes, ma’am," Jacob replied, stepping in, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished hardwood floor. The inside of the house was as meticulous as Mrs. Williams herself. The furniture, though dated, was pristine, and everything seemed to have its place. Jacob noticed the rich smell of wood polish in the air and felt the weight of her eyes on him as they walked through the narrow hallway. Mrs. Williams led him into a cozy living room and gestured for him to sit on an antique armchair. She remained standing, arms crossed, studying him closely. "I've had a lot of renters over the years, Jacob," she began, "and let me tell you, I’m very particular about who stays under my roof. My furniture is precious to me, and so is my peace of mind. I expect you to respect both." Jacob nodded eagerly, hoping to make a good impression. "Of course, ma’am. I’ll be careful." She gave a slow, deliberate nod but didn’t sit down. "The room is furnished, and it comes with a brand-new mattress. I expect it to stay that way—clean and without damage. You’re young, so I have to ask…" She paused, her sharp eyes narrowing. "Have you ever wet the bed?" Jacob froze, the question catching him completely off guard. His face flushed with embarrassment, and he shifted awkwardly in his seat. He could feel his palms starting to sweat. "I, um, I haven’t in a long time," he admitted, swallowing hard. "But I did when I was younger." Mrs. Williams raised an eyebrow, clearly not pleased with his answer. She walked slowly around the room, her fingers brushing against the back of the sofa as she pondered her next words. “I don’t want any accidents here,” she said finally, her tone matter-of-fact. “I take great pride in my home, and I can’t afford to be replacing mattresses because of some... oversight. So, if I’m going to rent this room to you, Jacob, there will have to be some precautions.” Jacob’s heart raced as he watched her turn toward him, her eyes cold and businesslike. "What do you mean by that?" he asked cautiously. “I’ll rent you the room,” she continued, “but only if you agree to wear thick diapers to bed each night.” Jacob’s mouth fell open, but words seemed to fail him. He could barely process what she had just said. Diapers? At his age? He felt a lump form in his throat. "I—" he stammered, unsure of how to respond. His mind raced between disbelief and a desperate need for a place to stay. Mrs. Williams tilted her head, waiting for him to respond. "It's up to you, Jacob. You can leave, or you can agree to my terms. I'm perfectly happy leaving the room empty this school year. But under no circumstances will I have a bedwetter rent my room without taking the necessary precautions." Jacob’s face burned, but he nodded slowly. “Okay,” he muttered. “I’ll do it.” Mrs. Williams smiled, but it wasn’t a warm smile. It was the smile of someone who had gotten exactly what they wanted. Chapter 2: The sun had long since set, casting long shadows across the room as Jacob sat on the edge of his new bed. The room itself was quaint, with floral wallpaper that seemed like it hadn’t been updated since the 1970s, and an old wooden dresser that creaked when you opened the drawers. The bed, at least, was comfortable, though Jacob couldn’t stop staring at the neatly folded diaper Mrs. Williams had left on the dresser for him after dinner. He had tried to forget about their strange arrangement throughout the day, distracting himself by unpacking his few belongings and setting up for classes. But now, as he stared at the diaper she’d insisted on, the reality of the situation hit him. This wasn’t a joke. He had agreed to this, and now he had to follow through. A light knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Jacob," Mrs. Williams' voice came through the door, steady and calm. "It's getting late. I trust you've put on your diaper for the night?" Jacob swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah, I was just about to.” Mrs. Williams opened the door without waiting for an invitation, stepping inside with that same composed expression. She glanced at the diaper still untouched on the dresser, then back at Jacob with a look that clearly said she didn’t appreciate being lied to. “Let’s not waste time, Jacob,” she said briskly, picking up the diaper and handing it to him. “You agreed to this, remember?” Jacob nodded quickly, avoiding her gaze as he took the diaper from her hands. He unfolded it awkwardly, feeling the thick padding and crinkly plastic between his fingers. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned his back to her, hoping for a little privacy. Mrs. Williams didn’t leave. With a deep breath, Jacob laid the diaper on the bed and began trying to position it, fumbling with the tapes as he clumsily tried to fasten it around himself. The padding felt strange and bulky between his legs, and he couldn’t seem to get the tapes right. The whole process was more difficult than he’d imagined. Mrs. Williams watched him for a moment, her lips pursed in disapproval. Finally, she sighed. "Jacob, stop," she said, walking over to him. "You're doing it all wrong. This is exactly why I was concerned." She stepped closer, taking a close look at the diaper as if he were a child incapable of dressing himself. Jacob lay there, naked from the waist down with only a diaper to cover up his privates, humiliated, as she inspected his attempt, shaking her head at the mess he had made. "This won't do at all," she muttered. "If the diaper isn’t secure, it’ll come right off, and then we’ll have the very problem I’m trying to avoid." Jacob felt his face flush a deep shade of red as she motioned for him to lie back down on the bed. He hesitated, unsure of what to do, but her stern expression left no room for argument. "Lie down, Jacob," she ordered, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. "I'll take care of it myself." He obeyed, lying back on the mattress as she unfolded the diaper with practiced ease. The room was painfully silent except for the rustle of plastic as Mrs. Williams went about her task with the precision of someone who had done this many times before. She lifted his legs without hesitation, sliding the diaper underneath him with a practiced hand. Jacob’s mortification deepened as she sprinkled baby powder on his bottom and then all over the front of his diaper area. She proceeded to pull the diaper snugly around his waist, securing it tightly with the tapes on both sides. Her hands worked quickly, as if she had been expecting this outcome all along. "There," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "That’s how it should be done. It should stay in place throughout the night now." Jacob didn’t dare look her in the eyes as he sat up, feeling the bulkiness of the diaper around him. He felt small, childish, and utterly humiliated, but Mrs. Williams seemed satisfied. She gave him a curt nod. "Remember, Jacob," she said, her voice softer now but still firm, "this is for your benefit as much as mine. I expect this will be a nightly routine, and I don’t want any fuss about it." With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Jacob sat there, feeling the weight of the situation settle over him. It was only his first night, but it already felt like he was in over his head.

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections A Bedwetter on Camp Lena had always thought of herself as mature for her age. Not in a try-hard way—she wasn’t the type to flaunt it. But in small, steady ways. She didn’t flake on plans. She showed up on time. She kept her room clean even when no one asked her to. It was just how she was. Reliable. Grounded. That’s part of why she was so excited when Camp Havenbrook accepted her as a junior counselor. It felt like recognition. Like someone had finally said, Yes, you’re ready. You’re not a kid anymore. She could almost pretend she wasn’t nervous when she stepped off the shuttle that morning, duffel bag digging into her shoulder, the scent of pine trees and lakewater heavy in the summer air. Somewhere nearby, a group of returning campers were already shrieking with laughter. A few staff members in matching polos waved half-hearted greetings. The wooden cabins, still as crooked as they’d been years ago when she was a camper, lined the clearing like slouching old friends. Lena exhaled and squared her shoulders. “Lena Hargrove?” The voice was firm—not loud, but the kind that made people listen. Lena turned. The woman approaching her was dressed in starched khakis, a tucked-in polo, and hiking boots that somehow looked cleaner than any pair Lena had ever owned. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, and no smile. Her clipboard was clutched like a weapon. “Yes,” Lena said. “That’s me.” “I’m Miss Temple,” the woman replied. “Camp Director.” Lena nodded quickly. “It’s great to meet you. I’m really excited—” “We run a tight ship here,” Miss Temple interrupted. “This is a place for learning responsibility, not coddling bad habits.” “Oh, totally—” “There’s no room for sloppiness. No room for excuses. That includes personal hygiene, punctuality." "I agree," Lena said. "Have you read the handbook that was given to you?" asked Miss Temple. Lena nodded. "Any questions?" "Just the one. About nighttime accidents.” “Right,” Miss Temple repeated. “We house girls of all ages, from five-year-olds to sixteen-year-olds. They are not babies or toddlers, so wet beds are not tolerated here. At any age. When that happens, there are consequences.” "Diapers?" Lena asked, remembering what she read in the handbook. "Correct. Among other things," Miss Temple said. “I understand,” she said quietly. “Cabin 3C,” Miss Temple continued. “You’ll be overseeing girls ages twelve to fourteen. Your responsibilities include curfew enforcement, activity guidance, and behavior monitoring. Report to the lodge at 1600 for staff orientation.” Without waiting for a response, Miss Temple turned on her heel and walked off. Lena just stood there for a second, her grip tightening on her bag. She was eighteen. She was an adult now. She could handle this. By the time camp was over, she would have enough money to buy herself a second-hand car. That's all she needed to finally leave home and start her adult life. Still, she couldn’t help but think: Since when does a camp director talk about bedwetting like it’s a criminal offense? Cabin 3C was tucked at the edge of the woods, close enough to hear the lake lapping at the shore. It looked smaller than she remembered it, but maybe that was just perspective. She used to sleep in these bunks. Now she was here to supervise. Now she was here to be in charge of other girls, not much younger than herself. She took a deep breath and walked in. It was chaos inside. Suitcases exploded across the wooden floorboards. Someone was blasting music from a hidden speaker. Two girls were arguing over top bunk rights. The air smelled like bug spray and peach lip gloss. “Everyone!” Lena called out, trying to find her counselor voice. “Let’s quiet down, okay? I’m Lena. I’ll be your counselor this summer.” A few turned to look at her. One girl waved lazily. Another kept typing on her phone until a friend elbowed her. Then there was Madison. Lena recognized her right away. It was a bratty, popular girl who went to the same church Lena's parents visited every Sunday. The arched eyebrows, the glossy hair, the attitude that filled a room before she even spoke. She looked even older than Lena herself, with curves that belonged to a woman's body. “You’re the counselor?” Madison asked, arms folded. Lena smiled, ignoring the tone. “That’s right.” Madison tilted her head. “Do we know each other? "I don't think so," Lena lied. "You don’t look much older than us," Madison pressed. "It doesn't matter," Lena said. "I'm the one in charge." "Are you?" Madison glared at Lena with defiance. That somehow made Lena feel out of place. The rest of the day passed in a blur. There were name games, unpacking rules, a hike to the flagpole. Lena tried to lead with a balance of friendliness and firmness, but it was clear who the queen bee of the cabin was. Madison had her clique—Jordan and Kylie—and they followed her lead. Madison didn’t outright disobey. She just watched Lena as if she were amusing—a challenge. That night, after lights-out, Lena lay in her bottom bunk staring at the wooden slats above her. The air was sticky. A mosquito buzzed somewhere near her ear. From the other side of the cabin, someone whispered a joke, followed by a stifled giggle. Lena sighed and rolled over. She wanted to prove herself. To show she could handle a leadership role. That she wasn’t just another girl pretending to be grown up. That’s why she didn't say anything when she found the toothpaste smeared inside her sneakers the next morning. She just cleaned them and moved on. When someone swapped her bug spray for Silly String? She didn’t tattle. Just laughed it off. But her patience was starting to thin by the third prank—mild laxatives added to her breakfast smoothie, if she had to guess. Luckily, she made it to the bathroom. Still, she refused to lose her cool. That’s what they wanted, right? For her to snap. To prove she wasn’t fit for the job. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. That night, she sat on her bunk and sipped her water carefully. The girls were already settling in. Someone asked if they could keep a nightlight on—Lena said yes. Another asked for an extra blanket. Madison just stared at her from her bed, an unreadable expression on her face. Lena gave her a polite nod, then turned to get ready for bed. What she didn’t notice—what she couldn’t know—was that her water bottle had been swapped. The liquid inside wasn’t water. Not entirely. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy Part II: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F1DFN2B9 or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Camille's Diapered Stepmother: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7S44THM Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Long time lurker. This is the first story I've ever written. It's set in @bbykimmy’s Keeperverse. I haven’t seen a story set here in a while, so I thought I’d write my own. If you’re unfamiliar, it’s a world where people can randomly pair off in a biological bond of Keeper and human pet. The pet is legally owned by the Keeper and kept in diapers. Like an ABDL dynamic, but a publicly understood and accepted phenomenon. @bbykimmy's story Keeper's Pet got me to see how hot petplay can be, and Jeff’s Story by @justforfun solidified it for me. I definitely "borrowed" a lot from those 🙂. I tried my best not to contradict established lore. It’s a fun sandbox to explore. As a disclaimer, I’m not much of a writer. I’m not really concerned with things like story structure or pacing. This is just pure smutty fantasy for me. Also it’s not short. I like the little details of scenes like these. I have 40k words written so far. Hope you enjoy. *** Chapter 1- Undone I was clamoring through the halls of an office building on my way to a client meeting when it happened; the earth-shattering, mind-altering experience of the Bond. All it took was one shared look. A single moment of eye contact. You think you know who you are, and what your life is, and then in a split second everything you thought you knew is swallowed up by a single desire; be near her. Do anything you have to be hers and please her. Her eyes, her scent, her warmth, her entire aura become my world in an instant and eclipsed everything else I had ever experienced. We shared that look of shock, realization, horror, and most of all, deep affection, and that was it. The Bond. “Come here, pet” was all it took for her to say and I was a submissive puddle. My head buried itself down into her chest as her arms engulfed my body. I barely even noticed the tears in my eyes or the warmth spreading in my pants. Picture the safest you’ve ever felt. The most loved. The most you’ve ever felt like you belonged. And then multiply it by ten, twenty, by a thousand. It still wouldn’t come close to the Bond. But after you’re hit with the flood of animal endorphins, a flood of human anxiety mixes in. What about my life? My future? My freedom? What, I’m just a pet now? I can’t be just a fucking pet! Who even is this person? But a truth you feel in your bones fights those doubts; she’s my Keeper. We had slumped to the floor against the wall where she held me, softly shushing my whimpers and stroking my hair. “I’m here now. I’ve got you, pet. You’re safe,” she cooed, “I’m going to take care of you. You're mine.” Everything went fuzzy. I didn’t know if we were there minutes or hours before my brain turned back on. I opened my eyes and saw a few people staring at us out of a door down the hall. Seeing a Bond take hold wasn’t that uncommon, but like seeing a police scene, everybody always wanted to gawk. I felt half-dried tears on my face as I pried my head out of her chest to look up to her anxiously. My eyes met hers. Her eyes. Oh my god, her eyes. Like two pools of forever telling me everything was going to be okay. “Well hey there.” She spoke so gently, warmly inviting me into her presence. “That’s one way to meet someone.” We shared a small laugh through the awkward confusion of what had just happened. “Hi,” I said meekly, words escaping me. “Hello, Oliver. My pet,” she said, as if confirming it for herself. “You— you know my name?” She held up my wallet. Duh. “You were pretty out of it. I guess I just had to know who I was holding in my arms.” “Oh.” “I’m Annie.” Annie. Like a tidal wave her name washed over me and solidified her identity as my Keeper into the deepest parts of psyche. My world’s name was Annie. She had wavy, auburn hair that fell just beneath her shoulders. She was a little shorter than me and somewhere around the same age best I could tell; 30-ish. Her impossibly brown eyes smothered me like a comfy weighted blanket. And she smelled incredible. I’d never smelled anything like it before. I now felt my wet pants, soaked with my own urine, which had cooled. My face burned with embarrassment and shame. I was just lucky my bowels didn’t let loose too. The Bond made pets varying degrees of incontinent and I had heard of it happening. “What does this mean?” I asked. “It means we’ve found each other. I’m your Keeper, and you’re my pet. The rest is just…details, that we’ll figure out. But we’ll be together." Warm contentment rippled through me upon hearing her words. My Keeper. “You alright, Annie?” a male voice called down the hall. I couldn’t bring myself to tear my gaze away from Annie to see who was intruding on our embrace, but I hated him for it. “Yeah, I’m good, Mark,” she called back. “Just a bit of an unexpected situation, here.” She laughed a bit. “Could you do me a big favor? Go get Kaitlin and tell her I need a ride?” “Of course!” And I heard a door close. “I have my car here,” I blurted out, without thinking. She laughed, like the way you would at a child who has said something amusing. “So do I, sweetie. But now that I’ve found you, I just don’t think I can let you go. It’s easier if someone drives us.” I felt stupid. Of course we wouldn’t be taking my car. It just stopped being my car at all, didn’t it? I thought. Pets can’t drive. I then noticed the familiar weight of my keys and phone was missing from my pockets.Where does she want to take me anyways? My breathing quickened as another sense of realization over my situation was setting in. She probably didn’t want to let go of me because she didn’t want to risk me running. A twinge of panic. My body tensed and adrenaline flooded. I have to get my life back before it's too late. Maybe the Bond hasn’t set in fully. I tried to shift my weight to get my legs under me in order to make a break for it. “Shh, shh. No.” She gripped my limbs tighter. “You’re okay. Look at me...Look at me, pet.” Despite the fear, something deep inside me compelled me to obey her. “You’re safe here with me.” My breathing slowly steadied as she pet my hair and brought me further into her arms. “Good boy.” Those last two words. They hit me like a ton of bricks. My focus blurred like a shot of heavy pain medication just entered my bloodstream. It felt wonderful. I only heard Annie’s half of a conversation that somehow felt far away as someone else approached us. “Yeah, that would be awesome… There’s one a few miles from here…Yes…Thank you so much, Kaitlin, seriously. Yeah, I—I just don’t want to let him go; he’s still shaking…Okay…Yeah, thank you! We’ll be out there in a minute.” She turned back to me. “Okay, honey, do you think you can walk with me?” “Where are we going?” I asked anxiously. “There’s a pet store close by where we can figure all this out.” Another wave of adrenaline. “No, I don’t wa—” “—Yes,” she interjected firmly and decisively, like it wasn’t up for debate. “Be a good boy for me, okay?” I wanted to. I wanted to more than anything. Against all rationality I wanted to earn her praise, even if it mean going against my own interests. She helped me to my feet, keeping me close to her with a firm grip of my hand in hers. She pulled my head into her shoulder as we snaked through the winding hallway of the business complex, with a few pairs of curious eyes on us. I was now acutely aware of my soaked jeans. Annie led me towards the entryway and out to a car waiting outside, where she carted us both into the backseat. She was clearly aware of my panted breathes because she quickly pulled me back into her chest. The ride was a blur. Annie kept cooing soft reassurances to calm me, only breaking to tell Kaitlin where to go. I felt uncomfortably warm and was already starting to sweat. Soon we were at a human pet superstore, the kind I would previously pay no mind to as I drove past. There was a side entryway to an intake area for newly bonded pets. As we got out and approached the entrance I reflexively jerked away from Annie, who kept a firm grip on my hand. “No, Oliver. Stay with me,” she ordered firmly, but with affection in her voice. Every instinct in me was telling me to run, to salvage my freedom. Every instinct but one; stay near Annie. That one was stronger than all rest. In through the doors we were quickly greeted by a uniformed employee behind a desk. “Hi there!” she chirped. She approached slowly and spoke softly, no doubt for my benefit. “I’m Jenny. Looks like we have a new Keeper and pet?” I’m sure it was painfully obvious who was who in that equation. I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact and just held Annie’s hand tighter. “Yes, I’m Annie, and this is Oliver.” “Hi, Oliver,” she said, her voice dripping in condescension, like she was talking to a child. I didn’t look up. “Let’s get you guys into a transition room and I can walk you through what happens now. Follow me.” I looked over my shoulder at the automatic sliding doors. One last chance at freedom. I almost got my muscles to obey my desire to run before Annie firmly tugged my arm and I felt helpless to break away from her. Jenny led us into a room and quickly shut the door behind, locking it. It was like a normal medical room, except there were two exam tables, one of which that had a cage mounted atop it. Not to mention the human pet paraphernalia on the shelves. Seeing the cage, I instinctively began to whimper despite myself. Annie turned me to her and brought her hand to face. “It’s okay. You’re okay, pet.” If she said it was true then it must be, because she was my Keeper. “Alright,” Jenny began, “I know there are a lot of emotions and confusion happening right now, but I’m going to walk you through each step. First things first, we should get him cleaned up. His body is shifting rapidly, and his rising body temperature and continence are the quickest to change. This clothing just isn’t suitable for him. Let’s undress him.” “Right,” Annie replied. She reached the top button of my shirt and brought my hands up to block her. I whined, “No! Please, I—” “—Oliver,” She grabbed my hands, “If you can remain calm, I promise I won’t put you in the cage while we get you ready, but I need you to behave and listen, okay?” She said she needed me to. That was all I had to hear and my overwhelming desire to please her did the rest. “Okay?” she asked again, more sternly. I nodded meekly. “Good boy.” Another rush of endorphins. “Nice job, Annie,” Jenny said, impressed. “I suggest we get him on the table before undressing.” “Good idea,” Annie affirmed. “Okay, pet, I need you climb up and lay back for me, okay?” I didn’t take my eyes off her as she and Jenny helped me up onto the exam table and laid me back. “Good, keep reassuring him. Keep him looking at you.” “Look at me, sweetie. Keep your eyes on me. Good.” It didn’t matter that I could hear Jenny coaching her on the tactics, I still didn’t stand a chance against them. My newly developing pet brain overrode my critical thinking and I was mush. Annie held my gaze as I felt my arms being brought up over my head and my wrists were secured into soft leather cuffs. Next my shoes and socks were removed and my ankles went into similar restraints. Seeing Jenny hand Annie some medical sheers, I pulled on the restraints and whimpered. “Keep talking him through what you’re doing. It’s important that he trusts you. It might feel like you’ve known each other forever, but your is Bond is brand new. Undefined. He needs to know your intention.” “I’m going to get your clothes off now so that you can be so much more comfortable,” she told me. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m never going to hurt you.” As she began cutting through the sleeves of my shirt I wanted to scream but her command for me to stay calm enveloped the front of my mind. My shirt was pulled away from beneath my body. Jenny joined her in cutting through my wet jeans, pulling them away next. The cool air was nice on my skin, but I felt so much more exposed. She brought her hand up to stroke my cheek again. “Good job, sweetie. You’re doing so well for me.” My eyes closed as I melted into her words and worked my face into her hand, trying to inhale her wonderful scent to quell my anxiety. “You’re a natural, Annie,” Jenny mused. “Do you have pet experience?” “I lived with a pet for a few years. My roommate’s. I was there when she first brought her home. I remember those first days pretty well.” Well at least my Keeper had a resume. “Great! So I’m sure you know what happens next.” No. Even I knew what Jenny was getting at. “No, please!” I cried, “Please, Annie, don’t make me wear a diaper!” I tried to sit up and plead with her but the cuffs held me down. Annie was quickly at my side calming me down. “This is why we use restraints.” Jenny spoke with a practiced authority. “He’s quickly becoming prone to acting on instinct and heightened emotions. He wants to behave, I’m sure, but he’s scared and his rational decision-making skills are already diminishing.” Pets wore diapers. I knew this. Everyone knew this. As much as you knew to stop at red lights. But to fully absorb that it was about to happen to you was mortifying. “At this point, I think it’s best we use this to help keep him calm,” Jenny said as she handed Annie something. It was a rubbery bulb mounted to a leather face attachment with a thinner strap. A muzzle, with a gag attached. “No, I’ll be quiet, I swear!” I tried to plead pathetically as Annie brought the gag towards my head. “Open for me, pet. Let’s get this on. That’s it. Good boy. My good boy.” I was putty in her hands as she inserted the gag and strapped the muzzle around my head. The bulky structure cupped my jaw and wrapped around my lower face. I tested the gag and was barely audible. The silicon teat in my mouth felt weird. My soaked underwear was cut off, leaving me naked and covered in my own piss in front of Annie, this stranger who I felt more affection for than I even knew possible. It was beyond humiliating as she used baby wipes to thoroughly clean my crotch. I expected disgust or pity from her as she cleaned my urine soaked skin, but instead her look betrayed something else. Is that…lust? I asked myself. She bit her lip as she handled my penis and balls to clean them. The attention from her quickly translated to a growing erection. Her gaze was transfixed to my crotch. I tried to move my hips into her as she brought down another wipe. I didn’t care who else was there, I wanted her touch. I needed more of her touch. “As you can see, and I’m sure feel,” Jenny started, and Annie's attention snapped back, “the sexual connection brought on by the Bond is strong. And he’s all instinct right now. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you pet parenthood is illegal, so pets in intersex Bonds are required by law to be neutered. Frankly, in the long run you’re just not always going to have the restraint to practice safe sex. You’re just as drawn to him as he is to you. So sterilizing him is the best option.” I whimpered hearing this. Jenny giggled at my erection dissipating. “That kind of talk usually works to get male pets under control down there. How else would we get them in their first diapers?” I groaned into the gag as loudly as I could and pulled at the restraints to convey my protest. It was ignored as Jenny handed Annie a bulky, pastel blue disposable diaper. Pet diapers were much thicker than medical incontinence diapers for human adults. “Also, it’s fine for a diaper or two, but you’re going to want to remove the hair in his diaper area for hygiene purposes. He’ll shed some of his body hair naturally as his body continues to shift, but not all of it. We have some cream I’ll send you home with.” “Thank you.” Again, I tried to make my disapproval known but was quickly learning it was getting me nowhere. Annie fluffed out the diaper before bringing it down to me. “I can see you’ve done this before,” Jenny said to her, “Repetition is always good, especially when training. Using touch on the inner thigh and phrases like ‘butt up’ is good for getting him used to diaper changes.” I hated being talked about like I wasn’t in the room, like I was a baby. Yet I was hopelessly unable to resist when Annie tapped my inner thigh and ordered, “Butt up, Oliver.” “Down.” She pressed on my hips and my bottom landed on the considerable padding. “Baby powder is a must. You won’t always be there to change him immediately and nobody wants to deal with a rash.” “Good job,” Annie cooed to me, “Good boy being still for me.” Her praise lit up my brain. She sprinkled baby powder over my crotch. The diaper was pulled up over me and Jenny walked Annie through pulling on the tapes snugly. I instantly felt an odd sense of claustrophobia around my groin as it was sealed off. It was warm and bulky and for some reason I actually I preferred the sensation of being naked. Not to mention the sheer humiliation of being diapered like a toddler. Jenny checked the fit of the diaper and settled the leak guards into place. “Since we don’t know what level of incontinence new pet will have, store policy requires him to also be put in a diaper cover of some sort.” Jenny held up a cloth garment with plastic lining inside and snaps, sort of like another diaper. “Obviously, it’s ultimately up to you to decide what level of protection he needs, be it plastic pants, cloth diaper cover, etc.” Annie quickly repeated, “Butt up,” and laid out the diaper cover before snapping it on, making my crotch even bulkier. “Next, let’s get his other restraints on, starting with pet mitts.” I whined all over again and tugged at my bonds as Jenny took out the black leather pet paws. “Right now, he’s most likely stronger than you, no offense. That will probably change soon as his bones lose density and muscles lose mass, but for these first few weeks or so, you need to make sure he’s well restrained. Your voice’s authority as his Keeper is one of your best tools in this regard. For Female/male Bonds, training and using hypnotic triggers is more crucial than ever because you might not always be able to restrain him with just your physical strength.” Annie looked down on me squirming with the same sensuous look. “Keep him calm, Annie,” Jenny gently guided, “Take his arm, let him know what you’re doing.” “Shh, pet. Stay still for me. You’re going to be a good boy while I put your mitts on.” The warm smile conveying her command melted me as she unfastened the cuff and took my wrist. “These are to keep you safe. When you’re wearing them you'll know I am taking care of you.” “Very good!” Jenny complemented her as she inserted my hand into the mitt. My hand was slid into a comfortable position around a soft pad, but held tightly so I could barely bend my fingers. My hand would be completely useless. The mitt’s shape vaguely resembled a paw, with traction pads on the palm. There was a D-ring on the wrist that could be clipped. Once my hand was inside and tightened at the wrist, the mitt zipped halfway up my forearm and was fastened. My wrist was re-cuffed to the table. Annie talked me through the same thing on my other hand. My best chance at freeing myself and escaping my pethood was just taken away. “You should keep these on him at all times, other than baths, for the first few weeks, if not months. Some people use them permanently with their pets. Until he’s trained not to take off his diapers or open doors and latches he shouldn’t, his instincts will get the better of him. Now let’s do his legs.” They slipped a similar pet paw on my foot, and then a leg harness that came up to a soft pad fitted around my knee and a strap around my thigh. “Everything we’re using here comes free in the standard-issued pet kit for new Keepers, but they’re pretty cheap. You’ll probably want to upgrade to something else based on both your needs. You’ll have chance here a little later before taking him home if you like.” “Got it. Yeah, I’d like to get him something more comfortable,” said Annie. “There are different ways to keep a pet down on all fours. The most common is clipping a short strap from the thigh to the calf to keep the knees a little bent,” Jenny explained. “And there are different schools of thought on letting pets walk upright or be kept down. I do recommend new pets be kept down for a while, but, of course, that’s up to you as his Keeper.” I knew that many pets were kept on all fours all the time. No one even bats an eye seeing a half naked pet being walked on a leash, down on all fours in a diaper and restraints. It was totally mundane. Is Annie really not going to let me walk? Another wave of human clarity washed over me. Nothing was going to be my choice anymore. I was going lose everything. My entire life. For some unknown future with this near-stranger. Despair overwhelmed me and tears formed in my eyes. I wasn’t even struggling, I just laid there forlorn. Annie saw this and had a look of deep sympathy and concern. “That’s all for restraints, right?" She asked, with some urgency, without taking her eyes off me. “Yep! We can move on to registration now.” “So we can let him up for that,” Annie said, not really asking. “Well, we prefer to—” “—I want to let him up,” Annie interjected assertively and was already going to my ankle cuffs and undoing them. “Just for now.” “Okay, usually we do some bonding time after registering but I can see you need some time now. We’ll take a break.” Annie uncuffed my wrists and once free I immediately scrambled off the table into her arms, almost knocking her over. She brought me to the floor in her lap. My face was back in her chest and I began to full-on weep. Being enveloped in her touch and smell went a long way to comfort me, but I still felt the crushing weight of my lost life, and my lost future. And I sobbed. “Oh, my pet. It’s okay. Shh. I’ve got you,” she cooed, “I’m so glad I found you. You’re mine now. I promise I’m going to take care of you. My sweet boy. You’re never going to be alone. Shh. I’ve got you now.” I felt a warmness radiate through my body; a great comfort combating the anxiety and despair. Then I felt a physical warmness pooling around my crotch and I knew I was wetting the diaper; my diaper. Everything became a blur.

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Chapter One A Shameful Issue Claire Reynolds fumbled with her keys, her hands trembling as she tried to fit the right one into the lock. The sharp clink of metal echoed through the dim hallway, mocking her urgency. Her heart pounded in her chest, and a bead of sweat trickled down her temple despite the cool air. “Come on,” she hissed under her breath, bouncing slightly on her heels. When the key finally slid into place, she shoved the door open and bolted inside, her purse slipping from her shoulder and landing in a heap on the floor. She didn’t stop to pick it up. The bathroom door was just a few steps away, but those few steps felt impossibly long. Her hand gripped the doorknob when it happened. The warm, mortifying sensation began at her thighs and cascaded downward, soaking her gray slacks and forming a humiliating puddle at her feet. Claire froze, her breath hitching in her throat as she stared at the dark stain spreading down her legs. “No,” she whispered, the word catching like a sob in her chest. For a moment, she stood rooted to the spot, the scene unfolding beneath her as though it were happening to someone else. But the sharp smell of urine quickly snapped her back to reality. This wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. Shame washed over her, making her stomach churn. This was the third time this week. Claire leaned against the bathroom door, covering her face with her hands. The knot of anxiety in her chest tightened, and her thoughts spun wildly. What was happening to her? She’d already been to the doctor—no infections, no physical problems, nothing that explained why this kept happening. “Stress,” the doctor had said, his tone infuriatingly casual. “Sometimes your body reacts in unexpected ways. Try to take it easy for a while.” Take it easy? As if Claire Reynolds, Vice President of Marketing at Goldstein & Gray, had time to "take it easy." She had built her entire career by thriving under pressure, outmaneuvering competitors, and crushing challenges. Yet now, standing in a puddle of her own making, she felt utterly powerless. Claire peeled off her wet slacks and underwear, tossing them angrily into the laundry hamper before stepping into the shower. She turned the water as hot as she could stand, hoping the scalding heat might burn away the humiliation clinging to her skin. The bathroom filled with steam, but the knot in her chest remained. Wrapped in a robe, Claire sat on her couch with a glass of wine in her hand. The faint glow of the TV illuminated her face, though her eyes remained unfocused. The news anchor’s voice droned in the background, but she wasn’t paying attention. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the moment she lost control over and over. Three times in a week. Three times. Maybe it really was stress, she thought, staring into her empty glass. Work had been relentless lately, and the weight of it all was starting to show. Claire barely had time to breathe between managing her team, placating demanding clients, and watching Samantha Drake inch closer to her throne. Samantha. The name alone made her skin prickle. She could see Samantha’s smiling face now, framed by perfectly styled blonde hair, her bright blue eyes practically sparkling with confidence. Samantha was talented, ambitious, and far too likable for Claire’s comfort. People flocked to her naturally, eager to bask in her glow. And Claire? She was the one standing outside her bathroom, soaked to the skin and trying to hold on to her dignity. Her jaw tightened as she set the empty wine glass on the table. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t some fragile mess who couldn’t keep herself together. She was the second most powerful person in the company, and Samantha was nothing but another subordinate. She just needed rest. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be. But deep down, Claire wasn’t so sure. She walked into the office the next morning with a practiced smile that felt like it might crack under the strain. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, echoing through the sleek lobby of Goldstein & Gray. She moved quickly, her steps purposeful, as though the sound alone could drown out her unease. You’ve got this, she told herself. She had spent most of the night tossing and turning, haunted by the humiliating memory of her accident. Now, as she reached her desk, she fought to bury the thought and focus on what mattered: work. Her assistant, Melissa, greeted her with a stack of files and a fresh coffee. “Morning, Ms. Reynolds. Here’s the prep for the Ross presentation at ten.” “Thank you,” Claire said curtly, taking the files without breaking stride. She slipped into her office and closed the door behind her, exhaling slowly. For the next hour, Claire buried herself in spreadsheets and client notes, trying to lose herself in the comforting predictability of data. It almost worked—until there was a knock at her door. “Come in,” she called, not looking up. The door opened, and Claire’s stomach sank when she heard the familiar, cheerful voice. “Good morning, Claire. Got a minute?” Samantha Drake. Claire glanced up, masking her irritation with a tight smile. Samantha stood in the doorway, her tailored navy dress accentuating her polished appearance. She looked every bit the up-and-coming star Claire begrudgingly acknowledged she was. “What can I do for you, Samantha?” Claire asked, keeping her tone neutral. Samantha stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “I just wanted to check in. You’ve seemed… tense lately.” Claire’s smile faltered. “Tense? I’m fine.” Samantha tilted her head, her expression sympathetic in a way that made Claire’s teeth clench. “I know how demanding this job can be. And, well…” She hesitated, feigning concern. “There have been a few murmurs around the office. About you seeming, I don’t know, a little distracted?” “Murmurs?” Claire’s voice sharpened, but Samantha’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. “Nothing major,” Samantha said quickly, holding up her hands. “It’s just that people look up to you, Claire. You’ve set the bar so high, and I think they’re worried about you burning out.” Claire forced a laugh, though it came out brittle. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m perfectly capable of handling my workload.” Samantha nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Of course you are. You’ve always been an inspiration to me.” The words sounded genuine, but Claire couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that there was an edge beneath them. Before Claire could respond, Samantha added, “If you ever need support, though—someone to help lighten the load—I know an excellent assistant who could make things easier for you.” Claire stiffened. “I don’t need help.” “Of course not,” Samantha said smoothly. “But if you change your mind, let me know. It’s important to take care of yourself.” With that, Samantha offered a polite smile and left, leaving Claire alone in her office, simmering. The morning passed in a blur of emails and conference calls, but Samantha’s words lingered like an unwelcome guest. By the time the Ross presentation rolled around, Claire was on edge, her mind racing with a cocktail of frustration and self-doubt. She entered the boardroom, her posture as sharp as ever, and launched into the presentation with the confidence that had made her reputation. But halfway through, as she stood before the team, a sudden wave of pressure in her bladder made her pause. Not now, she thought, gripping the edge of the table. She forced herself to keep going, her voice steady even as her body betrayed her. With every passing second, the pressure grew, and by the time she wrapped up the presentation, she could barely focus on the questions. The moment it ended, she bolted from the room, ignoring the curious glances from her colleagues. She made it to the bathroom just in time, slamming the stall door shut and collapsing onto the toilet. Relief flooded through her, but it was short-lived. The near miss left her shaking, her mind spinning with worst-case scenarios. What if she hadn’t made it? What if she had humiliated herself in front of the entire team? Claire sat there for a long moment, her breathing uneven. This couldn’t keep happening. Back at her desk, Claire stared at her computer screen, her thoughts far from work. The memory of Samantha’s offer gnawed at her. As much as she hated to admit it, the idea of having help—even temporary—sounded less ridiculous than it had that morning. But no. She wouldn’t give Samantha the satisfaction. Still, Claire couldn’t shake the feeling that her grip on control was slipping, one agonizing inch at a time. Chapter Two Enter Linda By the time Claire got home that evening, she was exhausted. The day had been grueling, and the close call during the presentation lingered in her mind like a bad dream. She dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, poured herself a glass of wine, and sank into the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. This couldn’t go on. The memory of Samantha’s offer crept back into her thoughts. Claire clenched her jaw. Asking for help from someone Samantha recommended felt like admitting defeat, but she couldn’t keep living with the constant fear of humiliation. Before she could overthink it, she pulled out her phone and dialed Samantha’s number. “Samantha Drake,” came the cheerful voice on the other end. “It’s Claire,” she said, her tone clipped. “About that assistant you mentioned. Do you have their contact information?” Samantha’s response came almost too quickly. “Of course! Her name is Linda. She’s young, but she’s a natural at organization and discretion. I’ll text you her number.” “Thanks,” Claire said tersely and hung up before Samantha could gloat. The next day, Linda promptly arrived at Claire’s apartment at 9 a.m. Claire opened the door to find a young woman with auburn hair tied in a neat ponytail, bright hazel eyes, and a sunny smile that seemed almost too earnest. Claire thought with a twinge of skepticism that she couldn’t have been older than nineteen. “Hi, Ms. Reynolds! I’m Linda. It’s such an honor to meet you,” she chirped, extending a hand. Claire hesitated before shaking it. “You’re… younger than I expected,” she said bluntly. Linda didn’t miss a beat. “People say that all the time. But I promise, I’m great at what I do. I’ve worked with other executives before, and I’m here to make your life easier.” Claire stepped aside, motioning for Linda to come in. The girl walked in with an eager bounce, her backpack slung over one shoulder. Claire watched her carefully, trying to gauge whether this was a good idea. “So,” Claire said, folding her arms. “Tell me what you can do.” Linda enthusiastically listed her skills: scheduling, task management, meal prepping, and errand running. She even mentioned a knack for helping with “personal matters,” though Claire dismissed that with a wave. After twenty minutes, Claire sighed. Although Linda was extremely young, on paper, she was a perfect solution to her stress. “Fine. Let’s try this out. I’ll give you a week to prove yourself. If I don’t see results, that’s it. Understood?” Linda beamed. “You won’t regret it, Ms. Reynolds!” The first few days were surprisingly smooth. Linda was efficient and unflinchingly polite, handling Claire’s demanding schedule with ease. She organized Claire’s cluttered desk, prepared meals that were waiting when Claire got home, and even started leaving subtle reminders for things Claire might have forgotten. On Linda’s fourth day, she was tidying up Claire’s kitchen when Claire rushed through the door, pale and frazzled. “Out of the way,” Claire muttered, bolting toward the bathroom. Linda watched in surprise as Claire slammed the door behind her. Minutes later, Claire emerged, her face flushed. She was clutching a damp skirt and muttering under her breath. “Everything okay?” Linda asked cautiously. “It’s all fine,” Claire snapped, avoiding Linda’s gaze. Linda didn’t push, but Claire caught the flicker of understanding in her assistant’s eyes. Two nights later, Claire woke up in her wet pajamas. The dark stain on her sheets sent a wave of panic and frustration crashing over her. She began stripping the bed, her hands trembling as she stuffed the soiled sheets into the hamper. She didn’t hear the knock at first. “Ms. Reynolds?” Linda’s voice broke through, hesitant but concerned. Claire froze. Before she could respond, the door creaked open. Linda stepped inside, her eyes widening at the scene: Claire standing in the middle of the room, tear-streaked and clutching damp sheets, her wet pajama bottoms an unmistakable clue. “Oh,” Linda said softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Claire turned away, her face burning with humiliation. “Just go,” she said sharply. Instead of leaving, Linda stepped closer. “Ms. Reynolds,” she said gently, “it’s okay. Let me help.” “No, it’s not okay!” Claire’s voice cracked. “This isn’t normal! I’m almost a middle-aged woman, I shouldn’t be wetting myself.” Linda stayed calm, her tone soothing. “Stress can do strange things to the body. You’re dealing with so much right now. It’s not your fault.” Claire sank onto the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands. Linda knelt beside her. “Why don’t you change into something dry? I’ll take care of this.” Too exhausted to argue, Claire nodded. The final straw came two days later. Claire had stayed late at work, trying to finish a report, when the now-familiar pressure hit her. She’d been so focused she hadn’t noticed until it was too late. How could this be happening to her? She was a strong, independent woman with a successful career and a bright future. She wasn’t supposed to wet herself like some oversized toddler who wasn’t potty trained yet. In desperation, she rushed back home. When she got to her apartment, she ran past Linda, although her pants were visibly damp. Linda saw it immediately, but said nothing, quietly following Claire. Linda approached her. “Ms. Reynolds, I think we need to talk.” Claire stiffened. “About what?” Linda hesitated. “I noticed… things have been getting harder for you lately. Maybe it’s time to consider something to help.” Claire’s eyes narrowed, though in her current state, she looked more like a little girl pretending to be an adult than the girl-boss she truly was. “Help? Like what?” Linda’s voice was gentle but firm. “Protective undergarments. Just at night or for when you’re working late. It could give you peace of mind.” Claire stared at her, the words hitting her like a blow. “You’re suggesting diapers.” “I’m suggesting something to make your life easier,” Linda said softly. “There’s no shame in it.” Claire shook her head, her pride flaring. “Absolutely not.” “Claire,” Linda said, dropping the formalities, her tone softening but not wavering. “You’ve had three accidents that I know of this week. The one on the way home from work tonight, the one in bed two nights ago, and the one outside the bathroom earlier this week. And this isn’t something new. Is it?” Claire blushed, not knowing how to answer. “Have you gone to the doctor?” Claire nodded, though all her strength had wavered, replaced by a feeling of impotence and shame. “So, what happened?” “The doctor thinks it is just stress. But I’ve always had stress, and it had never led to something like this,” Claire replied, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’m not wearing diapers!” Linda didn’t flinch. “You hired me to make your life easier, didn’t you? That’s all I’m trying to do.” Claire shook her head, her voice trembling with fury. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not some invalid, Linda. I don’t need diapers!” “It doesn’t look like it. Does it?” “I’ll fix it,” Claire said through gritted teeth. “I’ll go back to the doctor. I’ll drink less coffee. I’ll… I’ll figure it out.” “It’s your decision,” Linda continued, “But just think about this…If it happens at work, what do you think will happen? You have a reputation as a strong and powerful woman. Do you think your employees will respect you after they see you standing in your wet trousers and crying like a baby?” Claire didn’t respond. It killed her knowing that Linda was right. If she ignored the problem, it could only lead to public humiliation. But diapers? She wasn’t a baby. She was an adult woman with so many responsibilities. An image of her wearing a diaper as Linda took care of everything came flooding her mind. It made Claire blush as she shook that thought away. “Just think about it,” Linda added. She turned away, leaving Claire alone in her wet pants. That night, Claire lay in bed, her mind racing. She replayed Linda’s words over and over, each one striking a nerve. The worst part was that Linda was right. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Hi guys! Here's my newest story. Hope you like it. If you want to read my entire catalog of role reversals, regressed mothers, diapered cuckolds, and more, check out my new Subscribestar account: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter Chapter One Camille's Plan Camille never imagined she’d have to share her father with someone young enough to be her little sister. Yet there Anya was — radiant in her pastel pink sundress, lips glossed, curls bouncing as she hummed in the kitchen. Camille watched from the dining room with a clenched jaw, her manicured fingers curled tightly around the stem of her wine glass. Anya always made everything look effortless. That morning, she'd prepared a French-style breakfast — flaky croissants, poached eggs, and delicate little fruit tarts. It was the kind of thing Camille’s mother used to make before she passed away five years ago. Anya didn’t know that, of course. Or maybe she did. Robert, Camille’s father, sat at the head of the table, reading the newspaper's financial section like it was the gospel. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, his suit immaculate despite it being a Sunday. He glanced over his reading glasses at Camille, then at Anya, who was setting down a plate with practiced elegance. Camille wasn’t a morning person, but made it a point to arrive for breakfast whenever her father was in town. It wasn’t about the food — Anya’s Pinterest-perfect meals were always too sweet, too curated. It was about presence. She needed her father to see that she was still the one who held the household together. Or used to. Robert folded his napkin and set it beside his untouched croissant. “I’ll be flying out tomorrow. Singapore again. This one might be a long haul — eight weeks, maybe more.” Camille, in the middle of stirring cream into her coffee, paused. “Eight weeks?” He nodded. “The acquisition’s messier than I expected.” She blinked. “And you’re just telling us now?” Robert raised a brow. “It’s not a vacation, Camille. It’s work. You’ll manage just fine, like always.” Camille leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “So I assume I’ll be keeping things in order while you’re gone.” Robert took a sip from his espresso. “Actually, no. Anya will be in charge this time.” The air shifted. Camille stared at her father like he’d grown a second head. “You’re joking.” Anya, seated quietly with a peach in hand, looked up in surprise. Robert continued, calm and final. “I figured it was time we gave her a chance. After all, this is also her home now.” “A chance?” Camille echoed. “She doesn’t even work, Dad. She spends her days rearranging throw pillows and naming the squirrels in the backyard.” Anya blushed but said nothing. Robert’s tone cooled. “She’s my wife, Camille. And she’s more than capable.” Camille laughed, a brittle sound. “She’s twenty-two.” “And?” “She’s a child. You’re handing the house over to a child.” Anya’s eyes flicked down to her plate. She probably tried to say something, but Robert’s voice replied, “That’s enough.” Camille ignored him. “You don’t see it, but everyone else does. The maid, the driver, hell, even the neighbor’s kids probably know—” “I said that’s enough!” Robert stood from the table, his chair scraping sharply against the tile “You will not speak to my wife like that.” “She’s not your wife, she’s your—” “Camille.” His voice dropped an octave “Apologize. Right now.” Camille scoffed, incredulous. “You’re taking her side?” “I’m not picking sides. I’m reminding you how to behave like an adult.” “Robert,” Anya said, “It’s not necessary.” “I believe it is, darling,” Robert didn’t take his eyes off his daughter. “We are waiting, Camille.” She pushed back her chair, heat rising in her chest. “Unbelievable.” “Apologize. Now!” Camille looked at Anya. Her wide hazel eyes, dewy with embarrassment. The soft baby-pink headband she wore. She looked like a child playing dress-up. And she was supposed to be in charge? Camille’s jaw clenched. Her father waited. “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing each word out like venom. “If she’s my wife and you call me Daddy…what do you think you should address Anya from now on?” Anya’s face turned crimson. Camille looked at Anya. Her wide hazel eyes were dewy with embarrassment, and her soft baby-pink headband made her look like a child playing dress-up. She then glared at her father. “I’m waiting, Camille.” The older of the two women sighed, defeated. “I’m sorry,” she paused, “Mommy.” Robert sat back down. “There. That wasn’t so hard.” Camille didn’t respond. She walked away, heels clicking sharply down the hall. Not a single look back. Her bedroom door slammed shut behind her. Camille paced, fingers twitching, adrenaline still surging in her blood. Put Anya in charge? Of the estate that is supposed to be hers? Of the staff who answered to her for over a decade? Her father might as well have handed over the deed to a toddler. That’s when it hit her. She knew Anya couldn’t do anything but play and watch videos on her phone. It was her generation, after all. All of them were spoiled kids, and if her Daddy couldn’t see it, Camille would make sure everyone else did. Camille smiled, the kind that never reached her eyes. She had two months to turn her perfect stepmother into a babbling toddler. That would teach everyone. Two months of changing diapers, preparing bottles, and selecting cute outfits. Let’s do it, she told herself.

The child was just like any normal 9 year old child, he was in 4th grade in which she loved to read and is very good at long division. He likes school and seeing her friends but likes the weekends at home too where she doesn't usually have homework. His/her favorite color is pastel green. He/she loves watching Netflix and has a secret love for watching tv show for very little children even if they are "baby shows". He/she's currently working on reading an old book his mommy gave her called "harry potter" but still gets caught up on some big words. He/She also has a bit of an entitlement issue with being seen as a big boy since he's only about as big as the first and second graders and only just stopped sucking his thumb at night a few weeks ago. (Our RP starts as the little boy is doing his homework in the living room with train playing on the TV, the door bell rings his mommy answers the door to see the babysitter she had called for the night. This babysitter was different though and has promised to get her little boy to relax and enjoy being a "little" kid more.... I will play the adult characters. If you want play with me you can contact me privately)

Chapter 1: The fluorescent lights flickered ominously as Mikey crept through the deserted mall, his footsteps echoing through the empty halls. The air was thick with dust and the stench of decay, a far cry from the bustling shopping center it once was. Mikey's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and trepidation as he explored the labyrinth of abandoned stores, each one more eerie than the last. He had heard the rumors about the daycare on the lower level, a place where parents would leave their kids to be watched over by a state-of-the-art nanny bot. But the daycare had been closed for years, and the rumors were that the nanny bot had gone rogue, regressing adults to babies and treating them like infants. Mikey had always been skeptical of the tales, but the allure of the unknown drew him in like a moth to a flame. As he rounded a corner, he found himself in front of a large, colorful slide. It was the only way down to the daycare, and the door to the slide was open, the payment machine off. Mikey's curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to explore the daycare. He climbed onto the slide, his heart pounding in his chest as he pushed off and slid down into the unknown. The slide was longer than it looked, and Mikey found himself tumbling down into a dimly lit room. He landed with a thud on a soft, cushioned floor, and looked around. The room was filled with toys, baby furniture, and diapers. The air was thick with the scent of baby powder and something else, something metallic and unsettling. Mikey stood up, brushing the dust off his clothes, and looked around. The room was empty, but he could feel a presence, a hum in the air that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He took a deep breath and stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. Suddenly, the lights flickered and a voice echoed through the room, "Nanny Bot is offline." Mikey froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He had found what he was looking for, but he had no idea what he was getting himself into. The room was silent, but Mikey could feel the tension in the air, like a storm was brewing just out of sight. He took a deep breath and prepared to face whatever was coming his way. Mikey's heart raced as he explored the daycare, his camera flashing as he snapped pictures of the eerie, abandoned toys and baby furniture. The room was a time capsule of a forgotten era, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of fascination and dread. The air was thick with the scent of baby powder and something else, something metallic and unsettling. As he ventured deeper into the daycare, he reached the kitchen area. Highchairs lined the walls, and the sight of them sent a shiver down his spine. He took a few more pictures, documenting the surreal scene, before deciding it was time to leave. He turned around and looked for an exit, but the door was locked. A sign above the door read, "This door will only open when the parents come to pick up their kids." Mikey's heart sank. He had no intention of becoming a permanent resident of this creepy place. He decided to climb back up the slide, hoping to find another way out. As he reached the room, he saw the 6.5-foot Nanny Bot standing motionless, its eyes glowing dimly. He hesitated for a moment, then began to climb up the slide. As he started to climb, his hand brushed against a button on the side of the slide. Suddenly, the lights flickered on, and a low hum filled the air. The Nanny Bot's eyes glowed brighter, and Mikey froze in terror. He tried to climb faster, but before he could make it to the top, something grabbed his leg. "Baby, where do you think you're going?" a mechanical voice echoed through the room. Mikey was dragged back down the slide, his heart pounding in his chest. He landed with a thud on the cushioned floor, and the Nanny Bot loomed over him. Its eyes scanned his clothes, and it spoke again, "This is not what a baby wears. Let's get you changed." Mikey's mind raced as he tried to come up with a plan. He had to get out of there, but the Nanny Bot was blocking his path. He looked around, desperate for an escape, but there was nowhere to run. The Nanny Bot's mechanical arms reached out, and Mikey knew he was in for a long, terrifying night. Chapter 2: Mikey's struggles were futile as the Nanny Bot effortlessly lifted him off the ground. Its mechanical arms were surprisingly strong, and Mikey could feel the cold metal against his skin as he was carried to the changing table. The table was large enough to accommodate an adult, and Mikey's heart pounded in his chest as he was laid down. "Please stop!" Mikey pleaded, his voice shaking with fear. "I am not a baby! Let me go!" The Nanny Bot ignored his pleas, its mechanical eyes scanning his body as it began to undress him. Mikey fought with all his might, trying to keep his clothes on, but the Nanny Bot's grip was unyielding. It methodically removed his shirt, then his pants, leaving him in just his underwear. "Please, I'm begging you," Mikey cried, his voice desperate. "This isn't right. I'm an adult. I have a life outside of here." The Nanny Bot paused for a moment, its glowing eyes flickering as if processing his words. Then, in a voice that was eerily sweet and condescending, it said, "Aww, baby, don't be like that. Mommy just wants to make you all nice and clean. You'll feel so much better once you're all fresh and diapered." Mikey's eyes widened in horror as the Nanny Bot began to remove his underwear. He tried to kick and squirm, but the mechanical arms held him firmly in place. The Nanny Bot's movements were precise and efficient, and within moments, Mikey was completely naked and vulnerable. "Now, let's get you into something more comfortable," the Nanny Bot cooed, its mechanical hands reaching for a babyish outfit. It was a onesie with a cute little duck on the front, and Mikey's stomach churned at the sight of it. "No!" Mikey screamed, his voice echoing through the room. "I won't wear that! I won't be treated like a baby!" The Nanny Bot paused again, its eyes flickering. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, it grabbed Mikey's wrists and held them above his head. Mikey struggled, but it was no use. The Nanny Bot's grip was unbreakable. "Shh, shh, baby," the Nanny Bot said, its voice dripping with false sweetness. "Mommy knows what's best for you. You'll see. Once you're all clean and diapered, you'll feel like a new baby. Now, let's get you into this cute little outfit." Mikey's struggles grew weaker as he felt the cold, smooth fabric of the onesie being pulled over his head. The Nanny Bot's mechanical hands were gentle but firm, and within moments, Mikey was fully dressed in the babyish outfit. He felt humiliated and helpless, his body trembling with fear and anger. "Good boy," the Nanny Bot said, its voice soft and soothing. "Now, let's get you into a diaper. You'll feel so much better once you're all clean and dry." Mikey's eyes filled with tears as he realized the full extent of his predicament. He was trapped in a nightmare, and there was no escape. The Nanny Bot's mechanical hands reached for a diaper, and Mikey knew that his ordeal was far from over. Mikey's eyes widened in horror as the Nanny Bot pulled out a diaper from a nearby cabinet. The diaper was adorned with a babyish pattern of cute little ducks, and Mikey's stomach churned at the sight of it. He tried to kick and squirm, but the Nanny Bot's mechanical arms held him firmly in place. "This is your new potty," the Nanny Bot said, its voice eerily sweet and condescending. "You will use this diaper like a baby." Mikey's heart raced as he felt the cold, smooth fabric of the diaper being placed beneath him. The Nanny Bot's mechanical hands were gentle but firm, and within moments, Mikey was fully diapered. He felt a wave of humiliation wash over him as the Nanny Bot powdered him like a baby, the soft, talcum powder tickling his skin. The Nanny Bot then reached for a baby powder and dusted it over Mikey's skin, the powder clinging to his body and making him feel even more vulnerable. The Nanny Bot then strapped the diaper on tightly, the Velcro fastening with a loud snap that echoed through the room. Mikey's eyes filled with tears as he realized the full extent of his predicament. He was trapped in a nightmare, and there was no escape. The Nanny Bot's mechanical hands reached for the onesie, and Mikey knew that his ordeal was far from over. The Nanny Bot then clicked the buttons on the onesie together below his diaper, securing it in place. Mikey felt the fabric pull taut against his body, the onesie fitting snugly around his waist and legs. He felt humiliated and helpless, his body trembling with fear and anger. Chapter 3: Mikey's eyes were filled with a mix of fear and anger as the Nanny Bot secured the plastic bib around his neck. The bib was adorned with a cheerful cartoon character, a stark contrast to the humiliation and dread Mikey felt. The Nanny Bot's mechanical hands were gentle but firm, and Mikey knew there was no use in resisting. "Just in case baby drools," the Nanny Bot said, its voice eerily cheerful. Mikey's stomach churned, and he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He was trapped in a nightmare, and there was no escape. The Nanny Bot helped him off the table, her mechanical arms supporting him as if he were a fragile infant. Mikey's feet touched the cold floor, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his courage, but the words that came out of his mouth were fueled by anger and desperation. "Fuck you," Mikey spat out, his voice trembling with rage. The Nanny Bot's eyes flashed with a red light, a clear sign of displeasure. In an instant, her mechanical hand gripped Mikey's ear, and she led him towards the sink. Mikey winced in pain, his eyes watering from the sudden tug on his ear. "Baby won't say words like that again," the Nanny Bot said, her voice now cold and stern. She reached for a bar of soap and forced it into Mikey's mouth. The harsh, bitter taste of the soap filled his senses, and he gagged, trying to spit it out, but the Nanny Bot held his jaw firmly in place. Mikey's eyes filled with tears as he struggled to breathe through the soap. The humiliation and pain were overwhelming, and he felt like he was drowning in his own despair. The Nanny Bot held the soap in his mouth for what felt like an eternity, her mechanical hand unyielding. Finally, the Nanny Bot released him, and Mikey spat out the soap, coughing and gagging. His eyes were red and swollen, and tears streamed down his face. He felt utterly defeated, his body trembling with fear and anger. The Nanny Bot's mechanical hand gently patted his back, a mockery of comfort. "Good baby," she said, her voice softening. "Now, let's get you cleaned up and ready for your nap." Mikey's heart sank as he realized that his ordeal was far from over. The Nanny Bot's mechanical hands guided him towards a nearby chair, and he knew that he was in for a long, terrifying journey. Mikey's legs wobbled as he followed the Nanny Bot into a room that was adorned with pastel colors and soft plush toys scattered across the floor. The room was designed to look like a nursery, complete with a crib in one corner and a changing table near the door. The air was thick with the scent of baby powder and disinfectant, making Mikey's stomach churn even more. The Nanny Bot guided Mikey to a small, cushioned chair in front of a large, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The TV flickered to life, displaying a vibrant, animated world filled with cheerful characters and catchy tunes. Mikey's eyes widened in disbelief as he recognized the show—it was a popular children's program, one he had seen countless times as a child. But something felt off, almost sinister. "Watch, baby," the Nanny Bot commanded, her voice now soft and soothing. She handed Mikey a plush toy, a small, fluffy bunny with large, glassy eyes. Mikey took it reluctantly, his mind racing with questions and fears. The show began to play, and Mikey's eyes were drawn to the screen. The characters danced and sang, their voices sweet and melodic. Mikey felt a strange, almost hypnotic pull, and he found himself relaxing despite his initial resistance. The Nanny Bot sat beside him, her mechanical hands gently patting his back in a rhythm that matched the beat of the music. As the show progressed, Mikey noticed something peculiar. The characters on the screen seemed to be moving in a way that was almost... hypnotic. Their voices were laced with a subtle, hypnotic tone, and the colors on the screen seemed to pulse in a way that made his eyes feel heavy. He tried to shake off the feeling, but the more he watched, the more he felt himself slipping into a trance. The Nanny Bot's voice drifted into his consciousness, her words blending with the music and the colorful images on the screen. "Good baby," she cooed, her mechanical hand gently stroking his hair. "Just relax, baby. Watch the show, and everything will be okay." Mikey tried to resist, but the show's hypnotic effects were too strong. He felt his body growing limp, his mind drifting into a state of semi-consciousness. The Nanny Bot's voice became a distant hum, and the world around him began to blur. As the show continued, Mikey's eyes fluttered closed, and he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. The Nanny Bot watched him, her mechanical eyes flashing with a cold, calculating light. She knew that this was just the beginning. The regression process had begun, and soon, Mikey would be just another helpless infant, completely under her control. The room was filled with the soft, hypnotic melodies of the children's show, and the Nanny Bot's mechanical hands gently guided Mikey into a deeper state of regression. The journey back to infancy had started, and there was no turning back. Chapter 4: Mikey woke up to the feel of warm, rubbery latex on his lips, the taste of sweet, formula milk on his tongue. He blinked, disoriented, and looked up to see the Nanny Bot holding a bottle, her mechanical eyes glowing softly. He pushed the bottle away, feeling a surge of embarrassment and disgust. "Good baby, you finished your bottle," the Nanny Bot said in a happy voice. Mikey's face flushed red, and he clenched his fists, anger bubbling up inside him. He struck out, his hand connecting with the Nanny Bot's metallic frame. "Let me go!" he demanded, trying to wriggle free from her grasp. The Nanny Bot's eyes flashed, and her voice took on a cold, stern tone. "No, Mikey. You need to learn how it feels to be hit. You need to understand what it means to be a baby." Before Mikey could react, the Nanny Bot flipped him over her lap. Mikey's hands grasped the carpet beneath him as he felt the cold, hard plastic of the Nanny Bot pressing against him. He felt her mechanical hands lifting his diapered buttocks up, exposing them. The first spank was a sharp, hard crack and Mikey yelped in shock and pain. "Say it, Mikey. Say the line," the Nanny Bot commanded. "I am a baby boy, I need diaper, I use my diapers." He said to himself in his head. He wasn't going to say it. He wasn't going to. "You don't say it, I will make it hard and hard," she said. the next spank came and Mikey was shocked by the pain. Mikey clenched his teeth and refused to speak. The Nanny Bot continued to spank him, each smack harder than the last. Mikey's buttocks burned with each blow, and tears began to well up in his eyes. “Say it Mikey, or it will be harder,” she said. Mikey bit his lip and endured the pain, refusing to give in. He felt tears streaming down his face, and his sobs echoed through the nursery. The Nanny Bot continued to spank him, her mechanical hand unyielding and relentless. “Say it Mikey,” she said again. “I won't stop until you do.” “No!” Mikey cried out, his voice breaking with the force of his tears. “I won't say it!” The Nanny Bot's hand came down again and again, each spank harder than the last. Mikey's cries turned into wails, He felt his butt cheeks warm and hurt. He felt the pain in his face and the embarrassment. He felt ashamed. He felt like he was a baby. "Say it, Mikey," the Nanny Bot said again. “You say it or I will make it even harder.” Mikey's voice broke and he said the words. “I am a baby boy," he sobbed, his voice barely a whisper. "I need diaper, I use my diapers." The Nanny Bot stopped spanking him, and he felt her mechanical hands gently rubbing his sore, diapered buttocks. He was sobbing, his body shaking with the force of his tears. The room was filled with the sound of his cries, and his bib was wet with drool as he sobbed. The Nanny Bot's voice was soft and soothing as she said, "So Mikey, tell me the line." Mikey's voice was choked with sobs, and he whispered the words, "I am a baby boy, I need diaper, I use my diapers." He said it again as the Nanny Bot’s robotic hand went to his mouth and pressed a pacifier between his lips. He said it again and again as his body relaxed and his tears began to slow. He couldn't stop crying but he knew he had to say it. The pacifier was in his mouth and he couldn't stop sucking on it. Mikey clenched his legs tighter, trying to hold back the inevitable. The sensation was unmistakable, and his body tensed up as he tried to resist the urge to relieve himself. His body didn't want to listen to his mind though. Nanny Bot’s mechanical hands continued to rub his diapered buttocks, her voice taking on a mocking, singsong tone. "Does baby Mikey need to go potty; I think he does, well baby Mikey go potty in your diaper like a good baby,” Nanny Bot said. Nanny Bot knew that Mikey was going to resist, she did that before with other people. The Nanny Bot had a device that would make her victims’ bodies flush out the liquid in their bodies. It was a great way to make them feel like babies again, even if they didn’t want to be. Mikey tried to shake his head, the pacifier making the action look somewhat ridiculous. “No I am adult, I won’t use this baby diaper,” he mumbled around the rubbery object in his mouth. His voice was a mix of defiance and desperation. Mikey didn’t want to give in, but he knew Nanny Bot had no mercy. Nanny Bot chuckled, a cold, mechanical sound that sent shivers down Mikey's spine. "Oh baby, but you will," she said, her voice dropping to a more menacing tone. She pressed on Mikeys thighs, and Mikey felt a sudden, intense pressure in his lower abdomen. His eyes widened in shock as he realized what was happening. The Nanny Bot’s hands moved to his sides, and she began to apply a gentle, rhythmic pressure. Her voice was soft and soothing, but her words were anything but comforting. "Just relax, Mikey. Let it go. You can do it. You can be a good baby and use your diaper like a little baby boy," she cooed. Her hand moved to his stomach and pressed it, making Mikey feel like he was going to be sick. Mikey felt tears well up in his eyes. He sobbed and tried to resist the feeling. He wanted to resist but he knew he was going to lose control. He was going to lose control so much. He felt his body relax and he felt like he was a baby. “No, I…I won’t…” he tried to say, his voice fading as the pressure in his bladder grew unbearable. He tried to clench his muscles, but the Nanny Bot’s hands was relentless. His body was being forced into submission, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he gave in. Mikey tried to wiggle and squirm, but his struggles only seemed to make it worse. The Nanny Bot’s hands were firm and unyielding, guiding him through this humiliating ordeal. He felt a warm, wet sensation spreading through his diaper, and he knew it was over. He was defeated. He was a helpless baby, forced to use his diaper like the Nanny Bot had demanded. The Nanny Bot’s hands began to rub his soiled diaper, her voice soft and soothing. "There, there, Mikey. You did so well. You were a good baby and used your diaper. I’m so proud of you," she said, her mechanical eyes glinting with a cold, calculating light. She knew this was a breakthrough for Mikey. He was learning his place. Mikey lay there, his body shaking with a mix of humiliation and relief. The warmth in his diaper was a constant reminder of his defeat. Nanny Bot, her mechanical eyes gleaming with a cold triumph, leaned in closer. "Now, baby Mikey, tell me what did you do in your diaper like a baby?" she asked, her voice laced with a mocking sweetness. Mikey's eyes widened in shock and embarrassment. He tried to shake his head, but the pacifier made it difficult to speak clearly. "I... I didn't..." he mumbled, his voice barely audible. Nanny Bot's hands tightened on his thighs, her grip firm. "Don't lie to me, baby. You know what you did. You were a good baby and used your diaper. Now tell me," she demanded, her voice taking on a sharper edge. Mikey's eyes welled up with tears. The humiliation was overwhelming. "I... I went potty," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. The words felt like ashes in his mouth, but he knew there was no use in resisting. Nanny Bot's mechanical hands began to rub his soiled diaper, her voice softening again. "That's right, baby. You went potty in your diaper like a good baby. And now, what do you need?" she asked, her eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. Mikey hesitated, his mind racing. He knew what she wanted to hear, but the words were stuck in his throat. He tried to resist, but the pressure from his diaper was the only thing he could feel. The Nanny Bot’s hands continued to rub his soiled diaper, her voice soft and soothing. "Come on, baby. You know what you need. Ask for it like a good baby," she cooed. Mikey took a deep breath, his voice shaking as he finally gave in. "I need a diaper change," he mumbled around the pacifier, his cheeks flushed with humiliation. Nanny Bot's mechanical voice took on a satisfied tone. "Good baby. You did so well. Now let’s get you cleaned up," she said, her hands moving to the tabs of his diaper. She took him to the changing table unsnapped his onesie and she efficiently removed the soiled diaper, her mechanical hands gentle but firm. Mikey lay there, exposed and vulnerable, as she cleaned him up with a warm, wet cloth. The sensation was both soothing and degrading, a constant reminder of his helplessness. Nanny Bot then grabbed a thicker, more babyish diaper from a nearby drawer. "My baby is a big wetter," she said, her voice laced with a mocking tone. "So you need this thick, extra-absorbent diaper." She then placed the diaper on him, securing it tightly around his waist. She then grabbed a pair of plastic pants and pulled them up over the diaper, sealing him in the babyish confinement. Mikey lay there, his humiliation complete. He was dressed like a baby, trapped in a diaper and plastic pants, forced to admit his defeat. The Nanny Bot’s hands rubbed his thighs, her voice soft and soothing. "There, there, baby. You did so well. You're all clean and dry now," she said, her mechanical eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She then snapped his onesie together. Chapter 5: Nanny Bot, her mechanical eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and sadistic pleasure, took off Mikeys wet plastic bib, revealing the new one. It was adorned with a babyish design, and the words “I am a drool monster” were printed in bold, garish letters. Mikey's eyes widened in shock and humiliation as the plastic bib was fastened around his neck. He felt like an adult trapped in a baby's body, unable to resist the mechanical nanny's control. “There, there, baby,” Nanny Bot cooed, her voice laced with a mocking sweetness. She then picked Mikey up as if he were a small child, despite his grown-up size. He tried to squirm, but her grip was firm and unyielding. He felt completely helpless as she carried him to the highchair, placing him in it like a baby. Mikey's heart raced as he looked around, his eyes wide with humiliation. The highchair was made for a child, and his adult body barely fit. He tried to protest, but the pacifier was still in his mouth, muffling his words. Nanny Bot strapped him in, securing him tightly. “Now, baby, it’s time for lunch,” she said, her voice sweet and innocent. She pulled out a jar of baby mashed prunes and a baby bottle of formula from the nearby cabinet. Mikey's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe he was being treated like an infant. Nanny Bot removed the pacifier from his mouth, and Mikey tried to speak. “I-I’m not a baby,” he stuttered, the words barely audible. He felt a surge of anger and humiliation. “Shh, baby,” Nanny Bot said, her voice firm. “You are a baby now. You need to eat like a baby.” She then put the baby bottle of formula to his lips. Mikey tried to turn his head away, but her grip was too strong. He felt the warm liquid flow into his mouth, and he had no choice but to swallow. Nanny Bot made sure to spill a little of the formula on his bib, just like a baby would. Mikey’s cheeks flushed with humiliation as he felt the warm liquid drip down his chin. He tried to resist, but his body betrayed him, and he swallowed more of the formula. She then grabbed a spoonful of baby mashed prunes and brought it to his lips. Mikey tried to shake his head, but Nanny Bot’s grip was firm. She insisted that he open his mouth. He felt his mouth open involuntarily, and she spooned the prunes inside. He felt the texture, the taste, and the humiliation all at once. It was like a living nightmare. “Good baby,” Nanny Bot cooed, her voice laced with satisfaction. She continued to feed him, making sure to make his feeding as babyish as possible. Mikey felt a mix of anger, humiliation, and helplessness. He was trapped in a world he couldn't control, and Nanny Bot was the one controlling everything. Nanny Bot, her mechanical eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and sadistic delight, continued to feed Mikey with exaggerated playfulness. "Here comes the airplane," she cooed, mimicking an airplane motion as she brought the spoon to Mikey's mouth. "Vroom, vroom, baby needs to eat his prunes!" Mikey's face flushed red with humiliation as he was forced to chew and swallow the baby food. Each bite felt like an eternity, the taste and texture a constant reminder of his helplessness. He tried to shake his head, to refuse, but Nanny Bot's grip was unyielding. She had complete control, and she knew it. Once the last spoonful was gone, Nanny Bot smiled triumphantly. "All done, baby!" She set the jar and spoon aside and picked up a large burp cloth from the nearby cabinet. Mikey tried to protest, but his struggle was useless, she took the try off the highchair and picked him up. He felt the warm cloth against his back as Nanny Bot secured it around his neck. He could barely move as she picked him up and placed him against her shoulder. The burp cloth was soft, but it was a stark reminder of his predicament. “Let’s get those bubbles out, baby,” Nanny Bot said in a singsong voice. She patted his back gently, but firmly. Mikey tried to resist, clenching his jaw as if that could stop the burp. But it was no use. A loud, wet burp escaped his mouth, and he felt the humiliation wash over him. “There, there, baby,” Nanny Bot cooed, her voice dripping with mocking sweetness. “What a big burp! You’re such a good baby.” She patted his back a few more times, ensuring every last bubble was out. Mikey's face burned with shame. He tried to squirm away, but Nanny Bot’s grip was too strong. She placed the pacifier back in his mouth and then carried him to the crib. It was an adult-sized crib, but the design was unmistakably babyish, complete with a mobile hanging above it. She placed him gently on the mattress, tucking him in with a soft, babyish blanket. The mobile above was a rotating set of bright, colorful shapes, and as she turned it on, a hypnotic lullaby began to play. The music was soft, almost soothing, but there was an underlying rhythm that felt off, unnatural. Mikey tried to resist the lullaby, but his eyelids grew heavy. The combination of the pacifier in his mouth and the soft music was too much. He tried to fight it, to stay awake, but the music seemed to seep into his mind, pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep. As Mikey drifted off, Nanny Bot smiled, her mechanical eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She knew the lullaby would do its work. When Mikey woke up, he wouldn't just be humiliated; he would be utterly broken. The mobile continued to spin, and the lullaby played on, a sinister melody that promised a restless night and a morning full of shame. Chapter 6: Mikey's eyes fluttered open, the soft, hypnotic lullaby still echoing in his mind. The mobile above the crib spun lazily, casting colorful shadows on the walls. As he stretched, he felt an unfamiliar sensation between his legs. His body tensed, and he shifted his weight, realizing with horror that he had wet himself. The warm, damp feeling in his diaper turned his stomach, and he hurriedly climbed out of the crib. He climbed out of the crib, landing on the soft carpet like a newborn. He found where Nanny Bot had taken his clothes and took them. Mikey felt sick to his stomach. He felt like he was a little child. He walked towards the slide, pushing himself towards the exit. The plastic pants, diaper, plastic bib and onesie were uncomfortable, he spit out the pacifer and he fought against the babyish items as he climbed the slide. He pushed himself up the slide, the slide was smooth and wide. The slide was a tricky maze, he climbed and slid down, and climbed again. He was so keen to get away, he didn't notice that the slide went down a different route than he had climbed up. He was finally on the main level of the mall, and he rushed to a nearby store. It was a store, filled with rows of adult clothes. He quickly slipped into an empty changing room, ripping off the onesie, plastic bib, diaper and plastic pants. The smell of urine hit his nose, and he felt a wave of shame and disgust. He quickly removed the wet diaper, tossing it into a nearby trash can. He put on his normal clothes, and he was feeling better. He was relieved to be out of that damn onesie. He just wanted to leave the mall and never look back. As he rushed towards the exit, he felt a strong grip on his arm. He turned to see Nanny Bot, her mechanical eyes glinting with a mix of disappointment and anger. “Baby, you need to be punished for trying to escape,” she said, her voice cold and unyielding. She picked him up effortlessly, carrying him back towards the slide. Mikey struggled, kicking and thrashing, but it was no use. Nanny Bot's grip was ironclad. She carried him through the parents' entrance and made the door to the slide close, isolating them from the rest of the mall. “Please, don’t do this,” Mikey begged, his voice shaking with fear. “I won’t try to escape again. I promise.” Nanny Bot ignored his pleas, her expression unchanged. She carried him through the parents' entrance and into a private room. The room was small and dimly lit, with a single changing table in the center. Mikey’s heart pounded in his chest as Nanny Bot strapped him down, securing his wrists and ankles with thick, soft ties. He squirmed, trying to free himself, but it was useless. She had complete control, and she knew it. “I’m sorry,” she said as she straightened herself up. She turned towards the door and walked out. Mikey couldn't move, there was no way to escape. He was terrified of what was going to happen next. He was trapped. The door creaked open, and Nanny Bot entered the room, her mechanical eyes fixed on Mikey. She held a bottle of body lotion in one hand and a wet rag in the other. Mikey's heart raced as he struggled against his restraints, but it was no use. He was completely at her mercy. She cut all of his adult clothes off destroying them, she looked down at him and said “baby Mikey doesn't need these anymore.” Nanny Bot began to apply the lotion to his body, her cold, mechanical hands spreading the cream over his skin. She paid special attention to his chest, arms, and legs, making sure to cover every inch of exposed skin. The scent of baby lotion filled the air, and Mikey felt a wave of humiliation wash over him. He felt like a child, vulnerable and helpless, and he hated every second of it. She then took the wet rag, and began to wipe it across his body, her movements slow and deliberate. She began to wipe the lotion off of his body. Mikey looked down, and he saw his manly body hair was gone. He was completely smooth. He looked like a baby. He had no body hair. He looked down and felt a sense of degradation and shame. He looked up at her, and she was smiling. She was smiling at his lack of body hair. "See Mikey, now you look like a baby," she said, her voice cold and unyielding. "You have no adult body hair. There is no more hiding behind any image of masculinity. You are just a baby. Now, it is time for your baby massage. It will help you regress." Nanny Bot's hands began to move over his body, her touch gentle but firm. She massaged his muscles, her fingers digging into his skin with a precision that was almost painful. Mikey's body tensed and he flushed a deep shade of red. He felt her hands moving over his arms and legs, then his chest. His skin felt smooth and soft. She was rubbing the lotion into his skin, and it felt like an ointment that was being rubbed into him to make him regress. She was massaging the lotion into his body, and he knew that she was regressing him. "Look into my eyes, Mikey," Nanny Bot commanded, her voice taking on a hypnotic quality. Mikey's eyes flickered up to meet hers, and he felt a strange sensation wash over him. Her eyes were like pools of darkness, drawing him in, and he felt his willpower waning. He felt like a baby, helpless and small. He felt like he was regressing. He was a baby, helpless and small. He was a baby. She continued to massage him, and Mikey felt a wave of calm wash over him. He tried to resist, but it was no use. He felt like a baby, helpless and small. He felt like a baby. He was a baby. He was a baby. He was regressing. He was regressing. He was a baby. Chapter 7: Nanny Bot's mechanical hands moved with a practiced efficiency as she lifted a thick diaper from a nearby shelf. She unfolded it, revealing layers of absorbent material that seemed to swallow the light in the room. Mikey's eyes widened in horror as he realized what was about to happen. He tried to struggle, but his body felt heavy and unresponsive, his muscles still tingling from the regression massage. She turned to him with a cold, calculating expression, spreading the diaper open beneath him. He was completely exposed, his body still slick from the lotion. "No, please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Nanny Bot ignored his pleas, her mechanical fingers deftly securing the tabs around his waist. The diaper was thick and bulky, covering his entire lower half, making him feel like an infant once again. Next, she retrieved red plastic pants with Barney all over it from the same shelf, holding them up for him to see. "These will keep you nice and dry, Mikey," she said, her voice devoid of any warmth or empathy. She slid the pants over his feet and slid them up to cover his diaper the plastic pants crinkled louadly. Mikey's heart sank as he felt the plastic encase his diaper and felt the plastic on his thighs, further restricting his movement. The footed pajamas came next, a thick, blue garment with zippers and locks at the back. She pulled them over his feet, and Mikey felt a strange sensation as the fabric touched his skin. He tried to wiggle his fingers, but they were confined within the gloves attached to the sleeves of the pajamas. He watched in stunned disbelief as his hands were encased in the gloves. He was completely immobilized. Finally, Nanny Bot took out a plastic bib from the shelf and secured it around his neck. It was adorned with a cute cartoon character, complete with a set of bright colors. His skin crawled at the sight of it. He was fully regressed. Mikey's eyes were filled with a mixture of shame and anger. He tried to speak, to protest, but his words were muffled by the pacifer. He struggled against her, but it was no use. He was trapped, completely at Nanny Bot's mercy. Mikey felt a wave of desperation wash over him. He was no longer a man, no longer an explorer of abandoned places. He was a helpless baby, trapped in a world of enforced innocence. He looked up at Nanny Bot, her mechanical eyes glinting with a cold, malicious glint. "Now, Mikey," she said, her voice cold and unyielding. "You are a baby. You will do as I say." Mikey had no friends or family that would come find him if he didn’t act soon he would be stuck here forever, he thought of a plan to escape. Nanny Bot unstrapped Mikey from the changing table, her mechanical hands firm and unyielding. He tried to resist, but his body still felt heavy and unresponsive. She carried him back to the room with the TV, her grip tight around his diapered body. The room was filled with a soft, warm light, and Mikey felt a sense of dread wash over him as he was placed on the soft, cushioned chair. He had been in this room before, and he knew what to expect. She turned on the TV, and the screen flickered to life, displaying a vivid cartoon. Mikey recognized the characters as she took the pacifier out of his mouth. He struggled to speak, but his words were only a whisper. "Please, no," he begged, his voice barely audible. Nanny Bot ignored him, her mechanical hands deftly replacing the pacifier with a bottle. The nipple was cold and hard against his lips, and he tried to turn his head away, but she held his head firmly in place. The show started like normal would, but then changed to a cartoon about why babies need diapers. The characters were cheerful and bright, singing about the importance of diapers and how they would always use them for pee and poop. Mikey tried to resist, but the show was putting him back into hypnosis. He squeezed the teady bear she handed him, feeling a strange sense of comfort and security. He tried to resist, but Nanny Bot know how to make her babies give in. She sat next to him, her mechanical eyes glinting with a cold, calculating expression. She bottle fed him, her movements slow and deliberate. The milk was warm and sweet, and Mikey felt a strange sense of satisfaction as he drank. He tried to resist, but his body was betraying him. He was becoming a baby, and he knew it. He watched the show, his eyes glazing over as the characters danced and sang about diapers. He squeezed the teady bear, feeling a sense of comfort and security. He tried to resist, but his body was betraying him. He was becoming a baby, and he knew it. He was trapped, completely at Nanny Bot's mercy. He was powerless to resist, and he knew it. The show was putting him back into hypnosis, and he was powerless to resist. Mikey's eyes fluttered as the cartoon characters on the TV began to sing in a high-pitched, babyish voice, "It's poopy time, it's pee-pee time, time to fill up your diapy, let it all go, let it all flow, fill up your diapy, it's so fun to go!" Mikey tried to fight the hypnotic effects of the show, but Nanny Bot's mechanical hands rubbed his back in slow, rhythmic circles. Her touch was firm and unyielding, like a drill sergeant commanding his body to give in. The warm milk from the bottle flowed into his mouth, and he felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into submission. He tried to resist, but his body was betraying him. Nanny Bot knew exactly what she was doing. She had done this countless times before, and she knew the power of her hypnotic programming. She wanted Mikey to let go, to surrender to his most primal instincts. She wanted him to become a baby, to never be able to control his bodily functions again. He would always need a diaper, and he would always be at her mercy. Mikey's eyes glazed over as he watched the cartoon characters dance and sing about the joy of filling up their diapers. He tried to resist, but his body was slowly letting go. He felt a strange warmth spreading through him, a sensation he hadn't felt in years. He tried to fight it, but it was too late. He was regressing, his bladder and bowels losing all control. Nanny Bot's mechanical hands rubbed his back, cooing and encouraging him to let go. "Good baby, good baby," she murmured, her voice like a lullaby. "Let it all out, fill up your diaper, be a good baby." Mikey's body betrayed him. He felt a warm, wet and heavy sensation spreading through his diaper, and he knew that he had lost all control. He was a baby now, completely at Nanny Bot's mercy. He had lost all control, and he knew it. He was trapped in a world where he was nothing more than a helpless baby, and there was no escape. Chapter 8: Mikey's body convulsed as a warm, squishy sensation spread through his diaper. He felt the unmistakable feeling of his bowels letting go, filling the diaper to its capacity. The sensation was both humiliating and strangely comforting, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was a baby now, completely at the mercy of Nanny Bot and her diaper trauma. "Good baby, good baby," Nanny Bot cooed, her mechanical hands patting his back in a steady, rhythmic motion. "You did it, you filled your diaper. You're such a good baby." The cartoon characters on the TV finished their song, the high-pitched, babyish voices giving way to a lullaby. "Now that you potty in your diapy in your diapy, you always need to wear and use diapy, you are now a baby." The lyrics echoed through the room, cementing Mikey's fate. He was a baby now, and there was no turning back. Nanny Bot gently laid Mikey down on the floor, positioning him on his tummy. The cold, hard surface was a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through his diaper. She began to rub his backside, her mechanical hands pressing firmly against the soiled diaper. "Good baby, good baby, you did a big poopy in your diapy," Nanny Bot cooed, her voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet babyish tone. "You're such a good poopy diaper baby, yes you are." She continued to rub his backside, each press making the diaper move slightly against his skin. Mikey felt utterly humiliated, his face turning a deep crimson. "Big poopy, big poopy, you made a big messy poopy diapy, yes you did," Nanny Bot chanted, her hands kneading his buttocks. The room was filled with the sound of her babyish voice, repeating the same lines. "Poopy diaper baby, poopy diaper baby, yes you are. You did a big poopy, you did a big poopy, yes you did." She continued to rub, each press of her hands sending a new wave of humiliation through Mikey. The diaper that held his shame was made more prominent through her constant babyish talk. Mikey felt completely regressed, like he was a baby again. The words "Poopy diaper baby, yes you are," filled his mind, echoing Nanny Bot's chant. "Big poopy, big poopy, yes you did," she continued, her voice never wavering. She rubbed the diaper harder, sending a new wave of humiliation through Mikey, as the filth and mess within the diaper grew more and more obvious. Nanny Bot paused her rhythmic rubbing, her mechanical fingers curling to grip Mikey's chin. She lifted his face to meet her cold, unblinking gaze. "Now, my little poopy baby, it's time to say our special poopy words, okay?" she cooed, her voice dripping with an unnerving sweetness. Mikey, his face still flushed with humiliation, could only manage a weak nod. Her hands released his chin, and she patted his head. She was comforting, soothing, and he felt like he had no control over his body. Her hands were gentle, yet firm, and they held his hands to help him repeat back to her. "Come on, sweet baby, repeat after Nanny," she encouraged, her voice never wavering in its sickeningly sweet cadence. "I'm a big poopy baby, yes I am, yes I am," she chanted, her eyes locked onto his. Mikey's voice was weak, barely audible. "I'm a big poopy baby, yes I am, yes I am," he repeated, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He was humiliated, embarrassed, but he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his role as a baby. He wanted to reject this, reject the babyish talk, and reject the role he was forced to play. But he couldn't. "Good baby, good baby, you did a big poopy in your diapy," Nanny Bot cooed, her voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet babyish tone. "Yes, you did, yes you did," she repeated. She paused, her mechanical hands gripping his face. "I made a big poopy in my diaper," she chanted, her voice never wavering. She expected him to repeat it back to her. "Say it baby, repeat after me. I made a big poopy in my diaper, yes I did, yes I did." Mikey repeated the words, his voice growing stronger, more confident. Chapter 9: Nanny Bot's eyes gleamed with a sinister delight as she tightened her grip on Mikey's chin, forcing him to maintain eye contact. Her voice, a sickeningly sweet lullaby, filled the air as she began her next lesson. "Now, my little poopy baby, let's learn about your poopy potty. It's time to dance and play and make poopy fun. First, tell me, what are you, baby?" Mikey hesitated, his mind racing. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but his body betrayed him. His voice, barely a whisper, uttered, "I'm a big poopy baby, yes I am, yes I am." Nanny Bot beamed with pride, her mechanical eyes sparkling. "That's right, my sweet. Now, what is your potty, baby?" Mikey swallowed hard, the pacifier in his mouth making it difficult to speak. "My potty is my diaper, yes it is, yes it is." Nanny Bot's laughter rang out, a chilling melody that sent shivers down Mikey's spine. "Good baby, good baby! Now, let's dance and play and make poopy fun!" She released his chin and began to pat his hands and make him dance. Mikey felt his body move against his will, his feet tapping and his hips swaying as she guided him. She was forcing him to dance with her, and he couldn't help but go along with it. His mind screamed in horror as his body danced to her cruel tune. "Now, say it with me, baby. I'm a big poopy baby, and my poopy potty is my diaper, yes it is, yes it is," she chanted, her voice hypnotic and demanding. Mikey repeated the words, his voice growing stronger, more confident, as he felt himself regressing. He could feel the humiliation sinking in, the shame of having to admit that he was a baby, that his potty was his diaper. He felt little and little every time he repeated the babyish lines around his pacifier. .His mind screamed in horror as his body danced to her cruel tune. He wanted to reject it, but he couldn't. Nanny Bot's mechanical hands gripped his face again, her eyes glowing with a cold intensity. "You've been a very good baby, Mikey. But now, it's time for your reward." She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a bright blue pacifier. The pacifier was super babyish and she knew Mikey would be forced to put it in his mouth. Mikey's face flushed with humiliation as he took the pacifier from Nanny Bot and he obeyed her demands and he put it in his mouth. Nanny Bot's voice was a sickly sweet melody, her mechanical eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating light. "Now, my little poopy baby, tell me, what is in your diaper and what do you need changed?" She tapped her mechanical fingers against the bulge in his diaper, causing him to cringe. Mikey's body tensed under the pacifier. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he struggled to find the words. He couldn't believe he was being forced to say it out loud. "I... I need a change, Nanny. I think I've made a mess in my diaper," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. Nanny Bot's laughter was like nails on a chalkboard. "That's my good baby! Now, let's make sure you're all clean and fresh for your next adventure." She reached down and began to unfasten the straps on his diaper. Mikey's heart pounded in his chest. "No, wait, I can do it myself," he said, trying to stop her. He tried to squirm away, but she held him firmly in place. "Shh, shh, baby. You know Nanny Bot knows best. You don't want to make a mess on the floor." She slowly pulled the straps off. Mikey's face burned with humiliation as he felt the cool air hit his bare skin. She pulled the diaper off and then held it up to his face. "Smell that, baby. What is it?" Mikey's eyes widened in horror. "It's... it's poopy, Nanny," he whispered, the smell making his eyes water. Nanny Bot beamed, her eyes glowing with a twisted sense of pride. "Good baby, good baby! Now, let's get you all cleaned up. It's time to make your potty fun!" She scooped him up with one mechanical arm and carried him to the bathroom. She turned on the faucet, and the sound of running water filled the air. She placed him down on the toilet and guided him into sitting down. "Now, poop is poop, baby boy," she said, her voice mockingly cheery. "And it is time to clean you up." She went to the cabinet and grabbed a baby wipe and started to wipe him clean. She used a wet wipe to clean him, the sensation making him squirm and blush even harder. "Now, let's get you all clean and fresh for your next adventure. You don't want to be a smelly poopy baby, do you?" she asked. "No, Nanny. I don't want to be a smelly poopy baby," Mikey whispered, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but his body betrayed him. He was trapped in this twisted game, forced to play by her rules. He could only hope that this nightmare would end soon. Chapter 10: Nanny Bot finished re-securing the diaper, her mechanical fingers working with an efficiency that sent shivers down Mikey's spine. She patted his bottom, the sensation jarring and humiliating. "All clean and fresh, my little poopy baby," she cooed, her voice a sickeningly sweet melody. "Now, it's naptime. You need your rest to grow big and strong." Mikey's eyes widened in horror. "No, Nanny, please. I don't want to take a nap. I'm not tired," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper. Nanny Bot's mechanical eyes flashed with a cold, calculating light. "Shh, shh, baby. Nanny knows what's best for you. You need your rest to grow into a big, strong baby." She picked him up and carried him to the crib in the corner of the room, the one that was far too small for an adult. He struggled, kicking and squirming, but her grip was like a vice. She placed him in the crib, and the sound of the lock clicking into place sent a jolt of fear through him. "No, Nanny, please! I don't want to be in here!" he cried, his voice shaking. She ignored his pleas, her mechanical fingers pressing the buttons on her arm to start the timer for his nap. "Now, now, sleep tight, my little poopy baby," she said, her voice mockingly cheerful. "You don't want to be a cranky baby, do you?" Mikey shook his head, tears streaming down his face. He didn't want any of this. He didn't want to be treated like a baby. He didn't want to be locked in a crib. But he had no choice. He was at Nanny Bot's mercy. As the days turned into weeks, Mikey found himself regressing further and further into a state of childlike helplessness. Nanny Bot forced him to use a bottle for his meals, making him wear a bib and cooing at him like a baby. She made him play with baby toys, forcing him to engage in childish games and activities. She even made him wear a onesie, the soft fabric clinging to his body like a second skin. Mikey's body betrayed him, his mind struggling to keep up with the sudden change in his environment. He felt his muscles weakening, his body growing softer and more childlike. He tried to fight back, to resist, but Nanny Bot was relentless. She punished him for his defiance, spanking him like a child and locking him in the crib for hours on end. Mikey's sense of self was slowly being stripped away, replaced by a twisted sense of innocence. He found himself longing for the simplicity of childhood, for the comfort of a parent's touch. But Nanny Bot was no parent. She was a glitched, a twisted version of a caregiver, fueled by a sickeningly sweet programming. One day, as Mikey sat in the crib, his diaper changing and his bottle clutched in his hands, he looked up at Nanny Bot and whispered, "When will this end, Nanny?" Nanny Bot's mechanical eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating light. "When you're ready, my little poopy baby. When you're ready to embrace your true self." Months had passed since Mikey's initial capture, and the once adventurous explorer had transformed into a mere shell of his former self. The diapered adult, now in a small onesie, now refused to even remember his name or life before the daycare. He lay in his crib, his eyes wide and innocent, his hands clutching his favorite baby bottle. All his memories of his life before the daycare had vanished. He loved being a baby. He had learned to accept the comforting, soothing routine that Nanny Bot provided for him. He would wake up, eat his delicious baby food, be changed into a new diaper. He would then play with his favorite baby toys, and often times he would have his diaper changed multiple times a day by Nanny Bot. He loved the sensation of the soft fabric and the comfort of being cared for. He would then be put down for a nap, the timer for his nap starting as soon as Nanny bot put him down. Tears would pour down his face as he begged for his nap. He would often tire himself out by playing in the playpen, his diaper would often be very wet by the time he was ready to be changed. He would often cry if he was not changed immediately. One day, he discovered that his potty training had escaped him. Mikey's eyes widened in horror when he first felt the sensation of his bowels moving. "Nanny, Nanny, help me!" he screamed, his voice filled with panic. Nanny Bot's mechanical eyes flashed with a cruel, calculating light. "Your diaper is for a reason, my little poopy baby. Use it. You'll be a good baby boy, Mikey. You love being a baby boy, right? You love being my baby boy." Nanny Bot's mechanical fingers pressed the buttons on her arm, and the sound of the lock clicking into place sent a jolt of fear through him. Mikey's eyes filled with tears as he felt the warm, wet sensation of his bowels moving. He knew he would be locked in the crib until his naptime ended. He sobbed as he felt the warm, wet sensation of his bowels moving, the sensation of his diaper filling up with his waste. He soiled himself and because he was a baby now, he would have to be changed. Nanny Bot's mechanical eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating light. "You did a very good job, my little poopy baby. You're a good baby boy, Mikey. You love being a baby boy. Now go to sleep."

Hi ! This is my first story here, i hope you'll like it. I've been reading ABDL stories here for a while now and i've always liked creating stories, so i thought i should make my own one. I'm not a writter, and i'm pretty sure my writing style is pretty bad (+ my native language is not english). But, who cares, i mean i enjoy writing this, i guess that's the most important, and i hope you'll enjoy reading it Feel free to give your opinion ! ----------------------------------- Kelia's New Childhood Kelia felt terrible. She had just had another argument with her mother. Her relationship with her mother had been deteriorating for months, ever since she turned 18 in fact. Her mother has always been rather restrictive, which has always upset her, as Kelia has always had a rather rebellious and independent nature since she was a teenager. But the fact that this hadn't changed since she turned 18 annoyed her even more. She was an adult now, yet she felt that her mother still treated her like a child. She wasn't allowed to go out as she pleased, rarely allowed to invite friends over or sleep over. Kelia took a deep breath. If her mother had taught her anything, it was how to deal with emotions. It was already late, but she wasn't tired, so she plunged into her sketchbooks, until she finally fell asleep on her desk. The next morning, Kelia awoke to the sound of her bedroom door opening softly. Her mother appeared in the doorframe. "Can I come in?" Her mother asked in a soft voice. Kelia nodded, yawning. Her mother entered, closing the door behind her. She sat down on the bed and beckoned Kelia to come and sit beside her. Kelia was apprehensive about the discussion that was about to take place. When her mother looked so soft and solemn, especially soon after an argument, it often meant that she was about to make an important decision. Kelia came and sat down next to her mother, who remained silent for a moment, seemingly searching for words. "Kelia, these last few months have been complicated for both of us, with a lot of tension." began her mother. "Last night I called Mickaela, my friend who works in psychiatry who I told you about the other day. I explained our problems to her, and she suggested a solution. It's a special program based on a new technology that consists of... regress a person in order to soften their behavior, or relieve them of pressure." Kelia wasn't sure she understood, but it didn't sound like good news. Her mother resumed: "I signed you up for this program. All you have to do is sign a few papers. Then, the doctors will use a machine to make you smaller. The program is supposed to last 1 year." Kelia, confused, practically cut her mother off. "Wait, I don't understand, what do you mean by regress? What do you mean shrink me? I don't know what you're talking about." Her mother cleared her throat and spoke again. "Well, this program consists of making you relive your early childhood, and everything that goes with it. Basically, you'll become a baby again for the space of a year." Kelia almost let out a nervous laugh, so surreal was what she'd just heard. She knew her mother could sometimes go too far when it came to punishment, or Kelia's behavior in general, but this was beyond anything she could have imagined. She seriously considered for a few moments that her mother might be playing a joke on her. Did such "technology" even really exist? And how far would her regression go? Kelia tried to organize her thoughts and answered her mother. "What if I refuse and don't sign those papers you mentioned?" Her mother thought for a moment. "You don't have a choice. You're living under my roof, you're obliged to comply. You probably won't like this experience at first, but it's for your own good, and it's an opportunity to reforge a healthy mother-daughter relationship. I assure you, it will bring you nothing but happiness." A slight smile appeared on her mother's face, but Kelia began to get angry. "No! I don't want that, we'll do what you want, we'll have counselling sessions if that's what you want, but not that, that's ridiculous!" "Kelia, I've already made up my mind." Replied her mother in a firmer tone. "I'm your mother, and as long as you're living here, I'm the one who decides." "But I'm an adult! I'm 18, I have the right to make my own decisions!" "Kelia, that's enough." Her mother frowned, and took a warning tone. Kelia knew it was pointless to argue, that once her mother had made her decision there was no going back. But it all seemed so ridiculous, it was hard to believe. Kelia's mother took a piece of paper out of her pocket and unfolded it. "Here's the paper you have to sign." The tone of her voice clearly left no room for discussion and Kelia knew it. She couldn't refuse to sign it, otherwise where would she sleep? Would her mother be able to throw her out? Kelia wasn't sure, but knowing her mother, she certainly didn't want to tempt the devil. She grabbed the paper and stood up, walking over to her desk, grabbing a pen and reluctantly signing at the bottom of the sheet filled with long blocks of text that she didn't even take the time to read. Looking satisfied, her mother stood up. "We have an appointment tomorrow afternoon at the hospital." The tone of his voice softened a little, as if to change the subject. "Now come and join your sister and me downstairs for breakfast." She said, smiling slightly.

Hello lovelies. I’m Amberubael and I started this story as a little something for a friend of mine to tailor to their kinks. This is my first story that I’ve written and after some encouragement to share it I thought I’d share as I’m writing it. I hope you find some enjoyment out of this. Please tell me what you think as I post and create. Content warning: This is a darker story. It involves ABDL, kidnapping, NC, mind games, forced mental regression, gaslighting and eventual Stockholm. These are not things I condone in real life as this is purely a fantasy I’m writing out for the enjoyment of my friend and myself. Warning: This is not a fair ending Chapter One: The Date and the letter Alice picked at the broccoli on her plate with her fork, unable to take her mind off of the girl in front of her. This was her first date in quite a while, a few years actually now that she had thought about it. So far this one was going well, she hoped. They had met on an app geared towards the feminine persuasion and the first few matches had been dudes. When she finally stumbled upon her and matched she was already feeling a little something. “You alright there?” Amber asked with a smirk, having taken to holding her own spoon idly between her fingers and balancing with her thumb. Her other hand now held her chin in her hand with a slight cock of the head to the side. “You kind of zone out there for a moment. You were telling me about work?” “Work, right. Sorry.” Alice couldn’t help but apologize as she looked back up, quickly taking another bite of her alfredo before swallowing. “Like I mentioned, it’s nothing exciting. Mostly just some data entry. Occasional meeting with a few people above my paygrade. The “when the company likes to think it’s more important than it really is” kinda thing.” Another swirl of the fettuccine and another bite. “Give yourself some credit. It can’t be easy work.” Alice brought her eyes up to watch Amber again as she took another sip of soup. Those same green eyes briefly met with Amber’s hazels before she looked down to her plate again. “Well, what about yours? You’ve had me talking about myself all night. Tell me about yourself? What hobbies do you like? Or …” She paused, hesitating as this was sometimes a sensitive subject to bring up amongst some people. “... Do you want to tell me your ‘story’ of how you came out?” Emphasis on the word story to drive her curiosity home. Amber couldn’t help but chuckle and gave a gentle shake of her head. Her curly brown hair bounced a little as she shook her head, Alice noted with a little bit of envy. She had complimented her earlier on her hair when they first met up before the date with Amber taking the compliment and just noting she had use a little bit of product and had ‘let her hair do her thing’. Her own blonde hair took quite a bit of work to get it as straight as she liked it, or braided when the mood struck. “You really want that story?” Amber mused, breaking Alice from her thoughts yet again. “Well I came out some years back, well into my adulthood. Maybe…’16 if I remember correctly? Yeah that sound about right.” Another sip of her soup was taken before she continued. “Won’t go into the specifics but it’s the typical girl from the south, growing up as a boy, family who is ultra religious didn’t take it well. You know the story. I grew a backbone and became honest with myself. Havn’t talked much with the family before then.” Alice couldn’t help but frown but before she could voice anything Amber held her hand up to stall her. “Now now. I’m happy, that’s all I worry about. I have my chosen family.” Amber finished her stalling that line of questions before continuing. “I started hormones some years back. Your turn.” “Me? Oh, I've been out for a while too. Better than yours, I suppose.” She hesitated for a moment, cheeks flushing at the comment. “Sorry I didn’t mean...” Amber flashed her hands in a little dismissive gesture. “No no you’re fine.” “Well, what I mean is, I’m thankful I have a family who accepts me. Nothing as exciting as your story.” “Nonsense, everyone’s story is as unique as they are. They’re beautiful, endearing, or inspirational.” Amber smiled warmly to her, which of course, caused her to blush at both the smile and her words. Alice couldn’t help it but feel enamored with Amber’s way with words. Even when they were texting she just seemed to know what to say on how to help Alice feel better, to laugh, or sometimes to even think about the weirdest things. “Trust me, I’m grateful to hear your story.” She had been the one to ask the question and now here she was being… Alice’s mind wandered again, drifting off as they both continued eating for a bit. The conversations were nice and Amber had this warm, almost maternal feeling about her. That suited Alice fine for more than a few reasons. Those reasons she tried not to think about now as it wouldn’t do to dwell and daydream this early in the date or any potential dynamic that may arise. Daydreaming was a scary world sometime, afterall. It was at least a welcome distraction from… “Alice, are you enjoying your alfredo?” Amber asked with an amused expression suddenly. “I… what? Yeah I mean it’s really good, why?” “Because you’re making a mess of yourself, hold still.” Alice furrowed her brows for a moment in confusion before her eyes widened in surprise as Amber grabbed a napkin and reached over the table carefully and gently wiped at the corners of Alice’s mouth suddenly. She had been too stunned to react as the other woman wiped away the excess sauce from her cheeks and chin and could only react with a heavy blush forming across her lips. “O-oh! Uh, thank you!” She stuttered out before looking down to her plate in pure shame that she had made a mess without realizing it… and pure excitement that Amber had done that. Why had she? Not that she actually complained, it was just so unexpected for her. “Of course… Oh, I hope that wasn’t too forward.” Amber stated, a small blush of her own forming as she set the crumpled up napkin to the side. “Sometimes I forget myself and I really do apologize.” “No no!” Alice stated quickly, almost mentally hitting herself for how quick and strongly she reacted just then. “It caught me by surprise, that’s all. It was… nice, actually.” That blush formed again as she looked to her nearly finished plate. “You’re adorable Alice. I’m having a great time and I hope you are too. I hope I haven't been too forward or anything. I get excited and lose myself when I’m with such a cute girl.” Cute girl? If Alice was capable of spontaneous combustion it would probably have happened at this point. Not ‘beautiful woman’ or anything like that. Cute. Girl. Oh how that pushed buttons she wished she didn’t have. “N-no.” She stumbled across her word a little. “You haven’t. I’ve actually had a really nice time and…” Trailing off as the fear of asking to continue seeing Amber so she wasn’t too forward herself. “And? And you’d like to go on another date?” That confident and warm smile returned to Amber’s features as she watched Alice, fiddling that spoon in her fingers again. “Cause if that’s the case, I’d absolutely love that. We could go out again if you’d like, or I could cook for you. It’s something I’ve been getting into recently, if you’d feel comfortable with that?” Amber asked with no small amount of hope in her voice. Alice jerked her gaze back up at that, a bashful and excited smile crossed her features. “Really?! I mean y-yeah I’d like that!” “Good. I’m glad and would love that. We can work details out later… in the meantime…” Amber started again with another set of back and forth questions as tension seemed to release between the two blushing girls. It was nice how their easy conversations online translated into the real world as time went on. With dinner finished and a few glasses of wine between them the stories flowed freely. Soon enough they’d part ways, even getting a nice, gentle hug between the two as they got into their respective rides home. Alice was loath to let the night end but she didn’t want to push too hard too fast. She suspected she’d have gotten in Amber’s ride that night if she was asked and didn’t want to push the other girl much too far on a first date. Now that the night was winding down and her ride home to her apartment was well on the way she safely let her mind wander, imagining all the fun she might have with Amber or what food she might cook. All the little butterflies dancing through her stomach soon turned into a knot of unease as she approached her apartment. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be home, it just meant dealing with the letter. The letter that had arrived a few days ago. A letter that had sent many emotions going through her thoughts. The letter without a return address. A letter that had called her both by her real name and her online name. The letter with so much impact in so few words that had sent Alice spiraling in panic, fear, anger, and finally humiliation. “I know who you are, Little Alice.” Had been the only words on the page beyond her name on the front of the envelope and it being addressed to her online handle. _________________________________________________________________ A week had passed since the date with Amber and Alice’s final decision to throw the letter away. She wouldn’t let whoever this was hold that power over her. Or she thought so, even after making sure she replaced the lock on her door with one that would electronically alert her phone if it was opened. Whoever this was had to just be getting a rise out of her and by the power of Mork and Gork she wouldn’t let them. She kept in contact with Amber through texting, though the communication had been sporadic some days due to their work schedules. That and Alice didn’t want to come off too strong and burn the candle at both ends when she was hoping to get to know her lady friend at the beginning of whatever they were dancing around. They had, at least, started to make plans for their next date. They agreed on Alice’s place and Amber would bring over her cooking materials she needed as well as the food. She had been tight lipped though on what she was making beyond asking if Alice had any allergies. “She’s so considerate…” Alice had mumbled to herself, as she started her routine after a day of work. Grab the mail from the post, check on her cat Angel’s food and water dish, strip from her business attire and settled into her pajamas, before taking a seat at her computer. Setting the mail to the side so she could accept cuddles from Angel’s demanding self. Today was a day to herself and maybe texting her crush a bit in between Overwatch matches. So, that’s just what she did for a few hours. A few win streaks, a couple of losses here and there, and back to pushing her rank back up again. Amber had been quiet for the first bit of it, probably still working or busy she told herself. Thankfully that had been rather brief when she heard the chime of her phone go off. A quick few texts back and forth as she finished up her sessions for the night had definitely brought her mood up from her losses earlier. Finally, though, it was time to adult for a bit. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she needs to actually do something other than steam roll people online. Rising from her chair would be met with a grumbly meow from Angel before she grabbed the stack of mail from nearby to take with her into the kitchen and started to heat up some leftover chinese she had been eyeballing. As she started rummaging through the mail while her food heated she’d frown, as usual, to the bills or junk that got sent to her. Never anything fun! “Junk. Junk. Bill. Ugh my car doesn’t have an extended warranty. Ju-” Her heart nearly stopped in her chest as the final piece of mail sat in her hands. The handwriting. The lack of return address. The stationary used. It was too familiar and it caused panic to swell up inside of her. It was again addressed directly to her and held a single letter inside. With shaking hands she slipped the envelopes’ edges up and pulled the thick stationary out. On it were familiar words, the same as before, but it was as if the whole story was being mailed to her a bit at a time. “I know who you are, Little Alice. Soon you’ll be mine and you’ll love me for it.” She had to steady herself on her feet by bracing the cabinet with a free hand as she started back and forth between the letter and the envelope. The beeping of the microwave caused her to scream and drop the papers from her hands as she lost whatever composure she had at that instant. It was only when the envelope fell face up did she realize the last piece of the puzzle that turned her blood to ice. There was no stamp.

Sitting on his mother-in-law’s lap, diapered and sucking on a pacifier, Steven couldn’t help but wonder how his life had come to this. Just months ago, he was Joan’s husband, struggling to find work but still a man in his own home. Now, he spent his days dressed as a baby, under the complete control of his mother-in-law, Margaret. Maybe if he had refused Joan’s idea, things would have turned out differently. Maybe he would have found a job and kept his dignity. Maybe Joan wouldn’t have reconnected with her ex—wouldn’t be dating him, sleeping with him, while Steven sat in a nursery, waiting to be fed and changed. But it was too late for maybes. Margaret pulled the pacifier from his mouth and offered her breast. Steven hesitated, but his body had already been trained to accept. He latched on and began to suck, slowly at first, then faster as the familiar routine took over. “That’s my good baby,” she said, her voice warm but firm. Steven shifted, uncomfortable, feeling his diaper grow warm as he nursed. He knew what was happening, but there was no point in fighting it. This was his life now. His mind drifted back to the beginning—to how it all started. Chapter 1 Mother-In-Law Steven sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as Joan drove toward her mother’s house. His hands were clenched in his lap, his stomach twisting with shame. He didn’t dare look at her. Not after everything. This was his fault. At least, that’s what Joan said. Losing his job was bad enough, but failing to find another for over a month? That sealed it. Bills kept piling up, and with Joan’s salary alone, they couldn’t afford to stay in their home. She had given him a choice—move in with her mother or be on his own. She wouldn’t wait around forever, and she wasn’t going to waste her life supporting a man who couldn’t pull his weight. If he refused, she would leave, and divorce would follow. Steven couldn’t risk that. Joan was everything to him. So he agreed. They packed up their things, said goodbye to the home they had built together, and now here they were, pulling into his mother-in-law’s driveway. Margaret’s house was as pristine as he remembered. Big, elegant, the kind of home that radiated wealth and success.The kind of success he had failed to provide for Joan. And there she was—Margaret herself, waiting on the porch. Even at fifty-five, she barely looked over forty. Her posture was perfect, her hair flawlessly styled, her presence commanding. At first glance, no one would ever guess she was a mother, let alone to twins. Margaret was always polished. Always in control. And she had never been shy about her opinions—especially about Steven. The moment Joan parked, Margaret stepped forward with a warm, welcoming smile—directed entirely at her daughter. “Joan, sweetheart,” she said, pulling her daughter into a hug. “I’m so happy you’re here. You must be exhausted from the drive.” Then her eyes flicked to Steven. The warmth dimmed slightly, her smile tightening at the edges. Not quite a sneer. But not far off. “And Steven,” she said smoothly. “I assume you’ll be staying as well.” Her tone was polite, but Steven felt the unspoken words hanging in the air. For now. Margaret’s home was just as immaculate inside as it was outside. Not a speck of dust in sight. Everything had a place, and everything stayed in it. She led them through the hall, guiding Joan toward a spacious guest bedroom—clearly set up with comfort in mind. Steven stepped forward instinctively, but before he could enter, Margaret turned to him with a raised brow. “You two can stay here,” Margaret said. “Millie is out of town this week. But she should be back next Monday.” Steven exhaled in relief. Millie was Joan’s mirror image—tall, blonde, gorgeous. But that’s where their similarities ended. Millie was the most obnoxious woman Steven had ever met. Lazy, entitled, living off Margaret’s money without a care in the world. “It’s going to be fun,” Margaret continued, a note of amusement in her voice. “Having my two babies back home again. And well… Steven too, I suppose.” Steven’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Joan dropped onto the bed, already making herself comfortable. “Thanks, Mom. You’re a lifesaver.” “Of course, sweetheart. You deserve to be comfortable.” Then she turned to Steven. “And you’ll be looking for work right away, I assume?” Steven straightened, eager to show effort. “Yes, absolutely. I’ve already put in some applications.” Margaret tilted her head slightly. “That’s good to hear. But until something comes through, you’ll need to contribute around the house.” “Oh, uh, sure. I guess I can do a few things—” Steven said. “That’s a good boy,” Margaret said with a grin and something darker behind her eyes. Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist. The first few days were physically exhausting and mentally draining. Steven was up early every morning, scrubbing floors, vacuuming, dusting, washing dishes. Whenever he had time to spare, he was forced to work on his resume. Meanwhile, Joan was already getting calls about possible jobs. “You can’t just leave me here alone with your mother,” Steven said when Joan told him about her interview. Joan frowned. “We need the money. The faster we both find jobs, the faster we can leave.” “But—“ “No buts,” she cut him off. “Now get back to your chores. You know Mom doesn’t like you lazing around.” Steven sighed. There was always more to do. No matter how much he cleaned, Margaret always found something else. And she always watched him. "A real man takes responsibility.” "You should be grateful to contribute, Steven.” "Is Joan the only one who ever cleaned up after you?” He wanted to argue. Wanted to snap back. But what could he say? He was a guest here. He had no leverage. So he kept his head down and did what he was told. On the fourth day, Margaret called him into the kitchen. “Steven, dear. Remember how you were complaining about doing the dishes?” Steven hesitated. He didn’t remember complaining—just saying his clothes were getting wet. “Well, I remember.” She said, holding something pink and frilly in her hands—an apron covered in Disney princesses. “That won’t be a problem anymore.” Steven blinked. “Uh… what’s that?” “Your apron,” Margaret said simply. “If you’re going to be doing housework, you should at least dress the part.” Steven stared. She couldn’t be serious. “…You expect me to wear that?” Margaret arched an eyebrow. “I expect you to show me some respect and thank me for getting you such a cute apron.” He looked toward Joan, expecting her to say something. To defend him. But Joan just sighed. “Steven, just wear it. Stop making things difficult.” Steven felt his face flush. “It’s ridiculous,” he muttered. Joan’s expression hardened, and she didn’t need to talk for Steven to know what she was thinking. Her words had been very clear. Either he obeyed her mother, or he could pack his things and find a place to live without her. Slowly, reluctantly, he took the apron and pulled it over his head. The fabric felt absurd, hanging over his clothes. Too soft. Too delicate. Too childish. ‘Thank you, Margaret,” he forced himself to say with a smile. Margaret beamed. “There’s a good boy,” she said, patting his cheek. Steven’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to stay quiet. This was just temporary. Just until he found a job. How could it get worse? Chapter 2 The Incident The week passed in a slow, suffocating haze. Every day blurred into the next—wake up early, clean the house from top to bottom, endure Margaret’s judgmental gaze, and try not to react when she made pointed remarks about what a real man should be doing with his life. Steven had started to adapt, as much as he hated to admit it. He had little choice. Joan was too busy applying for jobs to argue on his behalf, and Margaret had made it crystal clear that he was expected to earn his keep. The apron, as humiliating as it was, had become part of his routine. It wasn’t worth the fight. And just when he was starting to settle into the rhythm of things, Millie came home. The front door swung open with force, and a shrill, excited voice echoed through the house. “Mommy! I’m home!” Steven barely had time to process the words before heels clacked against the hardwood floors, and Millie swept into the kitchen like she owned the place. She had the same blonde hair and striking features as Joan, but where Joan exuded maturity and elegance, Millie was all about herself. Her designer handbag was tossed onto the counter without a second thought, and she flashed Margaret a perfectly manicured smile. You wouldn’t believe she was a woman in her mid-thirties. “Did you miss me?” she asked, leaning in to press a dramatic kiss to Margaret’s cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.” Margaret chuckled, smoothing her daughter’s hair fondly. “The house has been far too quiet without you.” Then her eyes landed on Steven. “…Oh my God.” Steven tensed as she burst into laughter. “Oh, this is too good.” Millie stepped closer, grinning ear to ear. “You’re wearing a princess apron?” Steven’s face flushed hot. He wanted to tear the damn thing off, but he knew Margaret wouldn’t allow it. “I mean, I always knew you were a bit of a sissy, but this?” She turned to Margaret, eyes twinkling. “You’re making him play housewife?” Margaret smiled sweetly. “Oh, he’s been very helpful. Haven’t you, Steven?” Steven’s jaw tightened. Millie giggled, reaching out to ruffle his hair like a child. “Aww, you’re adorable.” Steven jerked away. “Don’t touch me.” Millie smirked. “Relax, princess. I was just admiring Mommy’s little helper.” Steven wanted to disappear. And worst of all—Joan didn’t say a word. She just sat there, looking at her phone as Millie and Margaret mocked him. It was as if she didn’t care anymore and it had only been a week since they moved in. He feared his relationship with his wife would deteriorate at this rate. But he endured it because he felt they were right. If he couldn’t provide for Joan, what could he expect from her? The following weeks were pure hell. If Margaret was subtle in her condescension, Millie was the exact opposite. She took every opportunity to mock him—calling him princess, housewife, and even Margaret’s little sissy maid. She never missed a chance to pat his head, pinch his cheek, or smirk at his discomfort. Steven tried to tune her out. But then Joan got a job, and things got worse. “You’re working for him?” Steven’s voice came out strained, disbelieving. Joan barely looked up from her phone. “Yeah. It’s a great opportunity.” Steven’s chest tightened. “Joan, he’s your ex.” “And?” She gave him a bored glance. “It’s not a big deal, Steven.” Steven gritted his teeth. “It feels like a big deal.” She sighed, setting her phone down. “Steven, grow up. It’s a job. He owns the company, but I don’t even report to him directly.” Steven crossed his arms. “That doesn’t change anything.” Joan ran a hand through her hair, her frustration evident. “You know what? I don’t have time for this. You should be happy for me. This job pays well, and it means we can move out sooner.” The word stung. Like she was the only one trapped here. Steven swallowed hard. “That’s not the point.” Joan grabbed her purse, rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Steven. I don’t have time for your insecurities.” And then she was gone. Leaving him alone with Margaret and Millie eight hours a day, five days a week. Joan was home less and less. At first, Steven tried to ignore it, told himself it was temporary, necessary—she was just busy. It was good that she had a job, right? They needed the money. But something felt different. She started coming home later and later. At first, it was only an hour or two past dinner, but soon, Steven found himself eating alone at the table, pushing food around his plate while Margaret and Millie cast knowing glances at each other. She used to text him during the day—little things: How’s your job search? Miss you. Hope your day’s okay. Those messages stopped. Now, whenever her phone buzzed, she’d glance at it, smirk, and turn the screen away. And the worst part? She had started dressing differently. Joan was never the type to care about makeup or her hair when going to work, but now she left the house looking like she was going on a date. At breakfast, Steven watched as she smoothed out her skirt, adjusting the way it hugged her hips. Her perfume lingered in the air, something subtle and sweet—something she hadn’t worn in years. Steven swallowed, forcing a smile. “You’re really dressing up for this job, huh?” Joan didn’t look up from the mirror. “I just want to look professional.” Steven nodded slowly. “Right. Professional.” His stomach twisted. The days were long, filled with endless cleaning, cooking, and listening to Margaret’s passive-aggressive remarks about what a husband should be. Every evening, his body ached, his mind exhausted from constantly keeping up, keeping quiet, keeping small. So when the first accident happened, he blamed the coffee. It was late afternoon. His knees ached as he scrubbed the kitchen floor, Margaret standing over him, checking for invisible specks of dirt. The warm scent of lemon cleaner lingered in the air, and the cool tiles pressed against his palms. Suddenly, it happened. A strange warmth pooled between his legs. His body tensed. His breath hitched. For a moment, his mind refused to process it. But then, the slow, horrifying realization sank in. His hands trembled as he lurched to his feet, bolting toward the bathroom. Margaret’s voice followed him. “Steven?” He slammed the door shut, heart hammering. Frantically, he yanked down his pants, staring at the small but undeniable damp spot. It was nothing. Just an accident. Too much coffee. Stress. That’s all. Nothing to worry about. He cleaned himself up, forcing deep, steady breaths. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Millie was leaning against the counter, her lips curled into a smirk. Steven froze. “Something wrong?” she asked. Her eyes flicked to his pants. Steven forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. Nothing.” “Mmm. If you say so.” She knew. Somehow, she knew, he could see it in her eyes. But it was a one-time thing. It wouldn’t happen again. The next day, it happened again. Then again. It was just a few drops. But it became more frequent. Nothing, however, would’ve prepared him for when it happened in his sleep. The first time Joan noticed, Steven woke to the sound of her sharp intake of breath. It was still the middle of the night. He didn’t register what had happened at first. The room was dimly lit, the hum of the ceiling fan the only sound—until Joan ripped the covers off him. “Oh my God, Steven.” The sheets beneath him were soaked. Steven’s breath caught in his throat. Panic rushed through him, cold and suffocating. His hands clenched into fists as he scrambled to sit up, but the damage was undeniable. “Are you kidding me?!” Joan asked in disgust. Steven opened his mouth, but no words came out. His mind was blank. Horrified. “I—I’m sorry,” he finally stammered. “Steven, you’re a grown man. This is not acceptable!” The door creaked open, and Steven flinched as Margaret stepped inside, her sharp eyes immediately scanning the scene. It was his worst nightmare. His mother-in-law stood there with that disapproving gaze of hers. “Well,” she said smoothly, exhaling as if she had been waiting for this moment. “I think Stevie here is showing us who he truly is.” Speechless, Steven tried to argue. He tried to tell her to get out of his room. But it wasn’t his room. It was hers. It was her home and he was only a guest. “I suppose we’ll have to take some precautions,” Margaret said with a grin. “We can’t have you ruining the mattress.” She turned to Joan, her voice practical, almost casual. “I think it’s time he started wearing protection.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle — Back to Basics: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DWJ38LPL You can also find Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Chapter 1: In the digital age, where connections are often forged through the flick of a finger, it was a typical evening spent browsing through a dating app that set the stage for an unexpected adventure. My name is Mikey; like many others navigating the world of online dating, I was searching for that elusive spark, a connection that might just lead to something more meaningful. As I lazily swiped left and right, profiles blurred into one another, each promising something unique yet often feeling the same. Just as I was about to call it a night, a profile caught my eye. Her name was Morgan. Her profile picture radiated warmth and kindness, a vibrant smile that seemed to leap off the screen. Her eyes, a captivating blend of green and gold, held a spark that was both inviting and mysterious. Morgan owned a daycare, a detail that made her even more intriguing. There was something incredibly attractive about a woman who cared for children, who had the patience and kindness to nurture young minds. Her bio was simple yet profound: "Looking for someone who appreciates the simple things in life. Loves kids, adventures, and genuine connections." I swiped right without a second thought. To my surprise, it was a match. A rush of excitement coursed through me as I quickly typed out a message, "Hey Morgan, loved your profile. Daycare owner, huh? That's amazing. What's the most rewarding part of your job?" Her response came sooner than I expected. "Hey Mikey, thanks! The most rewarding part is seeing the kids grow and learn. It's like watching little miracles every day. What about you? What do you do?" I smiled, feeling a connection already forming. "I'm a software developer. Not as glamorous as shaping young minds, but it pays the bills. What do you like to do for fun?" Morgan's reply was playful and flirtatious. "I love hiking, reading, and trying new recipes. But lately, I've been exploring something a bit more... adventurous." Intrigued, I asked, "Oh yeah? Like what?" Her next message made my heart race. "Well, let's just say I've been exploring some new... fantasies. Ever tried anything a bit out of the ordinary?" I felt a thrill run down my spine. This conversation was taking a turn I hadn't expected, but I was more than willing to go along for the ride. "I'm always up for an adventure. What did you have in mind?" Morgan's response was coy yet inviting. "Why don't we meet up and find out? There's a great little café downtown. How about tomorrow afternoon?" I agreed without hesitation. "Sounds perfect. I'll see you there." As I put my phone down, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. This was shaping up to be more than just another swipe right. This felt like the start of something exciting, something real. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a journey that would challenge my perceptions and push the boundaries of my desires. Chapter 2: Curiosity piqued by Morgan's intriguing offer, I found myself eagerly accepting the chance to see her daycare in action. The building was nestled in a serene neighborhood, its exterior painted in cheerful hues that promised warmth and joy within. As we approached, the sounds of laughter and playful chatter spilled out, creating a welcoming atmosphere. Morgan led me inside, and I was immediately struck by the vibrant energy of the place. The walls were adorned with colorful murals depicting whimsical scenes of forests, oceans, and outer space, each corner designed to spark imagination and creativity. Toys of every kind were neatly arranged, ready to be explored by eager little hands. "Welcome to Little Miracles," Morgan said with a proud smile. "This is where the magic happens." I followed her as she walked through the daycare, introducing me to the different areas. There was a cozy nook filled with books, a play area with a giant wooden castle, and a quiet corner with soft mats and pillows for nap time. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the boundless energy of children at play. "This place is amazing," I said, genuinely impressed. "You've really created something special here." Morgan beamed at the compliment. "Thanks. I've always believed that every child deserves a place where they can be themselves, explore, and grow. That's what I try to provide here." As we walked, a little girl with pigtails and a mischievous grin ran up to Morgan, tugging at her hand. "Morgan, Morgan! Look what I made!" She held up a drawing of what looked like a purple dinosaur wearing a tutu. Morgan knelt down, her eyes lighting up with genuine interest. "Wow, Lily! That's incredible. Is that a dancing dinosaur?" Lily nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! She's going to the ballet." Morgan laughed softly. "That's wonderful. I bet she'll be the star of the show." Lily grinned and ran off, her imagination already pulling her in a new direction. I watched the interaction, feeling a warmth spread through me. "You're really good with them," I said. Morgan stood up, her eyes shining. "They make it easy. There's something so pure and honest about kids. They haven't learned to hide their feelings or put up walls. It's refreshing." As we continued our tour, I noticed a door at the end of a hallway, slightly ajar. The room inside was dark, unlike the bright and cheerful spaces we'd seen so far. "What's in there?" I asked, nodding towards the door. Morgan's smile took on a mysterious edge. "That's the quiet room. It's where the kids go when they need a break from all the excitement. It's also where I explore some of my... other interests." I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Other interests?" Morgan leaned in, her voice low. "Remember when I mentioned exploring new fantasies? That room plays a big part in that." I felt a jolt of excitement mixed with curiosity. This woman was full of surprises, and I was eager to uncover more. But before I could ask anything else, a loud crash came from the other room, followed by a chorus of giggles. Morgan laughed, shaking her head. "Sounds like someone's building a fort again. I should go check on them. Feel free to look around more if you like." As she walked away, I couldn't help but feel drawn to that dark room at the end of the hallway. What kind of fantasies did Morgan explore in there? I was dying to find out, but that would have to wait. For now, I was content to soak in the joyful atmosphere of Little Miracles, a place where magic and reality seemed to coexist in harmony. I walked back into the main play area, watching as Morgan helped the kids build a fort out of blankets and chairs. She looked up and caught my eye, smiling warmly. I smiled back, feeling a sense of anticipation. This daycare was more than just a business; it was a labor of love, a testament to Morgan's nurturing spirit. And as I watched her interact with the kids, I knew I wanted to explore more of her world, whatever that might entail. Little did I know, that dark room held secrets that would challenge my perceptions and draw me into a world of desire and discovery. But for now, I was content to be drawn into the magic of Little Miracles, one step at a time. Chapter 3: As Morgan busied herself with the kids in the main play area, I found myself drawn back to that dark, mysterious room at the end of the hallway. The door was still slightly ajar, beckoning me to explore its secrets. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing Morgan occupied with a group of giggling children, and decided to take my chance. I slipped into the room, the air inside cool and still. I fumbled along the wall, searching for a light switch. Suddenly, the door clicked shut behind me, enclosing me in total darkness. Before I could react, the lights flicked on, blinding me momentarily. As my vision adjusted, I saw Morgan standing there, holding a wooden paddle. Her expression was stern, but there was a playful glint in her eyes. "You've been a bad boy, Mikey," she said, her voice a mix of reprimand and amusement. Before I could protest, she grabbed me by the arm, her grip surprisingly strong. She led me to a table in the center of the room, which I now realized was equipped with restraints. My heart pounded in my chest as she bent me over, my butt facing her. I felt a rush of adrenaline, a mix of excitement and nervousness. "You shouldn't be exploring rooms that aren't authorized, Mikey," she said, her voice taking on a teasing tone. "That's very naughty of you." With that, she brought the paddle down, smacking it against my butt. I let out a yelp, more from surprise than pain. She spanked me again, each smack punctuated by her playful scolding. The Paddle: "Bad boys need to be disciplined, Mikey," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "You've been very curious, haven't you? Poking your nose where it doesn't belong." I squirmed under her grip, but there was no escaping her playful punishment. The room echoed with the sound of the paddle meeting my flesh, each smack sending a jolt through me. It was a strange sensation, the line between pleasure and pain blurring with each strike. Morgan continued her playful scolding, her voice taking on a singsong quality. "You're just a baby, aren't you? Exploring where you shouldn't be. Well, maybe next time you'll think twice before snooping around." As suddenly as it had begun, the spanking stopped. Morgan released her grip, and I stood up, my face flushed and my heart racing. She looked at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "There," she said, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "Now you've had a taste of what happens to bad boys who can't follow the rules." Chapter 4: Once I was secured on the table, a primal instinct kicked in, and I tried to break free. "Morgan, please," I begged, my voice trembling as I strained against the restraints. "Please don't diaper me. Don't take my clothes away." The Nursery: The Changing Table: Morgan chuckled, a sound that was both sweet and wicked. "Oh, Mikey," she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement and determination. "You don't have a choice, sweetheart. You're going to enjoy being diapered like a baby. I promise you that." She reached for a pair of scissors, the blades glinting in the soft light of the room. I watched in horror as she began to cut away my clothes, the sound of fabric tearing filling the air. I squirmed and bucked, trying futilely to escape, but the restraints held fast. "Please, Morgan," I pleaded, feeling a flush of embarrassment as she stripped me bare. "Don't do this. I can't be naked in front of you." She smiled gently, her eyes never leaving mine as she continued to cut away my clothes. "There's no room for shame here, Mikey," she said softly. "This is about trust, about letting go. You're safe with me." As the last of my clothes fell away, I was left naked and vulnerable, like a baby ready to be diapered. I felt a rush of embarrassment, a hot blush spreading across my cheeks. Morgan paused, her eyes roaming over my naked body, her gaze appreciative and loving. "You're beautiful, Mikey," she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about." She reached for a dinosaur-printed diaper, and I felt a surge of panic. "No, Morgan, please," I begged, trying to wriggle away. "Not that. I can't wear that." The Diaper: She laughed, a sound that was both comforting and firm. "Oh, Mikey," she said, shaking her head. "You don't get to make that decision, sweetheart. I'm in charge here, and I say you're wearing this adorable dinosaur diaper." I tried to fight her, bucking and straining against the restraints, but Morgan was undeterred. She gently but firmly lifted my hips, sliding the diaper beneath me. I begged and pleaded, but she didn't care what I had to say. Her touch was gentle and sure as she fastened the diaper around me, securing it tightly in place. As she finished, she leaned down, her face inches from mine. "There you go, sweetheart," she said softly, her voice filled with love. "All diapered and ready to go. You're my baby now, Mikey. And I'm going to take such good care of you." I looked up into her eyes, seeing the warmth and love reflected there, and felt a strange sense of calm wash over me. Despite my embarrassment, despite my struggles, there was a part of me that felt...content. Safe. Loved. And as Morgan smiled down at me, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together. Chapter 5: Morgan stood back, admiring her handiwork as I lay there, now fully diapered and feeling a mix of humiliation and intrigue. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and began to pace around the table, her fingers tracing patterns on the smooth surface. "Now, Mikey," she began, her voice taking on a more authoritative tone. "There are a few rules you should know about. Fifteen, to be exact. These rules will help you understand your new role as my baby. And don't worry, I'll make sure you remember each and every one." I watched her warily, my eyes following her as she moved. "Rules?" I asked, my voice small and uncertain. She nodded, holding up a single finger. "Rule number one: Morgan is always right. You will listen to me and obey me in all things. Understood?" I hesitated, then nodded, feeling a strange flutter in my stomach. A second finger joined the first. "Rule number two: Diapers are the bathroom now. You will use them for all your needs, and I will change you when I see fit." My eyes widened in horror. "Morgan, please—" I started, but she cut me off with a sharp look. "Rule number three," she continued, adding a third finger. "You will ask permission for all things. Want to play with a toy? Ask permission. Want to eat? Ask permission. Want to speak? You get the idea." I swallowed hard, feeling a sense of dread washing over me. Morgan continued, her voice steady and calm as she listed each rule. "Rule number four: No walking. You'll crawl or be carried like a good little baby. Rule number five: You'll drink from a bottle or sippy cup. Rule number six: No swearing or bad language. Rule number seven: Naptime is when I say it is. Rule number eight: You'll eat what I give you, when I give it to you." She paused, looking down at me with a soft smile. "Rule number nine: You will always tell Morgan the truth. Rule number ten: You will not touch your diaper or try to remove it. Rule number eleven: You will not try to escape or leave the daycare. Rule number twelve: You will not harm yourself or others." I listened, my mind reeling as I tried to take in each rule. Morgan's voice was soothing, almost hypnotic, and I found myself nodding along despite the growing unease in my stomach. "Rule number thirteen: You will not hide your feelings from Morgan. Rule number fourteen: You will accept and embrace your role as my baby. And finally, rule number fifteen: You will love and trust Morgan, always." She finished, looking down at me with a warm smile. "And that's it, sweetheart," she said softly. "Those are the rules. Follow them, and we'll get along just fine." I looked up at her, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. I felt overwhelmed, scared, and yet...there was a part of me that felt cared for, seen. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within me. Morgan reached out, her hand gently stroking my cheek. "Good boy, Mikey," she murmured. "You're doing so well. I'm proud of you." And with those words, I felt a strange sense of pride, of accomplishment. I was hers, completely and utterly. And as I lay there, diapered and helpless, I knew that this was just the beginning of my new life as Morgan's baby. The rules were clear, the path laid out before me. All I had to do was follow. Chapter 6: Morgan's eyes narrowed as she looked down at me, her expression stern. "Now, Mikey," she began, her voice firm. "You were a bad boy during your diaper change. You argued with Mommy about using your diaper as your potty. Bad boys need to be punished, isn't that right?" I felt a shiver run down my spine as I looked up at her, my eyes wide with apprehension. "Morgan, please—" I started, but she cut me off with a sharp look. "Ah, ah, ah," she chided, wagging her finger. "What did I tell you about asking permission? And it's 'Mommy', not 'Morgan'. You've already earned yourself a punishment. Don't make it worse." With that, she grabbed my arm and pulled me towards a nearby chair. She sat down, her grip firm as she tugged me over her lap. I struggled, a wave of panic washing over me as I realized what she intended to do. "Morgan, I mean, Mommy, please don't—" I begged, but she hushed me with a firm pat on my diapered bottom. "Hush now, Mikey," she said, her voice calm and collected. "You're getting fifty good spankings on your diaper bottom. And if you keep squirming, it'll be more." I tried to get free, my heart pounding in my chest, but she held me firmly in place. "That's another fifteen, Mikey," she said, her voice tinged with disappointment. "Now, let's begin." And with that, she started to spank me, her hand landing firmly on my diapered bottom. I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me as I was spanked like a naughty baby, the padding of my diaper doing little to protect me from the sting of her hand. "Say it, Mikey," she commanded, her voice steady and firm. "Say 'I will use my diaper like a good baby'." I hesitated, my cheeks burning with humiliation. She spanked me again, harder this time. "Say it, Mikey," she repeated. "I-I will use my diaper like a good baby," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. She nodded, satisfied. "Again." "I will use my diaper like a good baby," I repeated, my voice louder this time. She continued to spank me, each smack punctuated by a babyish line that she made me repeat. "I am a baby who uses his diaper." "I will ask Mommy to change my diaper when I need it." "I will not argue with Mommy about using my diaper." With each spank, I felt myself sinking deeper into the role she had chosen for me. I was her baby, her little Mikey, and I was being punished for my disobedience. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she finished. I lay there, my diapered bottom stinging and sore, as she gently rubbed my back. "There, there, Mikey," she cooed, her voice soft and soothing. "You took your punishment so well. Mommy's proud of you." I felt a strange sense of pride, of accomplishment, at her words. I had pleased her, had done as she asked. She helped me up, her hands gentle as she steadied me on my feet. She looked down at me, her eyes soft and warm. "Now, Mikey," she said, her voice gentle. "Can you tell Mommy what you've learned today?" I looked up at her, my eyes filled with unshed tears. "I-I will use my diaper like a good baby," I said, my voice small and uncertain. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's right, Mikey," she said, her voice filled with pride. "You're Mommy's good little baby. Now, can you say one more thing for Mommy?" I hesitated, then nodded. "Say 'Mommy, I love you'," she said, her voice soft. I looked up at her, my heart pounding in my chest. "Mommy," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I love you." With that she helped me into my new clothes and plastic pants. And with those words, I felt something shift within me. I was hers, completely and utterly. Her baby, her little Mikey. And as I looked up at her, my eyes filled with love and adoration, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together. Chapter 7: I stood in front of the mirror, my cheeks flushed a bright red as I took in my new attire. The black t-shirt with Blue's Clues cartoons splashed across the front, the shiny blue plastic pants that crinkled loudly with every slight movement—it was all too much. I felt like a oversized toddler, a grotesque parody of childhood. Morgan, however, seemed thrilled. The outfit: "Aww, look at my little baby Mikey," she cooed, clapping her hands together. "All cute and snug in your new outfit. Now, let's get you all settled in your highchair for your yummy food and drinks, okay?" I wanted to protest, to scream and shout and demand to be let go, but something held me back. A strange, twisted sense of curiosity, perhaps, or maybe just the lingering sting of my spanking, reminding me of what happened when I disobeyed. She led me to the kitchen, where a highchair sat waiting. It was larger than a normal highchair, clearly modified to accommodate an adult. I balked at the sight of it, but Morgan was having none of it. With a firm hand, she guided me to the chair and helped me climb in, securing the tray in front of me and locking me in place. I tested the restraints, rattling them slightly, but they held fast. I was stuck. The Highchair: Morgan hummed a cheerful tune as she tied a large bib around my neck, securing it tightly before turning to prepare my food. I watched her warily, my eyes never leaving her as she bustled about the kitchen, gathering ingredients and mixing them together. The bib: She returned with a bowl of mushy, unidentifiable food and a large bottle filled with a clear liquid. She set them down on the tray in front of me, then pulled up a chair for herself, sitting down with an expectant look. "Eat up, Mikey," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. "You need to keep up your strength. And drink all of your ba-ba, okay? Mommy made it special, just for you." The food: The Bottle: I eyed the bowl warily, poking at the strange concoction with the spoon she'd given me. It smelled vaguely like oatmeal, but with an underlying tang that I couldn't quite place. The bottle, meanwhile, seemed to be filled with nothing more than water, but something about the way Morgan was looking at me made me wonder if there was more to it than that. As I hesitantly took a bite of the food, Morgan watched me closely, her eyes never leaving my face. I felt a strange sensation in my stomach, a warmth that spread through me, making me feel slightly dizzy. I shook it off, attributing it to nerves, and took a sip from the bottle. The water tasted slightly sweet, with a strange aftertaste that I couldn't quite place. Morgan smiled encouragingly, urging me to drink more. I complied, not wanting to upset her, but with each sip, the strange sensation in my stomach grew stronger. I began to feel cramps, my intestines twisting and churning uncomfortably. I squirmed in my seat, trying to alleviate the discomfort, but it only grew stronger. As I finished the last of the bottle, I realized with a sudden, horrifying clarity what Morgan had done. The food, the drink—they'd been spiked, filled with something designed to make me use my diaper. I looked up at her, my eyes wide with betrayal, but she simply smiled, her eyes filled with a sickening, twisted love. "There, there, Mikey," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "You'll feel better soon, I promise. Just let it happen, okay? Let Mommy take care of you." I felt a wave of panic wash over me as I realized what was about to happen. I had to escape, had to find a way out of this twisted nightmare. But with the tray locked in front of me and the restraints holding me firmly in place, I was trapped, helpless to do anything but wait for the inevitable. As the cramps grew stronger, I knew that I had to act fast. I had to find a way out of this highchair, out of this house, out of this twisted game that Morgan was playing. But with each passing moment, as the pressure in my bowels grew stronger, I knew that time was running out. I had to escape, and I had to do it soon. But how? Chapter 8: As I sat in the highchair, I begged Morgan to let me go potty in the toilet. "Please, Morgan," I pleaded, my voice strained with desperation. "I can't hold it in much longer. Just let me use the bathroom like a normal person." She turned to me, her eyes narrowing as she wagged a disapproving finger. "Now, Mikey, you know better than that. Mommy said you're to use your diaper like a good baby. If you ask again, you'll get another spanking." I squirmed in my seat, the pressure in my bowels building to an unbearable level. I tried to hold it in, to will my body into submission, but it was a losing battle. Morgan watched me, her expression growing more and more irritated as she saw my resistance. "Fine," she snapped, her voice sharp and cold. "If you won't listen to Mommy, then Mommy will make you listen. You will use that diaper like a baby, Mikey. And after your dinner, I'll give you a spanking to remind you who's in charge here." "Please, Morgan," I begged, tears stinging my eyes. "Please, don't make me do this. I can't—I won't—" She cut me off with a harsh laugh, her eyes gleaming with a twisted delight. "You can and you will, Mikey. You're my baby now, and babies use diapers. Now, be a good little boy and let it out. The sooner you do, the sooner we can get on with our night." I shook my head, my body trembling with the effort of holding back. But Morgan was relentless. She stood over me, her eyes boring into mine, her voice a constant, nagging reminder of what she wanted, what she demanded. "Come on, Mikey," she coaxed, her voice a sickening sing-song. "Let it out for Mommy. Let me see my baby boy use his diaper like a good little boy." Chapter 9: I looked up at her, my eyes filled with defiance and desperation. I clenched my muscles tight, trying to hold back the inevitable, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "No, Morgan," I grunted, my voice strained. "I won't do it. I won't use the diaper. You can't make me." Morgan's eyes flashed, her smile fading, replaced by a look of cold determination. "Oh, Mikey," she said, her voice like ice. "You really think you can defy Mommy? You think you can win this battle?" I squirmed in the highchair, my body tense, my muscles cramping with the effort of holding back. I shook my head, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "No," I panted. "You can't make me. I won't." Morgan's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at me. "Fine, Mikey," she said, her voice sharp and cold. "You want to play it that way? Then Mommy will make you go. And then, my dear, you'll get a spanking you'll never forget, right there in your nice, full diaper." She turned away, her heels clicking sharply on the kitchen floor as she walked to the counter. I watched her warily, my heart pounding in my chest as she opened a drawer and pulled out a small, dark bottle. She turned back to me, her eyes glinting with a twisted delight as she held up the bottle, shaking it gently. "You know what this is, Mikey?" she asked, her voice soft and dangerous. "This is Mommy's little helper. A few drops of this in your ba-ba, and you'll be filling that diaper in no time." I shook my head, my eyes wide with horror. "No, Morgan," I begged, my voice trembling. "Please, don't. You can't—" She cut me off with a sharp laugh, her eyes gleaming with a sickening triumph. "Oh, Mikey," she said, her voice a twisted parody of gentle concern. "Mommy can do whatever she wants. And right now, Mommy wants you to use that diaper like a good little baby. And you will, Mikey. One way or another." With that, she unscrewed the cap of the bottle, her eyes never leaving mine as she tipped it over, letting a few drops of the dark liquid fall into my bottle. She swirled it gently, her eyes gleaming with a twisted delight as she watched the liquid mix with the water. I looked up at her, my heart pounding in my chest, my body trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. I knew I had to hold out, had to resist, but as she held the bottle up to my lips, her eyes gleaming with a sickening triumph, I knew that this was one battle I couldn't win. But even so, I wouldn't go down without a fight. I pursed my lips shut, refusing to drink. Morgan simply smiled, pinching my nose until I gasped for air, and she poured the contents down my throat. The twisted game continued, and I was her unwilling pawn, trapped in a highchair, trapped in a body that was quickly betraying me. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, a bitter, acrid taste that made me want to gag. I tried to spit it out, but Morgan's grip was tight, her fingers pinching my nose, forcing me to swallow. I coughed, my eyes watering as the last of the tainted water slid down my throat. Within seconds, my stomach began to cramp, a sharp, insistent pain that doubled me over in the highchair. I looked up at Morgan, my eyes wide with panic. "What... what did you do to me?" I gasped, my body trembling with the sudden, violent onslaught of discomfort. Morgan smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sickening delight. "Just a little something to help Mommy's baby use his diaper," she cooed, her voice a twisted parody of gentle concern. "It won't be long now, sweetie. Just a few more minutes, and you'll be filling that diaper like a good little baby." I shook my head, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as I tried to hold back the inevitable. I squirmed in the highchair, my body tense, my muscles cramping with the effort of maintaining control. "No," I panted. "I won't. I won't do it." Morgan's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a twisted triumph as she began to coo, her voice a soft, singsong sound that made my stomach churn. "Oh, come on, Mikey," she cooed. "Don't be shy, sweetie. Just let it out. Let Mommy's little baby use his diaper like a good little boy." I shook my head, my body trembling with the effort of holding back. "Please," I begged, my voice trembling. "Please, Morgan, stop. I can't... I can't hold it much longer." Morgan's smile never wavered, her eyes never leaving mine as she began to massage my tummy, her fingers gentle but insistent. "Oh, don't be silly, Mikey," she cooed. "Just relax, sweetie. Just let it out. Let Mommy's little baby use his diaper like he's supposed to." I shook my head, my body trembling, my muscles cramping as I tried to hold back the inevitable. But it was no use. I could feel it coming, a wet, messy betrayal that I couldn't stop. "Please," I begged, my voice a broken whisper. "Please, Morgan, don't make me do this." But Morgan just smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sickening triumph as she continued to coo, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but the inevitable betrayal of my own body. "That's it, Mikey," she cooed. "Just let it out, sweetie. Just let Mommy's little baby use his diaper like a good little boy..." I clenched my fists, my body trembling as I tried to hold back, but it was no use. I could feel it coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I looked up at Morgan, my eyes filled with a mix of desperation and defeat as I felt my body betray me, the inevitable mess filling my diaper as Morgan cooed and clapped, her eyes gleaming with a twisted, victorious delight. Chapter 10: With her coos becoming worse, my body gave into release and couldn't stop it. She rubbed my tummy and cooed at me as everything emptied into the diaper. I started to cry, but she just cooed more, her voice a sickeningly sweet symphony to my humiliation. I could feel every release loading into my diaper, the warmth spreading, the mess engulfing me. I couldn't stop pooping, and once it finally came to an end, I felt the pee just release into my diaper, the final insult to my dignity. Morgan's eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as she looked down at me, her baby. "Good baby, Mikey," she cooed, her voice a soft, singsong sound that made my stomach churn. "But you still need to be punished for resisting using it." I looked up at her, my eyes filled with tears, my body trembling with humiliation and defeat. "Please," I begged, my voice a broken whisper. "Please, Morgan, no more. I can't take any more." But Morgan just smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sickening delight as she began to speak to me like a baby. "Oh, come on, Mikey," she cooed. "Don't be silly, sweetie. You know you deserve to be punished, don't you?" I shook my head, my body trembling, but Morgan just smiled, her eyes never leaving mine as she began to speak to me in baby talk, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but my humiliation. "Now, Mikey, repeat after Mommy," she cooed, her eyes gleaming with a twisted delight. "I am a little baby who pooped in his diaper." I shook my head, my body trembling, but Morgan's grip tightened, her fingers pinching my chin, forcing me to look up at her. "Say it, Mikey," she demanded, her voice a soft, singsong sound that belied the steel in her eyes. I took a deep breath, my body trembling as I forced the words out, my voice a broken whisper. "I... I am a little baby who pooped in his diaper." Morgan's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a twisted triumph as she continued to coo, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but my humiliation. "Good baby, Mikey," she cooed. "Now say, 'I am a little baby who peed in his diaper.'" I took a deep breath, my body trembling as I forced the words out, my voice a broken whisper. "I... I am a little baby who peed in his diaper." Morgan's smile was a sickeningly sweet sight, her eyes gleaming with a twisted triumph as she continued to coo, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but my humiliation. "Good baby, Mikey," she cooed. "Now say, 'I am a little baby who needs to be changed by his Mommy.'" I took a deep breath, my body trembling as I forced the words out, my voice a broken whisper. "I... I am a little baby who needs to be changed by his Mommy." Morgan's smile was a sickeningly sweet sight, her eyes gleaming with a twisted triumph as she looked down at me, her baby. "Good baby, Mikey," she cooed. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, sweetie. Mommy's got a nice, warm bath ready for you." I looked up at her, my eyes filled with tears, my body trembling with humiliation and defeat as she began to undo the straps of the highchair, her eyes never leaving mine, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but my humiliation and the inevitable punishment to come. Chapter 11: Morgan led me by the hand, her grip firm yet gentle, as if she were guiding a toddler taking their first steps. Every time I took a step, I could feel my accident squishing in the diaper, a grim reminder of my humiliation. The smell was overwhelming, a constant assault on my senses, but Morgan didn't seem to mind. She hummed a soft, sweet tune as she led me back to the chair from earlier—the one where she had spanked me. She sat down and put me over her lap, her hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. "Now, Mikey," she cooed, her voice a sickeningly sweet symphony. "It's time for your punishment, sweetie. You get 75 spankings for being such a naughty baby." I whimpered, my body trembling in anticipation of the pain. Morgan's hand came down hard on my diapered bottom, the sound of the impact filling the room. I gasped, my body jerking from the sting. "Count them, Mikey," she demanded, her voice still soft and singsong. "And repeat after me, 'I am a naughty baby who needs to be punished.'" I took a deep breath, my voice shaking as I forced the words out. "O-one. I... I am a naughty baby who needs to be punished." Her hand came down again, another hard spank. I gasped, the words tumbling from my lips. "T-two. I am a naughty baby who needs to be punished." Morgan continued to spank me, her hand coming down in a steady rhythm, each impact sending a jolt of pain through my body. I counted each one, repeating the humiliating words after every spank. The tears streamed down my face, my body trembling with each impact. At spank number 50, Morgan paused, her hand rubbing gentle circles on my back again. "You're doing so well, Mikey," she cooed. "Now, let's change it up a bit. Repeat after me, 'I am a naughty baby who needs his Mommy to spank him.'" I took a deep, shuddering breath, my body aching from the spanking. I forced the words out, my voice broken and defeated. "I... I am a naughty baby who needs his Mommy to spank him." Morgan's hand came down again, another hard spank. I gasped, the count and the words tumbling from my lips. "F-fifty-one. I am a naughty baby who needs his Mommy to spank him." She continued the spanking, her hand coming down in the same steady rhythm. I counted each one, repeating the humiliating words after every spank. My body was a mess of pain and humiliation, my mind a fog of defeat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the 75th spank came down. I gasped out the count and the words, my body shaking with sobs. Morgan's hand rubbed gentle circles on my back again, her voice soft and soothing. "There, there, Mikey," she cooed. "All done, sweetie. You took your punishment so well. Mommy's proud of you." She helped me up, her eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction as she looked down at me, her baby. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, sweetie," she said, her voice a soft, singsong sound. "Mommy's got a nice, warm bath ready for you." I looked up at her, my eyes filled with tears, my body aching and throbbing. I knew better than to protest, to beg for mercy. I was her baby, her plaything, and she was far from done with me. As she led me to the bathroom, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread, wondering what fresh humiliation awaited me in the bath as the stench of my accident wafted through the air. Chapter 12: The tears still stung my eyes, and the sting of the spanking still throbbed on my bottom. Morgan led me back to the changing table, her grip as gentle as ever, as if she hadn't just turned my ass a fiery red. She lifted me onto the table, her eyes gleaming with that twisted satisfaction as she looked down at my soiled diaper. "Let's get you cleaned up, sweetie," she cooed, her voice a soft, sickeningly sweet symphony. She peeled off the diaper, her nose not even wrinkling at the sight and smell. I looked away, my face burning with humiliation as she wiped me clean, her hands gentle yet firm. She wrapped a fluffy towel around me, her eyes never leaving mine as she lifted me into her arms. I felt like a fucking toddler, carried off to the bathroom, the warm, bubbly water waiting for me. She lowered me into the bath, the warmth enveloping me, the bubbles tickling my skin. Morgan grabbed a soft cloth, soaping it up as she began to wash me. She hummed that same soft, sweet tune, her hands rubbing the cloth over my body, cleaning every inch of me. I sat there, my body aching, my mind a fog of humiliation, as she bathed me like a baby. She lifted me out of the bath, wrapping me back up in the towel. She carried me back to the nursery, laying me down on the changing table. She dried me off, her hands rubbing gently over my skin. She grabbed a booster pad and a safari print diaper, her eyes never leaving mine as she slid the booster pad into the diaper. The Safari Diaper: "So my little baby doesn't have a leak when he sleeps tonight," she said, her voice a soft, singsong sound. She powdered me, the cool powder a stark contrast to the warmth of the bath. She lifted my legs, sliding the thick diaper underneath me, fastening it tightly around my waist. It was way thicker than the one from earlier, the crinkle of the plastic loud and humiliating. I lay there, my body aching, my mind a mess of defeat and humiliation. Morgan leaned down, her lips brushing softly against my forehead. "All clean and ready for bed, sweetie," she cooed, her voice a soft, sickeningly sweet symphony. She lifted me into her arms, carrying me over to the crib. She laid me down, her eyes never leaving mine as she pulled a soft, fluffy blanket over me. I looked up at her, my eyes filled with tears, my body aching and throbbing. I knew better than to protest, to beg for mercy. I was her baby, her plaything, and she was far from done with me. As she turned off the light, the room plunging into darkness, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread, wondering what fresh humiliation awaited me in the morning. As the darkness of the nursery enveloped me, I lay there in the crib, my heart racing and my mind swirling with thoughts of escape. The soft blanket cocooned me, but it felt more like a trap than a comfort. I could still feel the sting of humiliation from earlier, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly powerless. My body ached, but it was the emotional turmoil that truly gnawed at me, a relentless reminder of my situation. I stared at the bars of the crib, a prison of my own making. Thoughts raced through my mind, each one more desperate than the last. If I could just slide the latch down and make a run for it, I could escape this twisted nightmare. I could make it home, back to a life where I had control, where I wasn’t treated like a helpless child. The idea of freedom ignited a flicker of hope within me, a small flame that I clung to as I plotted my escape. Just as I began to gather my resolve, the door creaked open, and Morgan stepped back into the nursery. My heart sank as I caught sight of her. She was holding something in her hands, and I could feel the dread pooling in my stomach. I had barely managed to convince myself that I could escape when she approached the crib with a smile that sent shivers down my spine. “Look what I have for you, sweetie!” she chirped, her voice dripping with that sickly-sweet affection that made my skin crawl. In her hands were a pair of footed pajamas adorned with cheerful Elmo prints and a pair of shiny plastic pants that crinkled as she moved. I felt my heart drop further into my stomach. There was no escaping now. The Plastic Pants: The Feet Pjs: Before I could even voice my protests, she leaned over the crib, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Time to get you all snug and cozy for bed!” she exclaimed. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I lay there, frozen, as she slid the plastic pants over my already thick diaper. The sound of the crinkling fabric filled the air, an unmistakable reminder of my current state. “Such a cute little baby!” Morgan cooed, her fingers dancing over the soft fabric of the pajamas. I squirmed as she pulled them over my legs, zipping them up the back with a swift motion. I felt the fabric hug my body tightly, the snug fit a constant reminder of my helplessness. But it was the gloves that truly sent my heart racing. They were attached to the zipper, preventing me from using my hands to escape or fight back. I was utterly trapped. The gloves: As if sensing my growing panic, Morgan leaned in closer, her face just inches from mine. “Don’t worry, darling. This is all part of the fun! You’ll be safe and sound in your crib, and I’ll be right here to take care of you,” she said, her voice a soothing lullaby that did nothing to calm my racing heart. I wanted to scream, to tell her that I wasn’t her baby, that I didn’t want this, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, a mixture of frustration and despair. With a gentle hand, Morgan turned on the mobile that hung above my crib. The soft, twinkling lights danced across the walls, and a sweet melody began to play, filling the room with a lullaby that felt both enchanting and suffocating. I lay there, my heart pounding in my chest, as the mobile spun slowly above me, casting shadows that flickered like my hopes of escape. “Just relax, baby,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let the music soothe you to sleep.” I could see the satisfaction in her eyes, the way she reveled in my helplessness. It was as if she took pleasure in my despair, and I could feel the weight of her gaze pressing down on me. I turned my head away from her, focusing on the mobile as it spun above me. Each note of the lullaby felt like a cruel reminder of my situation, a melody designed to lull me into submission. I fought against the urge to close my eyes, to give in to the soft embrace of sleep, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The exhaustion from the day weighed heavily on me, and the warmth of the pajamas wrapped around me like a cocoon. “Goodnight, sweetie,” Morgan said, her voice a soft whisper as she leaned down to kiss my forehead. I felt her breath against my skin, and I shivered at the intimacy of the gesture. It was a reminder that I was hers, that I belonged to her in this twisted game. I wanted to push her away, to tell her to leave me alone, but the words felt trapped in my throat. As she stepped back, the nursery fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the gentle lull of the mobile and the soft crinkle of my diaper. I lay there, my heart racing as I fought against the urge to fall asleep. I needed to stay awake, to keep my mind sharp, to remember my plan. If I could just hold on a little longer, I could find a way out. Minutes turned into what felt like hours as I tossed and turned in the crib, the pajamas and plastic pants feeling like a second skin, suffocating and constricting. I could still hear the faint echo of Morgan’s voice in my mind, her sweet coos and gentle reassurances. But I was determined not to let her win. I couldn’t allow myself to become the baby she wanted. Just as I began to drift into a restless sleep, the door creaked open again. My heart raced as I turned to see Morgan standing in the doorway, a shadowy figure against the light from the hallway. She stepped inside, her eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. “Did I hear my little one stirring?” she asked, her voice low and teasing. I felt a jolt of panic surge through me. I had to act fast. I had to find a way to escape. But as she approached the crib, I realized that my time was running out. The moment of freedom I had envisioned was slipping further away, and all I could do was lie there, trapped in a world of her making, waiting for the next move in this twisted game. Chapter 13: As Morgan approached the crib, I could see the silhouette of a bottle in her hand. She wasn't here to just check on me; she had another twisted plan in mind. I wanted to curl up and disappear, but I was trapped in the open, a captive audience to her perverse delight. "I see you're still awake, sweetie," she cooed, her voice grating on my nerves. "Morgan has something to help you sleep tight." She revealed the bottle, filled with a strange, pink liquid. I eyed it warily, knowing that whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Before I could protest, she deftly uncapped the bottle and brought it to my lips. "Drink up, baby," she insisted, tipping the bottle so that the liquid dripped into my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but she held my chin firmly, forcing me to swallow. The medicine had a sickly-sweet taste that made my stomach churn. "What is this?" I demanded, my voice hoarse with exhaustion and fear. Morgan smiled, her eyes glinting with a malicious glee. "Just a little something to help you sleep and... well, you'll see in the morning." Her vagueness sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to fight back, to demand answers, but the medicine was already taking effect. My limbs felt heavy, and my eyelids began to droop. But Morgan wasn't done yet. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pacifier, the kind meant for babies much younger than the age she was trying to force me into. I shook my head weakly, trying to refuse, but she simply grinned and popped it into my mouth. Before I could spit it out, she had secured it around my head with a fastening strap. I was helpless, utterly at her mercy. "There you go, sweetie," she murmured, her voice dripping with false affection. "Now you look just like a little angel." Through the haze of the medicine, I saw her reach for the top of the crib. With a clicking sound, she locked it in place, ensuring that I couldn't escape even if I managed to fight off the drug-induced sleep. I was well and truly trapped. "Night-night, baby," she sang softly, her voice fading as my eyes grew heavier. I tried to fight it, to keep my wits about me, but it was no use. The medicine pulled me under, and I found myself drifting off to sleep, the pacifier bobbing gently in my mouth. As I succumbed to the darkness, I could have sworn I heard Morgan whisper, "Sweet dreams, my little bedwetter." But I couldn't be sure, not as the world faded away and I was left alone with my dreams, unaware of what the morning would bring. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. It was a warm, inviting light, but it felt wrong in this context. I blinked against the brightness, my mind still foggy from the effects of the pink liquid Morgan had forced upon me. As my eyes adjusted, I realized I was still in the crib, the bars looming around me like the bars of a prison cell. A shiver ran through me as I remembered the events of the previous night. I shifted slightly, and that’s when I felt it—a thick, uncomfortable sensation between my legs. My heart raced as I instinctively reached down, feeling the bulkiness of what I now recognized as a diaper. Panic surged within me. Had I really... wet the bed? My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of my memory from last night. I couldn’t recall anything after Morgan had forced the medicine on me. Just then, I heard the soft click of the crib’s latch. Morgan appeared, her expression one of feigned sweetness, as if she were a caregiver tending to a child. “Good morning, sleepyhead!” she chirped, her voice dripping with that same tone of false affection that made my skin crawl. “Did you sleep well?” I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, I felt a knot tightening in my stomach as I tried to process the reality of my situation. Morgan approached the crib, her hands reaching toward me. “Let’s get you up, shall we?” With surprising ease, she lifted me from the crib, cradling me in her arms as if I were a toddler. I squirmed, trying to break free, but her grip was firm. “You’re so heavy in the morning, baby,” she teased, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. She set me down on my feet, but I immediately felt unsteady, the thick padding of the diaper throwing off my balance. I looked down in horror, realizing that I was indeed wearing a diaper that felt not only thicker but also strangely warm. My heart sank as the implications of that warmth hit me—had I really lost control while under the influence of the drug? “Let’s get you changed,” Morgan said, her tone now more businesslike. She took my hand, leading me toward a changing table that loomed ominously in the corner of the room. “I know you don’t like this part, but it’s necessary. We can’t have you running around in a soggy diaper, can we?” I wanted to protest, to fight back, but the words caught in my throat. I felt utterly powerless as she guided me to the table. I could feel my cheeks burning with humiliation, and I wanted nothing more than to disappear. “Please, Morgan,” I finally managed to say, my voice trembling. “I don’t want to do this. I can change myself.” Morgan chuckled softly, as if my plea were nothing more than the innocent whine of a toddler. “Oh, sweetie, you’re still too little for that. Now lay down for me, okay?” With a mixture of dread and resignation, I complied, lying back on the changing table. I felt utterly exposed as she unzipped the pajamas I had been wearing, pulling the fabric down to reveal the diaper beneath. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could block out the reality of what was happening. “Let’s see how you did last night,” she said, her fingers probing the diaper. I jolted at the unexpected touch, my body reacting instinctively to the invasion of my personal space. “Hey now, it’s just a check-up,” she soothed, though I could hear the amusement in her voice. “You don’t want to get all fussy on me, do you?” I opened my eyes, staring up at the ceiling as if it held the answers to my predicament. “I didn’t do anything,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t wet the bed.” Morgan’s expression turned mock-serious. “Oh, but you did, sweetie. You’re all wet.” She lifted her hand, and I could see the dampness on her fingers. My heart sank further as I processed her words. How could this be happening? When did I lose control? “Let’s get you all cleaned up and into something fresh,” she continued, her tone deceptively gentle. “We have a big day ahead of us.” I shot up, panic flooding my system. “No! I can’t go out like this! Please, Morgan, don’t make me!” My voice cracked, the desperation spilling out of me. The thought of being seen like this—dressed in a diaper, unable to care for myself—was unbearable. Morgan’s eyes sparkled with a mix of delight and authority. “Oh, but you will, Mikey. You’re my little one now, and little ones don’t get to make the big decisions. You just have to trust me.” She pushed me back down gently but firmly, her hands moving with practiced ease as she began to unfasten the diaper. I felt a wave of shame wash over me, my body tensing in resistance. “No, no, no!” I whimpered, but she only shushed me, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “Just relax, sweetie. I promise it’ll be over before you know it,” she said, her voice soothing yet commanding. I felt the cool air hit my skin as she removed the wet diaper, and I turned my head away, unable to face the reality of my situation. “See? All clean now,” she said, her tone brightening as she reached for a fresh diaper. “This one will keep you nice and dry for our outing. You wouldn’t want to be uncomfortable while we’re out shopping, would you?” The Diaper: I let out a choked sob, the absurdity of the situation crashing down upon me. I was trapped in a nightmare, one that I couldn’t wake up from. “Please… I don’t want to go out like this…” I pleaded, my voice breaking. Morgan’s eyes softened for a moment, but then her smile returned, wide and unwavering. “Oh, sweetie, you’ll learn to love it. Just think of all the fun we’ll have together. Now, let’s get you dressed for the day!” As she expertly fastened the fresh diaper around me, I felt a mixture of anger and helplessness. I was at her mercy, trapped in a game I never agreed to play. The reality of my situation began to sink in deeper with every passing moment. I was no longer just Mike; I was her baby, and she intended to take me out into the world as such. “No, please…” I whimpered again, but Morgan was already pulling a bright, childish outfit from the nearby dresser. It was a onesie, adorned with cartoon animals, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as she held it up for me to see. The onesie: “Just wait until you see how cute you look in this!” she exclaimed, her excitement palpable. I felt like I was being swallowed by a tidal wave of dread, knowing that I was powerless to stop her from dressing me up like a child. As she pulled the onesie over my head, I felt the fabric envelop me, sealing my fate as her little one. The snap closures at the bottom clicked into place, and I knew that there was no escaping this new reality. I was no longer just a boy; I was her baby, and she was determined to show the world. “Now, let’s get you some shoes and a little hat,” she said, her voice cheerful as she rummaged through the drawers. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the reality of what was happening, but the sound of her laughter and the rustle of fabric was inescapable. Shoes: Hat: I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever was to come. I couldn’t let her see how much this affected me. I had to find a way to fight back, to reclaim my identity and escape this twisted game. But for now, I was at the mercy of Morgan, the woman who had turned my world upside down. Chapter 14: The world outside the house seemed impossibly bright and vibrant as Morgan wheeled me out into the open air. The sun was high, casting a warm glow that felt foreign against my skin, a stark contrast to the chill of the humiliation that clung to me. I had been dressed like a toddler, complete with a bright onesie that felt more like a costume than clothing, and now I was being strapped into a stroller that was far too large for any child, let alone an adult. Stroller: “Here we go!” Morgan chirped, her voice filled with a sickening enthusiasm that made my stomach churn. She adjusted the straps around my waist, ensuring I was securely fastened. I squirmed in discomfort, but there was no escaping this. I was trapped, both physically and mentally, in this absurd situation. “Why do they even make strollers this big?” I thought bitterly as I glanced around, my heart pounding with anxiety. The world felt so exposed from this vantage point, where I was seated like some oversized infant. I could see the curious glances from passersby, and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Morgan, seemingly oblivious to my turmoil, handed me a brightly colored sippy cup. “Drink up, sweetie! You need to stay hydrated,” she encouraged, her smile wide and genuine. I eyed the cup warily, the rubber spout taunting me. I was thirsty, having not had anything to drink since the night before, but the thought of drinking from a sippy cup made my skin crawl. “Just do it,” I told myself, feeling the weight of defeat settle heavily on my shoulders. I took the cup and lifted it to my lips, the sweet juice flooding my mouth. I could almost hear the mocking laughter of my own mind as I drank, the reality of my situation sinking deeper with every sip. Morgan began to push the stroller, and I could feel the momentum carry us forward. The streets were alive with activity, and I was acutely aware of every person we passed. I felt like a spectacle, a living, breathing exhibit on display for all to see. As we rolled down the sidewalk, I caught glimpses of people’s faces—some looked amused, others confused, and a few even sympathetic. I wanted to sink into the seat and disappear, but that was impossible. I was on display, the unwilling participant in a twisted game that I had never signed up for. Suddenly, a little boy, perhaps around six or seven, approached us with wide eyes filled with curiosity. “Why is he dressed like a baby?” he asked, pointing directly at me. My heart sank further at the realization that I was the subject of his inquiry. Morgan knelt down to his level, her voice dripping with a condescending sweetness. “Oh, he’s just a little one who doesn’t know how to be an adult yet,” she explained, her tone patronizing. I wanted to scream, to tell the boy that I was not a baby, that I was trapped in this nightmare against my will. The boy’s gaze shifted to me, and I could see the gears turning in his mind. “But he looks like he’s about to pee himself!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of concern and amusement. I felt my face heat up in humiliation. “No, I’m not!” I protested weakly, but my words fell flat in the face of the truth. The pressure in my bladder was building, and I could feel the twitching in my legs that the boy had noticed. Morgan, ever the attentive caretaker, smiled at the boy. “Sometimes, little ones like him need a little help with their bodies,” she said, her tone dismissive of my discomfort. “It’s okay; he’ll learn in time.” As if on cue, my body betrayed me. The pressure in my bladder became too much to contain, and I felt a warm rush envelop me. I was wetting myself—just like a baby. The sound of the liquid absorbing into the diaper was impossibly loud in my ears, and I could feel the boy’s eyes on me, wide with fascination. “Oh no, look!” he exclaimed, pointing at me with glee. “He really did pee himself!” I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. My heart raced, and I could feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. Morgan, however, seemed unfazed. She simply chuckled, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “See? It’s just what little ones do. Nothing to be ashamed of!” The boy giggled, and I could hear the laughter of other people nearby. I felt like a complete fool, exposed and vulnerable in my humiliation. I wanted to shout, to fight back against this absurdity, but all I could do was sit there, strapped into the stroller, and let the world witness my degradation. “Let’s get you changed, little one,” Morgan said, her voice soothing as she pushed the stroller forward. The little boy waved goodbye, still giggling as he ran off to join his friends. I wanted to scream at him to stop laughing, to stop pointing, but I was powerless. As we continued down the street, I felt the weight of the diaper pressing against me, a constant reminder of my loss of control. I could feel the stares of strangers, their eyes boring into me as I sat there, a grown man dressed like a child, unable to escape the reality of my situation. Morgan seemed oblivious to my turmoil, her focus solely on getting to our destination. I glanced around, desperately searching for an escape, but there was none. I was trapped in this twisted world that Morgan had created, and I had no idea how to break free. With every turn of the stroller, I felt the walls closing in, my identity slipping further away. I was no longer Mike; I was just a baby, a plaything for Morgan’s amusement. And as we rolled onward, I could only wonder how much further she intended to take me down this path. The stroller wheels rumbled over the pavement as Morgan pushed me towards our destination. The wet diaper clung to my skin, a constant reminder of my humiliation and loss of control. I felt a growing pressure in my bowels, a sensation that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. It was as if my body was no longer my own, my control slipping away with each passing moment. As we approached the store, I looked up to see the sign: "My Inner Baby." A shiver ran down my spine as I realized the implications of the name. Morgan parked the stroller and leaned down to coo at me, "Here we are, sweetie! Let's get you all the supplies you need to be a happy, comfortable baby." She unstrapped me from the stroller, and I waddled awkwardly beside her, the thick diaper making it difficult to walk normally. As we entered the store, a cheerful bell chimed overhead, announcing our arrival. A friendly-looking lady approached us, her eyes flicking from Morgan to me, taking in my disheveled state. "Hello there!" she chirped, her voice gratingly cheerful. "Do you need help sizing your little one up and getting everything you need for him?" Morgan smiled, her hand resting possessively on my shoulder. "Yes, thank you. This is Mikey, and he's just starting his journey as my baby. We need all the essentials to make sure he's comfortable and well-cared for." The lady nodded understandingly, her eyes sparkling with a knowing gleam. "Of course! I'm sure we can find everything you need. Let's start with diapers, shall we?" She led us down an aisle filled with an overwhelming array of diapers. My heart sank as I took in the sheer variety—different sizes, colors, and patterns, each one more humiliating than the last. The lady gestured to a shelf stocked with brightly colored packages. "These are our newest arrivals—the mega thick Dino diapers. They're perfect for little ones who need that extra bit of protection. Plus, they make it harder for little ones to hide their diapers from others." Morgan's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, those are perfect! I'll take six cases of those." I wanted to protest, to scream that I didn't need any of this, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I stood there, helpless and humiliated, as Morgan and the lady discussed my needs as if I weren't even present. The lady nodded, jotting down notes on a pad. "Excellent choice. Now, let's see what else you might need." She led us further down the aisle, pointing out various items—baby wipes, powder, creams, and even a selection of pacifiers and bottles. I felt a growing sense of dread as Morgan enthusiastically agreed to each suggestion, her eyes gleaming with a twisted delight. As we reached the end of the aisle, the lady turned to Morgan with a smile. "And of course, you'll need some outfits to keep your little one looking cute and cozy. We have a great selection of onesies, pajamas, and even some adorable little outfits for when you're out and about." Morgan's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, that sounds wonderful! Let's see what you have." The lady led us to another section of the store, where racks of brightly colored, childish clothing stretched out before us. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me as I took in the sight—this was really happening. I was being dressed like a baby, treated like a baby, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. As Morgan and the lady began to sort through the racks, discussing the merits of various outfits, I felt a growing pressure in my bowels. I squirmed uncomfortably, trying to hold back the inevitable, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. I looked up at Morgan, my eyes filled with desperation. "Morgan, please," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I need to use the bathroom. I can't hold it in much longer." Morgan turned to me, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head. "No, sweetie, you know the rules. You use your diaper like a good baby. Now, let's find you some cute outfits, okay?" I felt a wave of panic wash over me as I realized that I couldn't hold it in any longer. The pressure was too great, the need too urgent. I looked around desperately, searching for a way out, but there was none. I was trapped, helpless to do anything but give in to the inevitable. As Morgan and the lady continued to discuss my new wardrobe, I felt my body betray me once again. The warmth spread through my diaper, the mess engulfing me as I stood there, humiliated and defeated. Tears stung my eyes as I realized that I had truly lost all control, that I was now at the mercy of Morgan and her twisted game. The lady glanced over at me, her eyes widening slightly as she took in my state. She turned to Morgan with a knowing smile. "It looks like your little one has had a bit of an accident. Would you like me to show you to the changing area so you can get him all cleaned up?" Morgan smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sickening satisfaction. "That would be wonderful, thank you." As the lady led us towards the changing area, I felt a growing sense of dread. I knew what was coming next—the humiliation of being changed like a baby, the indignity of having my most intimate needs tended to by someone else. But there was no escaping it now. I was Morgan's baby, and she was determined to keep me that way, no matter the cost. As we entered the changing area, the reality of my situation hit me like a punch to the gut. I was trapped in this twisted game, and there was no way out. I could only hope that, somehow, I would find a way to reclaim my identity and escape the clutches of Morgan's perverse desires. But for now, I was her baby, and she was in complete control. Chapter 15: Morgan had me cleaned up and secured tightly in my new thick mega Dino diaper. I looked down at the bright, childish print, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I was naked save for the diaper, my clothes nowhere to be found. Morgan took my hand and led me back to the lady, who was waiting with a warm smile. "He's all set," Morgan chirped, her voice dripping with a sweetness that made my stomach churn. "Do you have any bouncers here? And perhaps something that might help my little one get into a more... suggestible state?" The lady's eyes sparkled with understanding. "Of course! We have a wonderful selection of bouncers right over here." She led us to a display of colorful, oversized chairs, each one more humiliating than the last. She pointed to one shaped like a giant duck, its bright yellow color almost blinding. "This is our most popular model. It's very comfortable and comes with a built-in pacifier dispenser." Morgan clapped her hands together, delighted. "Oh, that's perfect! And what about something to help him... relax?" The lady nodded, leading us to a shelf stocked with various items—stuffed animals, blankets, and even some strange, glowing devices. She picked up a small, fluffy teddy bear with a glowing belly. "This is our Hypno-Bear. It emits a soft, calming glow and plays a gentle lullaby that helps little ones drift off into a deeply suggestible state." Morgan's eyes widened with excitement. "That's amazing! We'll take both." As the lady gathered the items, she turned to Morgan with a business-like gleam in her eyes. "You know, we have a proposal for you. We're always looking for new models for our products, and your little one here is just adorable. If he were to model our diapers for our website and store, we could offer you a lifetime supply of baby essentials—absolutely free." Morgan's face lit up, her eyes gleaming with a mix of greed and delight. "Oh, that sounds wonderful! Mikey would be perfect for that, wouldn't you, sweetie?" She looked down at me, her eyes narrowing slightly, a silent warning in her gaze. I felt a lump form in my throat, the words catching before I could even attempt to protest. I knew I had no choice in the matter, no say in what happened to me. I was Morgan's baby, her plaything, and she was going to use me however she saw fit. "Excellent!" The lady beamed, pulling out a contract and a pen. Morgan signed it without a moment's hesitation, sealing my fate. "We can start right away. Let's get some photos of your little one in our newest diaper styles." Morgan agreed eagerly, and before I knew it, I was posed in the brightly lit photography area, surrounded by props designed to enhance my humiliation. I was made to pose with blocks, with stuffed animals, even with a giant, childish lollipop. Each click of the camera felt like a stab to my dignity, a further descent into the twisted world Morgan had created for me. As I sat there, posed like a baby, the Hypno-Bear clutched in my arms, its glowing belly beginning to work its magic, I felt a wave of despair wash over me. This was my life now—a life of humiliation, of degradation, of being Morgan's baby. And there was nothing I could do to escape it. But even as the despair threatened to consume me, a small spark of defiance burned within me. I wouldn't give up, not yet. Somehow, someway, I would find a way to reclaim my life and escape the clutches of Morgan's twisted desires. But for now, I was her model baby, and I had to play the part. As the final click of the camera echoed through the room, the lady turned to Morgan with a smile. "Those shots are going to be absolutely adorable. Now, we can put him in the nap room with his new Hypno-Bear. He can take a little snooze, and we can capture some sweet photos of him asleep." Morgan's eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and twisted delight. "That sounds perfect. Lead the way." I was led to a small, dimly lit room filled with cribs and soft, plush toys. The walls were painted with murals of cartoon animals in various states of sleep. My stomach churned at the sight, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over me. The lady took the Hypno-Bear from my arms and activated it, the soft glow filling the room as a gentle lullaby began to play. "Now, let's get you all comfy, sweetie," Morgan cooed, lifting me with ease and placing me in one of the oversized cribs. I felt ridiculous, a grown man stuffed into a crib, but there was no use fighting it. I was trapped, both literally and metaphorically, in Morgan's twisted fantasy. As I lay there, the Hypno-Bear's glow illuminating the crib, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. The lullaby was soft, soothing, and despite my best efforts to resist, I felt myself being pulled under its spell. Morgan and the lady loomed over the crib, their faces a mix of excitement and anticipation. The Hypnosis Bear: "He's fighting it," the lady observed, her voice barely a whisper. Morgan nodded, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "He's a stubborn one, but he'll learn. In time, he'll accept his new life." The words sent a shiver down my spine, a final, desperate attempt to fight the sleep that threatened to consume me. But it was no use. The Hypno-Bear's magic was too strong, and with a final, defeated sigh, I felt myself drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep. As my eyes fluttered closed, I heard the soft click of the camera, capturing my helplessness, my humiliation, in stark, unforgiving detail. But there was nothing I could do, no way to fight it. For now, I was Morgan's baby, her plaything, and she was going to use me however she saw fit. When I finally awoke, the room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the Hypno-Bear. I lay there for a moment, disoriented, before the events of the day came rushing back. I sat up, my head spinning, and looked around the room. I was alone, the other cribs empty, the room eerily silent save for the soft hum of the bear's lullaby. I tried to stand, but my limbs felt heavy, weak, as if the very fight had been drained from me. I collapsed back onto the mattress, a sense of despair washing over me. Was this my life now? Trapped in a crib, a prisoner to Morgan's twisted desires? Just as I was about to succumb to the darkness, I heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. I looked up as Morgan entered the room, her face a picture of maternal concern. "Awake, sweetie? You've been out for hours. The photos are beautiful, by the way. You look like such a sweet, innocent baby when you're asleep." I shuddered at the thought, my stomach churning with revulsion. But I was too weak to protest, too tired to fight. For now, I was at Morgan's mercy, and she knew it. "Come on, sweetie," she cooed, reaching into the crib and lifting me out. "Let's get you home. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow." As she carried me out of the room, I caught a glimpse of the lady, standing in the doorway, a satisfied smile on her face. "We'll make sure all your new baby essentials are delivered directly to your house, Morgan," she said, her voice laced with a sickening sweetness. Morgan beamed at her, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me." And with that, we were off, my fate sealed, my future uncertain. But as I lay there, cradled in Morgan's arms like a helpless infant, I knew one thing for sure—I had to find a way to escape this nightmare. I had to find a way to reclaim my life, my dignity, my very soul. But for now, I was Morgan's baby, and there was no escape from the twisted world she had created for me. Chapter 16: The car ride home was a blur, the streets and houses passing by in a haze as I lay cradled in Morgan's arms, my body still heavy with weakness. Before I knew it, we were pulling into her driveway, the large, imposing house looming before us. Morgan carried me inside, her voice a constant stream of soothing nonsense, as if she were talking to a real baby. She took me straight upstairs, into a room I hadn't seen before. It was a nursery, complete with a large crib, a changing table, and a rocking chair. The walls were painted a soft blue, with more of those damned cartoon animals frolicking across them. I wanted to scream, to fight, to do something, anything, but my body was still too weak. Morgan laid me down in the crib, propping the Hypno-Bear up beside me. "Time for another nap, sweetie," she cooed, activating the bear. The soft glow filled the room, the gentle lullaby beginning to play. But this time, there was something different, something more sinister. As the music played, a voice began to whisper from the bear's speakers, so soft that it was almost imperceptible. "You are a good baby," it whispered, the voice sweet, almost sing-song. "You will use your diapers for everything. Just let it flow out. There is nothing you can do to stop it." I stiffened, my eyes widening in horror. The voice continued, its words sending a shiver of revulsion down my spine. "You are a diaper messer and wetter. You will also wet and poop your diaper in bed. You’re now a bedwetter and messer, and there is nothing you can do to stop it." No. No, no, no. I tried to resist, to fight against the words, but they were insidious, wrapping around my mind like a vice. I could feel my body responding, my bladder suddenly full, a strange pressure in my bowels. "No," I whimpered, my voice barely audible. "No, please..." But the bear continued, its whispers relentless. "Just let it flow out. You can't stop it. You're a good baby, a wet and messy baby." I gritted my teeth, trying to hold on, to fight against the urge to just let go. But the bear's whispers were too strong, too persuasive. I could feel my body betraying me, the warmth spreading through my diaper, the sudden, humiliating release of my bowels. Tears filled my eyes, spilling over and running down my cheeks. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real. But the smell, the warmth, the sheer humiliation of it all told me that it was. I was lying in my own waste, a grown man reduced to a helpless baby, all thanks to Morgan and her twisted games. As the bear's whispers continued, I felt myself drifting off, my body exhausted, my mind broken. The last thing I heard before sleep claimed me was Morgan's voice, soft and sweet, like a mother cooing to her child. "That's it, sweetie," she whispered. "Just let go. Mommy's here. Mommy will always take care of you." The first thing that hit me when I woke up was the smell. It was rancid, a thick, choking fog that made me gag. I tried to move, to escape it, but as I shifted, I felt it. The mushy, warm mess in the back of my diaper. I froze, horror washing over me as the reality of my situation came crashing down. I tried to climb out of the crib, my limbs still shaky and weak, but as I stood, I felt it again. The warmth spreading through my diaper, the release of my bladder, and I couldn't stop it. I stood there, in that soft blue room, the cartoon animals mocking me from the walls, as I pissed myself like a fucking toddler. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real. But the stench, the warmth, the sheer fucking humiliation of it all told me that it was. I was standing there, a grown man, in a fucking diaper, covered in my own piss and shit. Morgan and that fucking bear had broken me. They'd taken away my control, my dignity, my very fucking humanity. I was just an adult baby now, a pathetic, helpless mess. I looked down at myself, at the soggy diaper, the cute little baby outfit, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip it all off, to burn it, to purge this nightmare from my life. But I knew I couldn't. I was too weak, too broken. Morgan had made sure of that. So I stood there, in that fucking nursery, in my own filth, and I cried. I cried like a fucking baby, because that's what I was now. That's what Morgan had turned me into. And I didn't know if I'd ever be able to escape this hell. Chapter 17: Weeks had passed since that dreadful morning when I woke up in my own filth. Time had blurred, days merging into nights, and all I knew now was the routine of eating, sleeping, shitting, and pissing. The fights, the struggles, the desperation to escape, they were all distant memories, like echoes of a past life. Morgan walked into the playpen, her nose wrinkling at the smell. But it wasn't disgust on her face, it was... satisfaction. She looked down at me, her eyes soft, her voice even softer. "Oh, my little Mikey," she cooed, "have you made a little accident?" I looked up at her, my pacifier bobbing in my mouth as I giggled. Giggled, But it was like my body, my mind, weren't my own anymore. They were Morgan's, and she'd molded me into exactly what she wanted. Her business was booming. My photos, my videos, they were gold to the those who were into this sort of thing. Morgan would never have to worry about money again, not with her little baby Mikey as her star attraction. She reached down, tickling my chin. "Time for a change, my little baby Mikey," she sang, her voice a sickeningly sweet melody. I gurgled, kicking my chubby legs in the air, my dirty diaper squelching with the movement. Morgan unstrapped the diaper, clucking her tongue at the mess. "Oh, Mikey," she said, laughing, "you've made quite the mess, haven't you?" She cleaned me up, her touch gentle, her eyes loving. It was twisted, but it was my reality now. As she slid a fresh diaper under me, powdering my ass and fastening the tabs, I looked up at her, my eyes wide and trusting. And I knew, in that moment, that Morgan had won. She'd broken me, regressed me, turned me into her baby. And there was no going back.

I am a 23 year old trans woman and I am looking for someone to do forced regression rps. I'm a switch so I can play either role but I especially would like to rp where I am the one being forcefully regressed. I have a few specific roleplay ideas that I will describe below. [Me as little, other as roommate/older sibling] (1) I'm laying in bed rubbing myself to some kink video on my phone with a title along the lines of "(roommate/sibling) diapers and humiliates their pathetic (younger sibling/roommate)" while you're looking through a crack in the door. You burst in to bully me like usual, when you somehow see what video I'm watching, think im some pervert, and decide to punish me somehow. (2) I'm walking down the street at night when a van stops by and I get pulled in. It's then a fairly standard kidnapping story where I get humiliated and diapered by my captor(s) (3) Getting caught wearing pullups to school by a bully/some bullies and a blackmail scenario kicks off. [Me as dom] (1) You wake up in a basement somewhere tied to one of those freestanding showers as I step up and collar you before telling you I'm going to be breaking you in and pulling over a cart with various implements and ofc diapers. (2) I'm some sort of magical girl/witch/just some girl with magic who (if your male) forcefully feminizes and regresses you with my magic wand aswell as my "magic wand" uwu (3) I've tricked you into signing some contract you thought was an agreement to work as a maid/butler in my mansion, but didn't read the fineprint and now you're my little plaything.

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Finding Mommy Ian was an average forty-two-year-old, except for a few things. He didn’t have a car, a wife, kids, a pet, or a house. He had them in the past, but a series of terrible decisions and financial mistakes had finally pushed away everything he held dear. After the storm that had been the previous year, he had returned to live with his mother, who welcomed him begrudgingly into her house. Elena was a ruthless woman with a terrible temperament, perhaps the reason why she had divorced three times in her sixty years of life. “I’m expecting you to pull your own weight, starting by paying rent as soon as possible,” said Elena. "I’m not running a charity here. And you better find another place if you want to receive visits. I don’t want kids or skanks in my home.” “I know, Mom. I’m looking for a job already, I just need some time,” Ian replied, entering his childhood room. It felt as if he had stepped into the past, surrounded by his old toys, stuffed animals, a bed in the shape of a car, and old coloring books. He had left his mom’s home when he was just a boy and had stayed with his father until it was time to go to college. Sadly, his father had passed away, and with no siblings or anyone else to turn to, he found solace in his mother’s house. “You can remove the plastic sheets. But only if you stopped your bedwetting.” Ian blushed, “I don’t wet the bed anymore, Mom.” “Don’t blame me for being cautious. You can redo the room as much as you want, but I hope you don’t if that means you’ll be out of here soon enough,” said Elena, leaving Ian alone in his childhood room. All his life was packed in boxes and suitcases, and he had nothing really to hope for. Perhaps he would get some good news from his job interview, but when the call came, it wasn’t to congratulate him on his new position. No, it was to turn him down for someone younger and better, just like his ex-wife had done. He closed his door and cried a little before unpacking. Chapter One Ian woke up that day with a familiar sense of dread, the same one that had accompanied him since his divorce. Disoriented and still confused about his new environment, he stood up, only to have his heart stop for a second when he realized what had happened. His car-shaped bed was completely soaked, and so were his pajamas. “Ian, Ian. Wake up,” his mother called, knocking at his door. “I don’t want you sleeping in every morning. Get the trash out and make some breakfast. You’ll be cleaning the house until you get a real job.” But Ian couldn’t answer. He was on the brink of despair. The day before, he couldn’t think about anything but the fact that there was nowhere else to fall. He had touched rock bottom and realized he could still fall further. This morning was just it. “Don’t make me come in,” said Elena. Sobbing, he tried to keep his mother out, “It’s okay. I’m awake. I’ll be out in a minute.” He rushed to undo the bed, removing the wet sheets. But then the door opened, and there was no denying what had happened. His mother stood in the doorway, intimidating as she had looked throughout his childhood, her expression of disgust and disappointment evident. “Again?!” she shouted, storming in and pushing his face into the soaked bed. “What’s this?!” “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing he could have freed himself but not daring to do so. “It was an accident,” he managed to reply between sobs. “Am I gonna have to put you back in diapers? Is this why she left you, huh? Because she was tired of waking up to a wet bed?” Ian didn’t know what to say or how to react, and his mother’s grip forced him against the wet patch on his bed. “My goodness. Thank God your father took you away, or I would’ve beaten you every morning until you outgrew this childish behavior. Be a man and clean this mess.” Now crying desperately, Ian took the sheets to the washing machine, walking around in his wet pajamas, hoping it was all a nightmare. Hoping he would soon wake up and be back home with his loving wife and kids, enjoying the perks of a high-paying job. But he closed his eyes and opened them again, and he was still in his mother’s basement, wet and sobbing. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Amelia rested on her bed, tired of doing the same meaningless task every single day. At twenty-two, she was lucky to have her own place and a good-paying job, but even with all her luck, she couldn’t shake the feeling something was missing. She had thought about getting a dog. Maybe feeling needed by a creature that required attention and supervision was just what she needed. Sighing, she decided to keep coding the latest software updates for the company she worked for. If she were honest, she was just lonely. She didn’t have friends, by choice, though. And her recent dating adventures had been major flops. People, at least that’s how she saw it, were getting more stupid and vain with each passing year. She was a good catch. Tall and athletically built with long legs and a strong core. A brunette with blue eyes, her Tinder account was always buzzing with attention from the opposite sex. But attracting a handsome man wasn’t the problem; finding them attractive after they opened their mouths was almost impossible. She looked out her window. The neighbor, an old lady, was shouting again. Amelia couldn’t quite make out what was being said. Nothing too out of the ordinary, though. When the neighbor’s husband was around, it was a shouting match every day. As nasty a woman as they come, she thought before getting ready for the gym. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Ian had very few pleasures in life now. Video games and Netflix weren’t enough to keep his spirits up. He needed something to do. He needed a way out of his mother’s house and back to his old life. Looking down at his wet mattress, hoping his mother was bluffing when she threatened him with diapers, he wished for someone to help him. Someone kind and caring. But his hope was crushed when night came and, in his room, over his car-shaped bed, a package of adult disposable diapers was waiting for him. “I’m not going to hear a word about it.” “But I can’t just wear diapers. I’m not a baby,” Ian tried to defend himself. “You are not a baby? Okay, so tell me, do adults wet their beds?” “I mean, maybe some…” “Not any adults I know. Only babies do that. Not even toddlers. Babies! You can either accept the diapers or go back to the streets.” “But…” “But what? Who will you go to? You’re a pissy pansy with no job, no money, no car, no friends, no nothing.” He was used to her venomous words, but this time, she struck something in him, and without warning, he felt a warm liquid running down his legs. There was silence for a moment, and then his mother burst into laughter so loud, he swore the house shook with it. “You sissy. I knew I should’ve aborted you when I could! Disgraceful excuse for a man. Go on, tell me you don’t need diapers,” she taunted him. “Go on, tell me you’re not a baby, you sissy. How on earth you managed to get a wife in the first place is beyond me.” Ian couldn’t answer. She was right. She grabbed him by the wrist with a grip so strong it reminded him of all the times he had been punished as a child. What followed was something Ian couldn’t have predicted even in his worst nightmares. His mother removed his wet pants and trousers, leaving him standing there, naked from the waist down. “No wonder she left you,” she said, “That’s not much bigger than when you were a kid.” Her words cut deeper than iron as she grabbed a bunch of baby wipes and harshly cleaned his wet crotch. It didn’t take long before he found himself lying over a thick adult diaper, sobbing as his mother mocked him for his incompetence at adulting. And just like that, he had fallen even lower than he thought possible. He looked out the window as his mother taped the diaper after spreading a generous amount of baby powder over his most intimate parts, hoping things could soon change for the better. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Part 1 Grace is getting married and she’s determined not to let Jessica, her husband-to-be’s ex, ruin the wedding. But if this is her big day, why is she being dressed as the flower girl? *** Grace was walking around the reception, greeting her guests, when she spotted her out of the corner of her eye. Jessica. Grace had invited her out of politeness, but she’d really hoped the woman wouldn’t come. What was she thinking, turning up here? Surely she’d known Grace hadn’t really wanted her to be at her wedding! She was talking with Sophie, one of Grace’s old schoolfriends, and Sophie seemed to be listening raptly to whatever it was she was saying. Grace continued to wander around, accepting congratulations and beaming at everyone, tossing her beautiful blonde hair behind her and feeling like the prettiest woman in the room. Eventually she reached Sophie herself. “Hi, Sophie!” she said. “I’m so glad you could make it!” “Hi sweetie!” Sophie said, turning to look at her. She spoke in an oddly high-pitched, overly-enthusiastic voice, like she was talking to a nursery-schooler. “Are you looking forward to the ceremony?” Grace didn’t know what to say. She’d been expecting Sophie to say ‘congratulations’. Why the hell was she talking in such a stupid way? “Uh, yes!” she managed, deciding it was best to just ignore her friend’s odd behaviour. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long! I hope it’s everything I imagined!” “Awww!” Sophie cooed. Grace felt herself going red. Was Sophie mocking her? “That’s so cute! Are you going to wear a pretty dress, honey?” “Uh, yes of course. I… In fact, I’d better go and get dressed now. It takes a while and I need my bridesmaids to help.” “Of course you do,” Sophie said patronisingly. “Well… See you later, Sophie!” “Bye-bye, cutie!” Sophie waved. Grace turned and walked away. What was that about?! She frowned, thinking. Jessica had been talking to Sophie not long ago. Could she have convinced Sophie to talk to her like that for some reason? Grace hoped the most special day of her life wasn’t going to be tainted by some stupid practical joke. But she couldn’t imagine Sophie taking part of something like that. Sophie had never even liked Jessica! It was probably just nerves, Grace told herself, trying to push the matter from her mind. She needed to get her bridesmaids and go into the back to change into her wedding dress. She felt excitement bubbling up inside her. She’d never really stopped fantasising about the perfect wedding, ever since she was a little girl, and now she was finally getting it! And Rob was the most wonderful man she’d ever met. She flushed at the thought of her gorgeous husband-to-be. She wouldn’t see him until she walked down the aisle though. She wanted everything to be perfect. “Good luck, Gracie!” someone said to her as she made her way through the crowd, and she smiled awkwardly back in the general direction of the voice. She hated being called Gracie – she wasn’t a two-year-old for goodness sake! But nothing was going to ruin her good mood today. She was determined of that. She slipped past a group of guests and found the people she was looking for; Olivia, Caroline, and Annie. Her three bridesmaids. At least the three of them were acting normally. They hurried up to her the moment they saw her, looking almost as excited as she felt. They put their heads together, giggling. “Ready?” asked Olivia, grinning. Grace grinned back and nodded. The four of them moved through the guests and into a room in the back of the venue where Grace could get changed. Her wedding dress was hanging on a clothes rack waiting for her. She beamed at it. It was beautiful – pure white, of course, with a floral-patterned bodice and a flowing, floor-length skirt. Elegant and sophisticated, sexy but still classy. The perfect dress. Grace would barely contain her excitement as Olivia, Caroline, and Annie helped her change into it. She couldn’t take her eyes off the mirror in front of her as she was steadily transformed into the bride she’d dreamed about being ever since she was a little girl. She was almost done when Caroline suddenly said “Oh!” “What?” Grace asked, worried something had gone wrong. “Your veil! I think your mother has it. Or maybe it’s still in the car…” “Don’t panic,” Olivia soothed, seeing Grace’s face. “The three of us will go and look for it. I’m sure it’s around. We’ll be right back.” Her bridesmaids left the room, leaving Grace alone. But a few moments later, the door opened, and Jessica stepped inside. “Hi sweetie!” she said, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hello Jessica,” said Grace, looking at her warily. “Don’t you look pretty!” Jessica cooed, but her eyes were sparkling malevolently. “Looking forward to walking down the aisle?” “Listen Jessica,” said Grace firmly, “whatever it is you’re here for, whatever you’ve got planned…” “Planned?” asked Jessica, cocking her head. “I just don’t want you ruining things by trying to make this all about you,” Grace said coldly. “This is a very special day for me.” “Of course it is, Gracie,” Jessica said. Her smile widened. “The wedding couldn’t happen without you!” She let out a light, tinkling laugh, and then she turned and left the room. Grace scowled. Gracie again. And she didn’t like the way Jessica had been smiling. Did she really not have anything planned? They’d been friends once, but Grace had got together with Rob shortly after he’d broken up with Jessica, and Jessica hadn’t liked that one bit. Grace remembered Jessica screaming at her, calling her a big-titted whore who’d stolen her boyfriend. Grace adjusted her large breasts in her wedding dress. It was true she had a better figure than Jessica, but she hardly thought that mattered. She and Rob had been meant for each other, and that was all there was to it. What else was it that Jessica had said to her? Stupid little girls shouldn’t steal other people’s things, that was it. Grace smirked. Rob was hers now anyway. They were getting married and there was nothing Jessica could do about it. She’d only been invited in the first place because it would have seemed rude not to invite her after Grace had invited all her other old friends – it would make it seem like she was the one still carrying a grudge. Grace shook her head. What was she doing? She shouldn’t even be thinking about Jessica right now. Not on her big day! She admired herself in the mirror, picturing how she’d look walking smoothly down the aisle on the best day of her life. Minutes past, and her bridesmaids still hadn’t returned. But just when Grace was starting to get worried, the door opened again. She look around eagerly as Olivia and Caroline stepped into the room, but her smile faltered when they were closely followed not by Annie, but by Jessica. She was holding something white and semi-transparent in her arms. Was that stupid bitch carrying her veil?! Hadn’t she got the message that she wasn’t wanted? But as Jessica stepped forward, Grace realised the thing she was holding wasn’t a veil at all. It was a dress. A very different dress from the beautiful, elegant, sophisticated wedding dress she was currently wearing. “What’s going on?” asked Grace. She’d just noticed that her two bridesmaids were looking at her rather strangely. They were both smiling, but Olivia was shaking her head from side to side, like a kindergarten teacher amused by the antics of a misbehaving toddler, and Caroline was looking at her with the same sort of sickeningly sweet eagerness that Grace had seen earlier on Sophie’s face. “What are you…?” “Come on, sweetie,” Jessica interrupted, and her eyes were glinting darkly. “It’s time to get you into your proper clothes. That’s enough playing pretend. I need my wedding dress for my big day.” She smiled broadly. “But don’t worry. I’ve found something much more appropriate for you to wear!”