Search the Community

Hello I've been reading a bunch of little space stories and became inspired to write my own. It's the first story I've written like this so I hope everyone enjoys it. Chapter 1 Classification Day Sarah looked around the auditorium, there were just over two dozen students assembled. Every year from the ages of fifteen to eighteen students are tested for any developing classifications. Those who test positive are divided into three types, dominant, subordinate, and neutral, with several subtypes under dom and sub. Sarah figured she was going to be a caregiver, she always loved playing with her little cousins. Loved seeing them happy and smiling. Caregivers are usually taller but it's not unheard of them to be shorter than six feet. She stood just over five feet tall, with chestnut brown hair and sparkling green eyes that seemed larger than normal. Her face was soft and slightly puffy giving her an innocent look. It was a source of frustration for her, while it helped her when dealing with kids and littles, adults treated her younger than she actually was. The other students looked around nervously, a few of them were obviously friends as they huddled together whispering amongst themselves. She can't blame the others, they probably didn't know what they were going to be. Their attention was drawn to the front by an opening door. A woman walked from the open door to the podium, tapping on the mic before turning her attention to the students. “Welcome to Classification assignment,” the woman said. She was taller than the assembled students. Standing at least six feet tall, with long blond hair and a warm gentle face. “You all can call me Miss Clarissa, and today you’ll all be tested for a classification.” The students' voices raised as a few blurted out questions. Miss Clarissa raised her hand, silencing everyone. “I know you all have questions but we have a lot of students to get through. When your name is called please go through those doors.” she pointed to a set of double doors that stood open. A nurse in scrubs standing there with a list. “Sarah Anderson,” the nurse called. Sarah jumped a little and walked over to the woman, who had a gentle smile on her face. Sarah was led to a small area sectioned off with some partitions. “Please sit. Today we're going to be drawing some blood and then you’ll take the Bectel test.” “Is it painful?” Sarah asked. “Not at all sweetie, some electrodes will be placed on your head then you’ll watch a video while a computer monitors your neural activity. Now I'm going to draw some blood. Is that alright with you?” Sarah nodded her head, and watched the nurse take out a blood draw kit and several vials. She wrapped an elastic band around the girl's arm before feeling for a vein in the crook of her elbow. It took her a moment to find an acceptable vein but she nodded in satisfaction and cleaned the area with an alcohol wipe. Popping the safety cap off the butterfly needle she went to insert it. The girl watched the needle, her heart racing as it drew closer to her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her hands. “Relax sweetie, it’ll only take a moment,” the nurse said gently. Sarah nodded and unclenched her hands, whimpering as she felt the needle pierce her skin. “Shh shh, you’re fine. Just going to take a moment,” she spoke calmingly and soothingly. “Just one more. That's a good girl.” The nurse took four vials before removing the needle and taping a cotton ball to the puncture. Sarah felt a few tears fall from her eyes as she watched the nurse put labels on the vials and drop them into a bag. The nurse walked away and came back a few seconds later with a sucker. “Here you go darling,” she said, handing it out. “Ready for the next part? I promise it won't hurt.” “‘Kay,” Sarah said with a sniffle. The nurse led her through the room, other kids were having their blood drawn. One of them bawled their eyes out. She tried to focus on her breathing. Trying to calm her racing heart. She didn't notice when they left the room and entered a small room with a machine in it. An older man stood beside a small reclining chair. “I have Sarah Anderson here,” she said, handing over some paperwork. “Excellent, can you sit here for me,” the doctor asked gently. Sarah nodded and hopped up on the chair, her head feeling fuzzy from the needle, she always hated needles. The doctor explained what he was going to do, which she mostly ignored. Except for the last part which caught her attention. “... then once I get a baseline reading I'm going to show you a video.” “Video…?” “Yes, it's just some funny shapes and colors,” he said, walking over to the computer, then tapping a few buttons. “Ready sweetheart?” She nodded again, and watched him flip a switch with trepidation. Bracing for the unknown she was slightly disappointed when nothing happened. He simply smiled down at her, putting her at ease. While she waited she looked around the room. It was a classroom, all the desks were pushed to one wall and the room divider was stretched across it, dividing the classroom in half. “One of my colleagues is in the other half with another Bectel tester,” he said, following her gaze. The computer dinged and he clapped his hands together. “Alright sweetheart, I'm going to start the next part now, go ahead and look at the TV there.” “‘Kay…” she said watching the tv. It was still black for a moment before turning on. It was showing a pure white image. She started to turn her head when the doctor gently patted the top of it. “Keep watching.” She nodded and became entranced as some shapes and colors flashed on screen. They began to change, changing size and color. As she watched her head began to feel fuzzy again. She shook it, trying to clear it while keeping her eyes on the screen. But the fuzzy feeling continued. Spreading through her whole head. The funny shapes continued to change. “Pwetty…” “How are you feeling sweetheart?” “I few fuzzy,” she giggled. “Do you know where you are?” “Scoo!” she exclaimed. “That's right,” he said, smiling at her. “Pwetty sparkus,” she beamed. The video kept her rapt attention, running for a while before fading back to pure white. “Are you with me sweetheart?” “Huh?” Sarah blinked several times before shaking her head. “What…?” “We're done, you'll receive your results in a few days after the bloodwork finishes.” “Thank you,” she said. “No thank you for being such a good girl,” he said, smiling as her cheeks turned pink. “Nurse, I'm ready for the next one.” Sarah looked at the clock, somehow thirty minutes had passed already. Her attention was pulled away as the door opened up. The nurse led another student into the room and took Sarah back to the auditorium. “Sarah Anderson?” Miss Allison called. “Yes ma’am?” “You may go home, take this letter to your parents please,” she said, holding out a sealed envelope. “Yes ma’am,” she said, taking the offered envelope and walking to the door. She pulled her phone from her pocket and texted her mom asking for a pickup. Settling down to read something while she waited. She got a few chapters through one of her favorite little stories before her mom pulled up. “Sarah sweetie,” her mom called her, making her jump. She was so focused on what she was reading she didn't notice her mom standing in front of her. “How’d it go?” “It was alright, they took some of my blood and hooked me up to a weird computer.” “Ah, I remember the day I was classified. Everyone there said it was obvious what I was,” she said, a nostalgic tinge to her voice. “Really?” Sarah asked, hopping to her feet and following her mom to their car. They both climbed into the car, and buckled in. “Yea, it was very obvious I was a dom even before then.” “It was?” “Yea, I was already more developed than other girls my age, and I was very authoritative. The next year I met your father,” she said, then sighed. It was true, her mom was nearly six feet tall, standing at five foot eleven. She was a mistress, which she reluctantly told her daughter. Much to Sarah's embarrassment. Her mother had the same chestnut hair, but hers fell down to the middle of her back. Her warm honey colored eyes drew the viewer to her face, with its small dainty nose, full pouty lips, and sensual smile. “I miss dad,” Sarah said, sniffling slightly, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I do too.” A silence between them fell as her mother drove back to their house. “So, any idea what your classification is?” her mom asked, breaking the silence. “Caregiver probably.” “You do have a lot of fun playing with Alice and Sam. Are you sure you’re not a little?” “No mom, I don’t want to be a little.” “Why not sweetie?” “Cause I don't want to be reliant on someone my whole life. I don't want to be restricted from being an adult. I don't want my freedom taken away. Besides, I don't have any little tendencies.” “Still you might be surprised,” she said softly. “Mom no, I don't even want to think that way. I’ll be a caregiver. End of story,” she said, crossing her arms. “Alright sweetie,” her mom said, chuckling softly. “Did they say how long you have to wait?” “No, but they gave me a letter for you,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket. “Hold on to it until we get home sweetie.” “‘Kay mom.” Sarah pulled out her phone and texted her best friend Melissa. She’s also doing her classification test today, but later than Sarahs. With a big yawn her head bobbed and fell to her chest as she fell asleep. ***** “Sweetie, time to get up.” “Huh?” Sarah stirred, looking at her mom bleary eyed. “We’re home.” She looked around in confusion. “Still tired sweetie?” Sarah nods and holds up her arms. “Such a spoiled girl,” her mom said, giggling as she picked up her daughter, pocketing the envelope that had fallen from her grip. Carrying the half awake girl to the front door. She used her free hand to open the door. “We’re back,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Welcome back Mistress Michelle,” a woman called from the other room. “How’d it go?” “Well enough,” she replied, walking into the living room. Placing her daughter down on the couch she turned to face a woman who looked very different than her. Smaller with light blonde hair and clear blue eyes. She was much smaller at only “Long day?” “I think she was just stressed. You know how stressful classification day can be,” she sighed sitting down next to the woman, who pressed into her side and hummed contentedly. “I know, my mom was sad that I got designated as a pet,” she said nuzzling into Michelle. “Like she was super supportive but I could tell she was disappointed.” “And it's her loss,” she replied, planting a kiss on the smaller woman's lips. “You’re a wonderful woman, Ariel. And an amazing pet. “I’m so glad you adopted me,” she said. “Especially after Jason.” “Shh shh, don't even think about him,” Michelle said, swiping a tear from her pet's cheek. “Should we wake Sarah up?” “No, leave her to sleep for now, it's barely been twenty minutes. She gave me a letter,” she said, holding up the sealed envelope. Dear Miss Michelle, This letter is to inform you that preliminary results show that your daughter will be classified as a little. You should make sure she's aware and ready to receive the official announcement, as well as her official regression range. Should she drop before receiving the results we encourage you to allow it to progress naturally. Sarah will be required to attend special classes. Before her eighteenth birthday we advise finding her a caregiver. If she doesn’t have a registered caregiver sixty days after her eighteenth birthday a foster caregiver will be assigned to her. Once her age range is established a list of required items will be supplied with the classification folder. Best regards, Agent Alexi, C.L.P.S. “Shit…” Michelle swore. “What?” “Sarah’s going to be pissed…”

Hi! 24f looking to find friends in the community. completely safe for work friends only please! As the titles says, im looking for other adult babies near central indiana, which includes albany,Alexandria, muncie,Yorktown and so on.

Hello everyone. I've decided to try my hand at writing short stories, as I need a little break. The first story from the collection "My World" is now available. Enjoy! "Little one, time to get out," a gentle voice of mom broke through the boisterous children's laughter, splashes of water, and foam. "Mommy, just five more minutes, please!" the boy opened his big brown eyes wide and looked imploringly at the slender and beautiful woman with a white fluffy towel in her hands. She sat down next to the bathtub, tenderly stroked the child's cheek with her palm, and pressed his tiny button-like nose. "How can I say no to you? But only five minutes, no more." "Hooray!" the boy exclaimed ecstatically. He gathered a large handful of snow-white foam and tossed it up into the air. Mom smiled; she always knew that no matter how long Nicolas stayed in the bath, he needed those extra five minutes like air to breathe. "Five minutes, remember?" she asked the boy once more, who was already engrossed in playing with his toy boat. "Yes, mommy, just five minutes!" he smiled back. Young Nicolas, a four-year-old boy, stood in the bathroom on a small children's stool. The additional five minutes passed, as always, quickly and unexpectedly. The boy watched, fascinated, as the flow of water rushing into the drain formed a huge whirlpool, pulling the foam flakes along with it. While he observed the elemental chaos, mom had already dried him off and even managed to comb his unruly thick hair a bit. "Alright, now it's time to get dressed and go to bed," she said, wrapping Nick in a fluffy towel and effortlessly picking him up. As they left the bathroom, the boy reached out and waved goodbye to the rubber boat left alone to face the whirlpool. In the child's room, his pajamas were already waiting, and... "You have one missed message," announced an electronic female voice. Nicolas opened his eyes. "Forgot to turn off the sound again," the man thought, annoyed. He turned his head towards the bedside table. The phone screen glowed with a pale blue light. Reaching out, the man pressed the phone's off button without picking it up. A few seconds later, a farewell tune played, and the screen went dark. Nick turned from side to side, closed his eyes, and prepared to return to his dreamy fairy-tale world. He tried to picture his childhood bed with its weightless warm blanket, toys neatly arranged on the shelves. Each time he thought he was about to be there and almost felt himself as that little boy, a voice would say the same phrase: "Little one, time to get out." The world he had created stubbornly refused to take its owner back. First, his nose itched, then his back, and soon the man felt an insatiable thirst. The clock on the bedside table suddenly began to tick deafeningly loud. There was nothing to do; apparently, the session was over for today. Nicolas got out of bed and headed towards the kitchen. He approached the refrigerator and opened the door. The cold light hit his eyes, and the man squinted. Finding a bottle of water, he unscrewed the cap and began to drink greedily. The water refreshed him from the inside, and it seemed that each gulp helped wash away the heaviness of sleepy thoughts. Having emptied the bottle, the man sighed. The thought of checking the missed message on the phone crossed his mind, but he decided not to succumb to temptation. Nick couldn't recall the exact date or reason when it all started, perhaps when he was around 10 or 11 years old. However, he remembered clearly what had appeared in his world first. It was a bed, not quite a child's bed but with a small border to prevent falling off during sleep, a simple headboard, and a light blanket. The bed stood in a black void, and Nick would climb into it whenever he felt particularly sad. Over time, the world began to grow: the bed no longer hung in the air but stood in a cozy children's room with light blue wallpaper. The room acquired a toy shelf, a small wardrobe with clothes, and even a corner with a model railway. One of Nicholas's major achievements, as he considered it, was populating his world with inhabitants. Each time he immersed himself in his fantasies, the world came to life. People appeared on the streets, rushing about their business; kindergartens and schools filled with children who were dropped off and picked up by their parents. Sometimes, Nick himself would visit one of those kindergartens... for 13 years already. After taking a shower and fully waking up, the man poured himself a large mug of coffee with milk and headed to his office, stopping by the bedroom to grab his phone. "Who can't sleep?" he muttered, opening the latest notification. "Good day! We're happy to introduce your new colleague!" followed by a brief questionnaire. It's worth noting that by the age of 24, Nicholas had already achieved certain success in his professional life. He had several successful projects under his belt as a lead game designer, and recently he was entrusted with managing a small team. To a large extent, he owed his success to his little world, created long before Nicholas had chosen his profession. One could say that he had been honing his professional skills since childhood, but over time, it became increasingly difficult. The first issue he faced was that the world stopped developing. Over the past few years, the level of detail had become almost perfect, but he craved more variety. Essentially, each day was similar to the others, although holidays and other important events occurred in the world, such as family vacations or trips to amusement parks, but the list of events was strictly limited. The second and more serious problem was the degradation of the world. Over the last few months, the detail of what he had created for many years had been steadily declining, and unfortunately, Nicholas had no idea how to fight it. This manifested in various ways: the grass on the lawn near the school turned into a homogeneous green carpet, looking like plastic; the faces or clothing of the inhabitants of his world became identical; sometimes his favorite toys would vanish without a trace. The most shocking incident for Nicholas was when his mother lost her face – and she lost it in the literal sense of the word. A smooth sphere gazed at the boy instead of the familiar face, devoid of eyes, nose, eyebrows, and everything else. It took considerable effort for Nick to bring back the exact person he had created and grown attached to. And so, before Nicolas was the profile of his new employee, or rather, a female employee. "Alice, 24 years old... professional skills... hobbies: world-building," he leafed through the profile of the person he was to work with. "Well, why not," he said aloud, and scheduled an introductory meeting on the team calendar. II "Everyone, wake up!" Nicolas traditionally started the morning video meeting. "Mark, either mute your microphone or stop chewing," he asked his colleague. "Oops, sorry." Mark hastily set aside his sandwich and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Colleagues, we have a new addition to our team; please welcome Alice. Alice will be helping all of us in the challenging task of creating games!" Nicolas continued his speech. "Hi, Alice!" all the team members responded in unison. "Good morning," replied the newcomer. It was evident that she was a little embarrassed by the attention directed at her. Alice was an attractive young woman with light hair, neat, even slightly childlike facial features. Her voice was not loud, but even behind her shyness, determination could be heard. "Alright, let's continue where we left off," Nicolas switched from introducing the newcomer to work tasks. "Our team was tasked with coming up with something new and fresh that could engage a modern audience," he reiterated the main point not so much for the team as for its new member. "I still suggest we settle on an alternate universe of superheroes," Mark insisted, being a die-hard fan of everything related to Spider-Man, Superman, and other extraordinary personalities. "An alternate world where everyone is a superhero, and..." "That's already been done; we can't exploit the same idea indefinitely," Nicolas interrupted his colleague, realizing the futility of his idea and not wanting to waste work time on it. "Alright..." Mark turned off his sound and resumed eating his sandwich. "What if it's a simulator, say, in the ancient world, and this world evolves, and you survive in the ancient era?" Erin began. "Like, you build a shelter, hunt, and all that stuff." "More interesting," Nicolas perked up, as his team had been clearly struggling with creativity for the past month. "Any more ideas?" "What if we just make a simulator?" Alice said softly. "A simulator of what?" Nicolas didn't understand. "Of everything," she replied. Still not understanding, Nicolas asked, "Can you explain in more detail?" "Yes," Alice answered and continued, "A simulator of the ordinary world we all live in, but with the option to choose the place and time." "But there's a ton of those on the market already," Mark interrupted the conversation. "No, there's nothing like that," Alice wasn't fazed at all and continued her explanation, "Most simulators offer the player a God mode, where they watch their characters and give them instructions on what to do and when to do it. Or there are small projects that let you live one little piece of life, like fishing or being a cashier," she clarified. "Well, what are you proposing?" Erin asked, clearly more interested in the ancient world and survival. Alice, finally overcoming her embarrassment, continued. "I suggest giving players the opportunity to live the life they want, in their own environment, at the age they want, in their own world, experiencing the moments they desire multiple times!" she said confidently, "And then we can analyze their created worlds and combine them into larger ones based on common interests. And get a multitude of worlds where players will be together, something like that." There was silence in the chat. "Ok, colleagues. Ideas require further development; we'll work in the office tomorrow," Nicolas concluded the meeting. He spent the rest of the day in deep thought, Alice's idea haunting him. The next morning, Nicolas hurried to the office as if it were his first day at a new job. He was eager to get to know Alice better and learn more about her idea. As he approached the office, the man pulled the door handle and found it locked. Glancing at his watch, Nick was surprised to find that there was still a full hour before the workday began. "I'm a bit early," he thought. At that moment, a timid voice came from behind: "Good morning!" Nicolas turned around and saw a young, medium-height woman with light hair and a cute face. "Alice?" he smiled. "Yes, hello!" she greeted him again. "You're kind of early," Nick looked at Alice and didn't understand why he kept smiling. "You don't like to sleep in either," she replied, not embarrassed at all. "There's still an hour until we open, how about a coffee?" Nicolas unexpectedly suggested. He was not inclined to invite his employees to cafes, especially those he was seeing for the first time, and especially women. It's worth mentioning that he was still quite shy, but with Alice, everything happened naturally. "Yes, that would be great!" she agreed. They settled in a cafe not far from the office. The city outside had already woken up, people and cars filling it with voices and sounds. Inside, however, it was quiet and homely; two steaming cups of fragrant coffee sat on the table, inviting the two young people to engage in casual conversation. "Alice, I was thinking a lot about your idea yesterday," Nicholas began, "can you..." "Tell you more?" the girl finished for him. "Yes!" the man smiled. "Of course!" she enthusiastically agreed, taking a large sip of her coffee. "I believe that the biggest problem in society is the lack of time. We're constantly rushing somewhere, doing something, and almost never stopping. We forget the moments that really matter. For example, who can remember the feeling of entering first grade or giving a speech at graduation? Some do, but not all," she spoke very quickly, as if her thoughts were far ahead of what she was explaining now. "But memories are easier - there are photos, videos, and they can be refreshed. But what about those moments that need not only to be remembered but corrected?" "What do you mean?" Nicholas raised his eyebrows. "Well, for instance, at the age of 4, a child had a toy that was suddenly taken away. Just without your permission because someone thought it was necessary. What if you could fix that and relive that moment when your toy stays with you?" she explained. "But isn't that self-deception?" Nicholas couldn't believe what he heard. It was his beloved stuffed giraffe that had been given away to a neighbor's baby, thinking he was too old for such toys. "Isn't it self-deception to be angry at your parents for the rest of your life because of that?" she countered. "Yeah, I guess you're right..." Nick hesitated. "But why exactly 4 years?" he asked. "It's not about the age," Alice smiled. "It's about the possibility of correcting the past." They talked for a very long time. Nicholas sat and looked at the girl opposite him, feeling as if he had known her his entire life. By midday, they finally returned to the office. By that point, Nicholas had firmly decided that this game was exactly what they needed. Work on the concept went on around the clock. Inspired by Alice, the team spent days and nights describing all possible scenarios. How to organize worlds, how to connect them into one enormous world so that the players, whom they called inhabitants, would not interfere but help and complement each other. Even Mark eventually admitted that his superhero idea could wait. By the end of the sixth month of work, the concept was finalized, and the most challenging task lay ahead – presenting it to management. "Alice, here are your tickets," Nick handed a small envelope to his colleague. "Me?" the girl's eyes widened in surprise as she beamed. "Well, who else? It was your idea, so you're responsible," Nick smiled. In just a couple of hours, Nick and Alice were sitting in a train compartment. Alice was noticeably nervous; she wasn't used to so much attention, and now she had the daunting task of defending her dream. Nicholas, on the other hand, was calm. He smiled at his companion and said, "Don't worry, we'll get through this together. You should get some sleep now, though. We've got a five-hour trip ahead." "Yes, you're right," the girl nodded. Over the months of working on the project, the entire team had grown close, but these two had grown closer than the rest. It seemed like they started to understand each other without even speaking, and people behind their backs began whispering about an upcoming wedding. The train began to move smoothly, gently rocking its passengers to sleep. Nicholas leaned his head against the window and watched the landscapes drift by. He glanced at Alice - she was already fast asleep in the comfortable chair. "Well, I might as well take a nap, too," he thought to himself, closing his eyes and drifting off. "Good morning, sleepyhead!" a loving mother's voice rang out. "Time to get up; you've got an unusual day ahead." Young Nicholas opened his eyes and smiled at the sunbeam dancing on the tip of his nose. The boy sat up in bed, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Strangely, he didn't want and wasn't ready to dive into his world just yet, but apparently, his brain had decided otherwise, and the boy chose not to argue with his own mind. He looked around: his nursery was the same as before... almost. It had become perfect. All the toys not only returned to their places but were joined by new ones. The sounds of the outside world were particularly diverse: birds chirping, leaves rustling, and children's laughter ringing out. The boy sat on the bed, listening to his sensations - they were the same as before, only more intense. He took a deep breath and caught the scent of fresh pancakes wafting in from the kitchen. It was strange: in his world, he preferred to eat porridge for breakfast. His mother sat down next to him. "Dear, is everything alright?" she asked with concern. "Yes, almost too much so," Nick replied. "That's wonderful!" his mother smiled. "Now let's get dressed, wash up, and have breakfast. Do you need help, or are you a big boy now?" "Help," Nicholas looked at her, bewildered. Usually, during his immersion in his world, his mother simply dressed him without asking questions, but now she seemed... more alive. After getting dressed, washing up, and brushing his teeth, the boy hurried to the kitchen. A steaming pile of fragrant pancakes with a dollop of melting chocolate-hazelnut spread was already on the table. This was impossible, unreal! He had always had a severe allergy to nuts and simply couldn't create this dessert in his world. The boy cautiously sat down at the table, broke off a piece of pancake, and carefully dipped it into the melted spread. He touched the unknown dessert with the tip of his tongue. The world turned upside down: he could taste it, the chocolate and hazelnut enveloping his entire consciousness. Nicholas didn't want to think about how he could know the taste of the spread, having never tried it in the real world. In just a few minutes, the plate was empty, and a content Nick licked the remnants of the spread from his messy fingers. "What an appetite!" his mother praised him. "Son, let's wash our hands, not lick them. You're not two years old anymore." "Yes, mom," he said and ran to wash his hands. Returning to the kitchen, Nicolas asked, "Mom, what's so special about today?" "Someone is coming over to play with you all day," she replied with a smile. "To me? To play?" Nick thought nervously, as he had never let anyone into his house in this world before. "Who?" the boy asked, his eyes widening. "You'll find out soon," his mother replied, adding, "Now go draw something for me." "Alright," the boy replied, puzzled, and headed to his playroom. He sat down at a small table, picked up some markers, and began to draw. "Nicolas, your guest has arrived!" His mother's voice made the boy look up from his favorite activity. He raised his eyes, and two smiling women were standing in the doorway, one of whom was his mother. In front of them was a girl in a lovely white summer dress. Her sweet childish face was framed by light, slightly curly hair. She smiled at him: "Hi! My name is Alice! Let's be friends!" she greeted him cheerfully. "Nicolas," the boy said hesitantly. "Okay." "I have a present for you!" With these words, Alice approached the boy and handed him a plush giraffe. The train slowed down. Nicolas opened his eyes, astonished by what he saw in his world. The man turned his head to look at his companion sitting next to him. Alice was no longer asleep, but cheerfully looking at him and smiling. "Did you like the pancakes?" she asked. "Yes," he replied hesitantly, "but how did you..." "I don't know!" she replied cheerfully. "You're not the only one with a little world." With that, she rested her head on Nicolas' shoulder. The man sat for a few more minutes, deep in thought, then smiled at his thoughts, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, returning to their shared, no longer so small world.

Hi everyone! You probably know me as the one half of Sophie & Pudding, and if you do it means you've probably read some our work we've done together. You've also probably read some of Sophie's solo works, too, and if you haven't, you really ought to, she's great! And I'm not just saying that 'cuz she's my best friend, she writes some of the best fiction in this field. Enough preample-ramble, though. Today I'd like to start sharing with you one of my solo works, something I've been working on these past few weeks; a space opera sci-fi featuring little themes. This is going to be a slow build up and release, and all that I ask is that if you get bored early on, please consider checking back in when more is posted and see if it hooks you then. To say this isn't the usual affair to be found on DD or in this community in general would be a massive understatement >//< Um... So anyway, please like, comment, give thoughts or feedback, even if it's not that much to say, and otherwise enjoy the ride and I hope you all find something you like. I'm gonna do my best bestest to update this daily, hopefully not this late tho! Special thanks to Sophie, Kimmy, Chloe, Selphie, Ana, Ruka, Kerry, Ollie, Trip, and all of my other supporters that have read along with this so far as I've written and given valuable insight and love and support, I couldn't write without you!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 1 There are things you bring with you, there are things you leave behind, there are things that chase you, and those that slip your mind. -Lt. S. B. Danyka, Accounts of the Third Revolutionary War, Vol. II *** I would always remember the smell of blackcurrants. On the day the sky fell dark and rained fire from the clouds, the fields lit up and burned in solidarity to the end of the world. We - both the collective, and the personal - had never seen anything so dreadful, not during our fiercest atrocities we bandied upon one another at the end turn of the century, and not during the sixteen major revolutionary wars that followed. Conflicts so fierce and awful, so passionate and important, that they dissolved borders and governments alike, wars that burned away what had brought us upon ruin’s doorstep and left behind only the scarcest beauty left to rise from the ashes. We were the children of global revolution. We wouldn’t make the same mistakes. We wouldn’t turn on one another, we wouldn’t squabble over land disputes, or taxation. For the first time, the planet earth saw eye to eye. If only we’d known we should have been watching the sky, instead. Irony would have had it, then, that if we were still at war we very likely would have seen them coming in our global state of paranoia. We may have stood a chance. I would always remember the smell of blackcurrants. It had been 2:18 Global Time when the sky darkened, and it had been 2:21g when the fields had burned, licking flames and the sickening scent of fruit boiling with never the chance to leave the branch. It had been 2:46g when I ran through the fire without the courage to steal a glance behind me, knowing to myself that anything left of my life had burned with the berries, caught in the brimstone that swept the surface and cleansed what was left behind. At 3:01g and at ten years old, I became an orphan of the human race. The ragged crimson edges to the thick dark ichor that had once been all there was in the world, land that had once been homes, lives, countries, futures, was oddly beautiful from above. Back then you might have been born in one town and lived there your entire life, existing only to further a bloodline, the very definition of a pointless futility, and yet in those days we clung to our ephemeral existences like they were the most important thing in the world. The screen hissed a microsecond of staticky protest as I fumbled for the kill switch and the image of our scorched Earth disappeared like a long-forgotten ghost. Those fires would burn forever, but my tea was growing cold. *** My feet swung three inches above the floor when I was sitting, even though Skippers were supposed to be appointed quarters and furniture sized proportionately, so when I stood up the cold steel of the floor caught me by surprise the way it always seemed to. I didn’t think many other people would have felt the chill of the metal; conduits beneath the floor kept the entire station at a Comfortable-as-Designated-by-Committee™ temperature. I felt it, though. I felt the cold of the steel, I felt the warmth of the conduits, I felt the warm pleasant buzz of RF interference from the endless bundles of wires that crisscrossed the station like some approximation of a nervous system. I felt us moving, too, despite the fact the inertial dampeners should have suppressed that sensation. That wasn’t to say that anybody else felt it. But we were moving. “Have they found us?” I asked, hoping the answer would be no. One thing the architects had gotten right were the height of the comm panels on the wall - although the prefabricated nature of the station was obvious from the mismatched steel that filled in the hole where the screen should have been, to the overly shiny nature of the screens bezel where it was at eye-level to me. Not much was new around here. “It’s only a routine maneuver, Cadence. Are you poking around in systems you shouldn’t be? You should have known it was routine.” Laurent replied teasingly. He couldn’t help the way he looked down on me, but his face wore the memories of his story in scars that crawled up one cheek giving him the almost comforting appearance of rich mahogany tree bark, and a glassy, contrastingly white eye that served only to fill the hole. He’d paid his price, like I’d paid mine, so I didn’t hold it against him. “I can feel it, Laurent.” “I’m telling you, Cadence, the dampeners are working fine. There is just no way you can feel the station moving, Skipper or not,” he assured me, exasperated. I grinned at him, and he caught himself, either from the sight of my angelic little smile or the fact that it highlighted certain facets about how I looked. Where he resembled chocolate taken halfway to the grater to garnish a birthday cake, I more closely compared to the birthday girl. Porcelain skin so pure it might have looked like a doll to a distance observer, eyes that were violet with inner machinations within their irises that moved the way that clouds did on the stillest of days. Side effects of the fact I was inherently his commanding officer. “You forget yourself, Special Technician Laurent Larson.” “Oh no no, Cadence, don’t even pretend you like that. Are you dressed?” He could only have seen my head and shoulders, making the question one of validity and not perversion. “Should I be?” I shrugged. “We don’t have any Runs today, I double checked the roster, I was going to visit the pool.” “The pool? Well that’s just perfect, Cadence. You’re vetting a new recruit for the Skippers today - you can take them along with you.” I groaned, fingertips running down my cheeks and pulling down the bottom of my eye lids like an overly dramatic child as I breathed out in annoyance, a gesture that only made my honey strawberry hair decide to rebel from its station in much the way I wanted to. I huffed and blew strands of hair back out of my eyes, muttering to myself first, and then to the man on my screen. “Can’t someone else do it? Like Caesen? Or Kisnus? They both love interviewing, and they don’t do anything on their down days except for Skipper things. I want to go to the pool, Laurent. I want to feel the water on my skin,” I cut him off with a finger. “Don’t even start with me, Mister.” His barky cheek folded in on itself as he smiled, and his laugh made me feel like I’d just drank a long glass of warm hot chocolate instead of the blackcurrant tea that now pooled in small cold puddles in the bottom of my glass. “I’m afraid this one’s just for you, Cadence. Special request.” Special request? From who? “There’s something you’re not telling me, I can see it in your eyes, Special Technician.” I called him by rank the same way that parents call wayward children by middle name. I wasn’t sure it had the desired effect coming from a girl who needed a stepping stool to brush her teeth. “It’s classified, Skipper Cadence Cassandra.” Wow, that actually didn’t feel so good thrown back at me. “An order straight from the top of Skipper Command.” I was sure he could see the defiance of my face falling to reluctant acceptance, the dreams of my downtime day at the pool being pulled down the drain hole as though the pool itself was emptying and filling in with standardized questions and personality probing lines of conversation. I knew six languages, and there weren’t words in any of them… wait, maybe German… mm, no. No, there weren’t even words in that dead tongue to represent how crestfallen I felt. So, I just pouted. “Whateveerrrrr,” I sighed dramatically. “7:30g?” “6:30g, actually,” he responded, pointedly not amused. “Argh!! Really?! Laurent!” I cried. “That’s in like half an hour, are you for real right now?” “Have fun, Skipper.” The screen flickered from color to greyscale to one central line and then nothing. A gesture I vastly wished I could replicate. *** I’d been a Skipper for twenty-five years, with some of my uniforms old enough to prove it, and although I could never wear the older models on an actual Run because they wouldn’t be up to code in today's safety charter, they made nice keepsakes all the same. In the old wars, the ones before we learned to know better, pilots would decorate their aircraft with tallies of death that they’d inflicted upon their enemies. Conversely, I kept my old uniforms as a much more somber reminder of how many deaths I’d cheated. The third-generation style was so cute, with the solid boning around the hips, as though deliberately weaving a shape into the fabric was enough to preserve the dignity of the Skipper when the entire populace knew what we were trying to hide. I pushed it aside to seek something newer. It would still fit - I’d not grown since becoming a Skipper and I’d never grow again - but it wouldn’t have been professional. Who would ask for me by name, anyway? I simply wasn’t that special. I got into my underwear, then pulled the lilac colored uniform up over my body, snapping the buckles together in place between my legs and wriggling to make sure the neural interfaces running all throughout the fabric had good clear connectivity with my skin. I didn’t know why I bothered to wear clothing - the air felt the same to me once I was dressed, I always felt naked. I guess that’s why I liked being barefoot on the station. And how else would people see that my toenails matched my fingers? I smirked to nobody but myself as I stepped onto the stool to brush my hair in the mirror, and made some final adjustments to my uniform, before I left my quarters for the foul air that the masses were forced to breathe. In fairness, only a Skipper could have told the difference, which I always figured was why they didn’t invest the additional energy into further purifying the air for the rest of the station - if they couldn’t tell the difference, and it was considered safe, then why waste the energy? It was a pragmatic approach, if not a particularly nice one.

I got the idea for this story from a real experience, which I wrote about on Twitter. You can read the backstory here! “You know the rules,” Daddy said. “We’ve practiced, but I want to make sure you’re okay with it, alright?” I nodded enthusiastically, sitting almost naked on the edge of the bed for dressup; the only article on my body was the steel cage around my bits, one that’d been there for two weeks since my last ‘outing’. I’d met all his friends before, we’d been at munches together, we’d talked about kink, but this would be my first experience where I was ‘out’ in front of them all at once. I knew I’d be in good company, but I also worried about being the only Little, the only one there who’d be in diapers. “Tell me the rules,” he added. “I may not use the potty,” I said. “I can only refer to you as Daddy. I can’t hold it when I need to pee. And I can’t even ask for a diaper change. I have to drink water every thirty minutes, and if I leak, you’ll spank me.” Daddy began laying out my outfit next to me. My top, white shirt with black sleeves, and a black-and-white striped skirt. I’d objected to the skirt, at first–”I’m a boy!” I’d pointed out–but Daddy had countered that I was a baby, and I didn’t get to decide what I wore…and then he’d added that if I complained again I’d get the spanking of a lifetime. “And what do you say if you’re nervous?” he asked. “Yellow,” I confirmed. “And if you want to leave?” “Red.” He made me practice my safe words before we did anything, every time. “Good baby,” he said, laying out a diaper with three whole stuffers, alongside a pair of thigh high white stockings and, oddly, duct tape. “And remember–you can’t mush until I say you’re allowed to. When I say your diaper looks full, then you go.” My tummy squirmed at that–I hadn’t gone number two in a day and a half, and now I’d have to wait even longer. “O-okay, Daddy.” He smiled, and set out one more item next to my outfit–a plush tail with a clip, also with black and white stripes. A skunk tail, to be specific, with a pronounced curl at the end. My eyes widened and my cheeks turned pink, but I knew better than to object again. “I made sure you’ll have enough capacity,” Daddy promised. “As long as you are careful, your diaper won’t leak–but if you aren’t mindful of how you go potty, you’ll be in big trouble.” I nodded again. “Yes, Daddy.” “Lay down, and let’s get you dressed.” I obeyed, watching him as he prepared my diaper. The stuffers were crucial–without them, I’d certainly leak–but they’d provide a serious puff to my diaper that’d make it stick out even more than normal. I watched him unstick the tape on the first, adhering it inside the diaper, right at the front. The top edge came up to the very front of the diaper, so it’d be right over my cage. I assumed he was going to lay out the stuffers so that there was a single uniform layer of extra padding throughout the diaper, but instead, the second stuffer went right over the first–at the front, so it’d be packed around my caged cock. My eyes widened as he took the final stuffer, which he folded in the middle and ripped in half. Sticking them back-to-back, he then put the layer right at the front of the diaper, slightly offset, so that my bits would be nestled in between four layers of stuffer inside my diaper. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Oh,” he said, offhanded. “Just making sure you’ll be nice and snug.” I nodded, uncertain for a moment, but decided to trust Daddy. He wouldn’t steer me wrong. Lifting up my butt, I let him put the diaper on me, with a liberal amount of powder. Once he’d folded it up and taped it securely, I could really feel the excessive amount of padding around me–it puffed out heavily all around my cage, pressing me into the absorbent layers, making the front of my diaper stick out heavily. And he wasn’t done there. Reaching to the side, he grabbed the roll of duct tape, applying two lengthy pieces to the front of my diaper. I knew why. The tapes were going to be fighting for their life, and they’d need some support. Next came the skirt, shimmied up over my legs. It was long enough to cover my diaper, even with the extra poof, as long as I didn’t bend over too far. The stockings made me feel particularly cute, and when I sat up and raised my arms, daddy pulled the black and white shirt over my head. I admittedly already had a distinctly skunky look to my clothes–black and white vertical stripes conjured that image–but it’d probably have been overlooked without the tail. Once Daddy clipped the back of the tail to my skirt, and used a safety pin to hook the top to my shirt so it’d stay upright while I wore it, the look was unmistakable. At least I didn’t smell the part, yet… “You look adorable,” he praised, and I blushed under the complement. “Are you ready to go?” “Mhmm!” I said. Daddy was already dressed, though his clothes were more neutral than mine–Black pants, a white T shirt, and a black jacket. The black-and-white look matched me, though on him, the color choice made him look assertive and cool. On me, the colors just emphasized that I was a tiny, smelly baby. The party was only a little ways away. Our mutual friend, Milo, was hosting, since his yard had a very tall privacy fence, and only single-story neighbors. The perfect situation to host a kinky party. He drove–of course–and parked in the driveway. I felt shy about getting out in full view of the front walk, but nobody was around to see, and I quickly scurried inside. “Gary!” Milo declared, waving us in. He had on a canvas apron, but everything beneath it was black leather–he and his pup were big into that look. “You’re the first ones here. I was just getting the grill ready, so I hope you’re hungry!” “Famished,” Daddy said. “Do you have anything to drink, though–this one’s thirsty.” Milo laughed, getting the implication. He may not have been able to see my diaper, but he knew what I liked, and certainly had the implication. “Sure, there’s cups and ice out back.” We followed him out. His pup was on all fours in the back, in his own costume–collar, muzzle, and even more leather. From the kneepads, I instantly guessed that he wouldn’t be allowed to walk tonight, any more than I could use the bathroom. I got handed a cup of soda, and obediently began sipping on it while the other guests filtered in. Another pup with his master, Dina, as well as a pony girl in latex and high, high heels, accompanied by her mistress, Megan. Before long–though not before a second cup of soda–we were all seated around picnic tables, chowing down on Milo’s burgers. I felt the need to pee, and without reservation, let loose, flooding my diapers for the first time that evening. Seated, it all rushed to the back, quickly soaking into the padding around the seat. I wasn’t worried about leaking. Like daddy said… Uh… Oh. I shoved down my concerns, and focused on eating. I almost missed daddy’s comment, asking how long I’d been in my cage. “Baby?” he repeated. I knew he knew the answer, so I was answering for everyone else. “It’s…been two weeks,” I admitted, flushing brightly. I knew how I had to phrase it, and my word choice had been chosen to be as humiliating as possible. “Since I got to make stickies in my dirty diapers…” That got a round of chuckles from the table. The pony chimed in, “My mistress has had me caged for six months, I don’t know why you’re complaining.” “Don’t brag,” Megan chided. I squirmed–I loved the focus being on me, but I hated it too, especially since it meant someone was probably about to ask– “What’s the tail for?” Milo inquired, in between bites of a burger. Flushing even pinker, I hoped Daddy would explain. Instead, he just said, “Why don’t you tell them, baby? You were so excited when you told me.” “I…” I said, turning pink. “Um, there was this artist I found a couple weeks ago, and. Daddy?” He gave an approving nod, a ‘go on’ gesture. Not what I’d been hoping for. “He drew a picture of a…well, a boy who looks like me, wearing a skunky onesie and a really big stinky diaper. I showed it to daddy right away, and, um. Begged him to…” I buried my face in my hands, burning bright pink. “I begged for permission to take my cage off early and make stickies because I liked the picture so much.” More condescending smirks. Milo, at least, did the math and guessed, “And he said yes, right?” “Only…on the condition that I show everyone how cute the picture was,” I said, “By…being like the boy in the photo myself.” “He was sooo excited,” Daddy chimed in. “He agreed instantly as soon as I got out his wand.” I covered my face even more, wishing I could melt into a puddle on the ground. “Daddy!” “Hmm?” he asked. “Is something wrong?” That was code for, ‘Safe words’. I could tap out now with a ‘yellow’ or ‘red’ but instead I just shook my head. “I’m okay.” “Good skunky.” He leaned over, giving me a kiss on the top of my head, before changing topics, granting me a slight reprieve. “So, Dina–I see a new collar on your pup there. What’s the story there?” The conversation shifted away, and my burning red cheeks got a moment to cool down while I worked on my dinner–and drank another cup of soda that Daddy dutifully provided for me. The night was, in many respects, a typical barbeque. Milo got out a frisbee so we could play fetch with the pups–during which I wet myself again, soaking the middle of my diaper so that it swelled between my legs–and, for the most part, we just stood and talked, catching up on this or that. Megan’s pony told us excitedly about her upcoming top surgery, Milo had funny stories from work, the evening passed casually. Until about the third time I needed to pee. Daddy’s warning hung in my head. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to paddle me in front of the other guests, and I hated leaking anyways. But, as the pressure in my bladder built, I grew more and more confident of what Daddy had planned for the evening. If I just peed standing, everything would trickle down to the middle, where I’d already saturated my diaper. Heck, if I sat down it’d be even worse, soaking through and pouring out the side where I’d already flooded it. I needed to make sure everything stayed in the front of my diaper, soaking into all the stuffers around my caged bits at the very front of my diaper. Only one option presented itself. Blushing so hard the red crept all the way up past my eyes, I paused in the middle of a game of frisbee fetch, getting down onto my hands and knees. To direct the flow properly, I had to stick my butt up into the air as far as possible, so high my skirt fell back and showed off my diaper to everyone. “What’re you doing there, lil skunky?” Daddy asked, though he already knew the answer. “Marking your territory?” I felt too utterly small to answer, and only mumbled a few words as I forced my bladder to let go. My plan, at least, worked–everything flowed to the stuffers in the top of my diaper, and I didn’t leak–but even the pups were giggling at my display as I used my diapers. “Mmm…” I said, wiggling a little to get the last drops into place. I couldn’t even stand when I was done peeing, I had to wait, my skunk tail in the air and diaper incredibly visible, until everything had soaked into place. And when I stood, Daddy was waiting for me with a fresh drink–just water, this time. “Good baby,” he praised, stepping in to kiss me before passing me the water. I drank, and tried to say, “Thanks, Daddy.” Instead, I just mumbled, “Th-thnn…” He beamed, reached beneath my skirt to give my bottom a squeeze, and returned to his chat with Milo. The flood gates didn’t close there. Especially as I felt the saturation right around my parts, and the constant intake of water, my ability to hold it had tanked. I seemed to need to pee every five minutes, and according to the rules, that meant I needed to go right away–no holding, no waiting. My blushes never faded, and it seemed like I was on my hands and knees displaying my increasingly heavy diaper more often than I was standing. I couldn’t participate in the conversations anymore–even if I regained my big boy words, the constant interruptions of getting down to potty kept pulling me away. Each use lasted longer and forced me to stick my butt up higher, as I had to wait for everything to drain into the increasingly scarce dry spots in my diaper’s many layers. And, as my diaper grew fuller and the stuffers swelled, I was reminded more and more of my cage, my frustration. The two weeks since I’d last made my diaper sticky…and the fact that I had no idea when Daddy would let me out again. Eventually, Milo got a bonfire going. Smores were had, and shared, and Daddy fed mine to me–making no effort whatsoever to avoid getting goopy marshmallow and melted chocolate all over my face. He did, however, make a big fuss of wiping me up, cleaning off all the little bits and chiding me for making such a mess. When he got done, I was right back on all fours, dribbling pee into my increasingly saturated diapers. As heavy as they were, I’d begun to worry that they might just slip off–or that, despite all my caution, I might leak anyways. That’d be the worst outcome–humiliating myself for all to see, only to fail anyways. I pondered this as I piddled into my pampers for the millionth time. “Daddy…” I mumbled, as I got to my feet. “What is it, skunky?” he asked. “I’m–” I almost broke a rule. My headspace had been shoved so deep and my thoughts were so clouded that I couldn’t remember them all, and I nearly said, ‘I’m gonna leak’. I caught myself at the last minute, and had to change to, “I’m…thirsty.” He caught what I’d almost said, but since I’d fixed my words, I’d narrowly avoided punishment. “Alright,” he smiled. “It’s not even time for your next drink yet, but I’ll go get you some water.” I couldn’t have flushed deeper, but I sank even smaller anyways, wiggling in my intensely heavy diaper. It felt as though I had a medicine ball hanging around my waist, and even the duct tape was beginning to struggle. As heavy as it felt, it just made things more humiliating every time I had to drop to my knees and add a little more moisture, feeling this enormous, swollen garment squelch between my legs. It seemed I didn’t even need to mush to live up to my skunky tail and clothing–the smell of increasingly stale urine was floating heavily around me, so much that even the pups were gesturing at their noses and snickering. The first was close to embers, and the night was drawing to a close, and I was sitting on Daddy’s lap when he said it. “Hey, skunky baby,” he said. “Don’t you think your diaper’s getting full?” I melted. The thought of arguing or resisting didn’t even enter my head. I was Daddy’s little helpless skunk, and I’d do as I was supposed to. Getting off his lap, I assumed the posture I had for every accident. My intensely heavy, squelching diaper pointed right in the air, wavering slightly from all the weight, skirt flipped down to display everything without a lick of modesty, my tail wiggling with my shaking body. I didn’t have to work very hard. My body was ready to go, and as soon as I screwed up my face and began to push, the mudslide began. My diapers were already at capacity, but the tidal force of muck packing into it felt to me as though I’d doubled the weight–though that had to be my imagination at work, at least in part. I could feel the padding bulging and straining to hold it all, and the little grunts of effort that escaped my lips rang in my ears. As much as I’d needed to go, I was pushing, grunting, and whimpering for most of two minutes before I was done. Exhausted, utterly little, I gave my mushy tush one last wiggle before I flopped over, sitting down on the ground with an incredible mushy squelch that made me moan out loud. I stank–truly living up to my outfit, and my nickname, the odor of my latest accident assaulted my nose and smelled so badly I couldn’t imagine I’d ever feel like a grown up again. It was only then that I noticed everyone smiling at me, the snickers from the pups, the pony girl’s barely stifled giggle. Wriggling, I looked to daddy. “Huh?” He smiled back at me, though his nose was wrinkled. “Baby skunky,” he said, “You were sticking your butt up so you wouldn’t leak, right?” I nodded. “Yuh-huh.” The pony girl laughed, unable to keep it contained anymore. Daddy simply explained, “Well, you didn’t need to worry about leaking this time.” My eyes widened. He was right–I could have gone sitting down, or found a discreet place to just squat and go. I didn’t need to worry about the urine flowing to the stuffers, the mush ended up in my seat no matter how I went, so… I’d just played the part of the skunk. For no reason, other than that it’s what I was. Putting his hand over his nose, Daddy said, “You really stink. Why don’t you go play in your diaper on the other side of the yard until it’s time to leave, so you don’t bother the grown ups? I’ll start getting ready to go home, but if you stay here much longer we won’t be able to breathe. My eyes were huge, and the suggestion–that I was too smelly and little to even be around the adults–elicited an unstoppable moan from deep in my throat. “Mhm,” I mumbled, rolling back onto my hands and knees. There was no point in trying to walk–good skunks didn’t walk. Enormous stinky diaper on proud display, I crawled across the yard, sat down, and reveled in the incredible squelch between my legs. I was daddy’s little skunk baby, and nothing more, and I loved it. ... Instead of the usual Patreon plug, I have something different: I'll be doing micro-fiction commissions tomorrow on a live stream to raise money for the NNAF (National Network of Abortion Funds)! My normal commissions are closed, so if you want a story done by me, this is the only way to get one. All proceeds are going directly to charity. I posted more details on Twitter, and when I go live on Picarto I'll also be sharing the link on twitter, so check it out over there for more information!

Hi, hope you all are doing well and are in the best of health. I'm a little and I have created a store where I can express some of my creativity and also be able to support my little side too. Its called The Kinky Den, and its on Teespring. I've provided the link below along with some of the designs that are up on the store. I wanted the ABDL community to be able to have a store that has cute stuff and I try my best to cater for all. I've tried to remain as gender neutral as possible. With this store, all the designs that are up, were after the approval from my littleside, so I've tried my best to make them as cute as possible. Please do visit the store, if you see anything you like, please do purchase it as it motivates me to keep making these. The Kinky Den

CHAPTER ONE PERSONAL LOG: Stardate 44317.8 Welcome to the USS Hyacinth, the oldest (and only) running Miranda-class vessel in all of Starfleet. Once upon a time it was a science vessel, built during an age when tensions with the klingons ran high. Now it’s little more than a cargo ship and personnel transport; easy assignment for an engineer straight out of the Academy. We’d just shipped out of Risa, the infamous pleasure planet; not that the crew collected any stories. We had a schedule to keep and no leave outstanding. What little we saw involved half-naked locals waving goodbye to our passengers. We ushered them aboard the away vessel and began our journey to the nearest star base. Not that I was bothered. Risa has its reputation for a reason, and brags billions of satisfied visitors, but that’s not me. Sex is great, but I’m just not a ‘Risa’ kind of girl. The things I want are… complicated. God, what I wouldn’t give for a working holodeck, and a night’s freedom from Starfleet protocol. Life aboard the Hyacinth comes with challenges, but rarely with difficulty. The ship itself is in good shape despite being over a century old. The crew, twenty five in total, are friendly enough, though we have little to talk about. By the time my shifts end I’m eager to return to my quarters, replicate a meal, snuggle my teddybear, and pass the time watching andorian melodramas. It gets lonely sometimes. We all get lonely, but the shape of my feelings aren’t the kind to be shared. I check in with a Starfleet counsellor every couple of weeks, but there are no practical outlets to meet this need. Three days into our journey to Star Base 12 and I received a call from one of the passengers. The replicator in her quarters had shorted out, and she was in desperate need of a raktajino. It was close to the end of my shift, but didn’t mind making the effort as the other ensign signed on. ‘Love Songs of the Forbidden Moon’ could wait. I moved to the passenger level, walked along the corridor, and pressed my thumb to the bell. The doors hissed open, and immediately I was dumbstruck. There in the center of the room stood a woman, naked as the day she was born, smiling without a care in the world. I covered my eyes. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have-” “No, no, don’t be silly,” she said. “Come in. You’re here to repair the replicator, yes?” “Yes, but… ma’am. You’re naked!” She hummed. “Yes, I’m aware. Nudity is nothing to be ashamed of.” My shoulders turtled to swallow my head. “I appreciate that, ma’am, but if it’s all the same to you I’d prefer if you wore clothes.” The passenger huffed. I listened as she sorted through her things and waited until she found adequate attire. When I dared to look, curious in spite of myself, she wore an incandescent blue gown that clung to her shape. Heavy breasts, round hips, she was the embodiment of a mythical goddess. I followed her body upward to the thick, scarlet curls that ran down her shoulders. She turned, persing her sharp and very full lips. “Is that better?” she asked. I nodded dumbly and collected myself. Yes, she was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in a long time, let alone stood near, but I was there to do a job. She was a passenger, not a potential date. Even so, what were the chances of… No. I wouldn’t go there. The replicator proved an easy fix. “One of the photon sequencers is misaligned,” I said, and crouched to reach the upper corner of the machine. One new micro-coupling and a psionic fixer later and it would be as good as new. It was the kind of work I could do in my sleep, or with an attractive distraction lingering in the room. She took a seat at a nearby table, and crossed one leg over the other. My heart beat faster. The smell of sex lingered from under her robe, conjuring memories of the last time I lay with a partner. It seemed forever ago, and my body ached for it. The sooner I could return to my quarters the better. “You didn’t tell me your name,” she said. “Ensign Morris, ma’am.” “Morris,” she hummed, her voice deep and smokey. “Do you have a first name, ensign?” I hesitated, but thought better than to catch her eye. “Sally… ma’am. And you?” Her deep forest eyes probed under the layers of my Starfleet uniform, prompting a shiver down my spine. She finally answered, “Artemis.” A goddess in body, and a goddess in name. How ironic that she should share a title with a patron of chastity. Her wild aura, however, seemed entirely apt. “Does it get lonely out here, Sally?” Her asking sent goosebumps running down my arms, not because there was anything wrong with the question, but because of how it called attention to my plight. Space, and the confines of a starship, were isolating at the best of times. But I didn’t tell her that. Instead we chatted about my home on Earth, just outside of Alberta, and my Mom’s ginger snap cookies that no machine could replicate. The hollow in my chest deepend, pining for the familiar, but work was there as welcome distraction. The photon sequencer snapped into line, and the job was done. I started to place my tools back into their box. “You’re human, yes?” As though being from Earth didn’t imply that. “Yes,” I said. “I find humans delightful,” she said. “You believe yourself the rulers of your emotions, but anyone with the mildest sense knows the undercurrents you suppress.” My body tensed further. “You’re betazoid.” She warmed like a breeze that filled the room. Thick plates of transparent aluminum shielded us from the void of space, so it had to be her. “Got it in one,” she said. When I moved to stand she placed a hand on my shoulder and with great care guided me down again. “I’d like you to stay on your knees a while, if that’s alright.” I should have been insulted. As an officer of Starfleet it was unbecoming to fall for the wiles of a passenger in transit. There were protocols about this sort of thing. And yet to do so would be bluster. She was a betazoid, an empath! She could sense the arousal in my belly, the spinning in my head, the deep desire inspired by a strong woman looming above. Her hand stroked my cheek like palm fronds in the wind, and she hushed. God help me, I curled into her touch. Starfleet be damned, she wrested authority from them with the smallest motion. “I… I…” Her voice softened, almost sang. “It’s alright, my girl. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you.” She knew this was my weakness. The sex, the wanting, the throne she held by sitting above. Before I was even aware she held all of the cards, and was playing them to her advantage. Worse yet, I wanted her to. My body was a cacophony of desire hungry for sensation; for her to touch, to claim me, make me small, make me hers, to fill me, to hold me, to… to… I pulled away and snapped to my feet. Tears pricked my eyes, but they did not break my resolute stance as an officer of Starfleet. My shoulders stiffened and I started for the door, forgetting my toolbox as I did. “This can’t happen,” I said, telling myself as much as I did her. Artemis glided to her feet and smiled. Her understanding was like a beacon in the dark, begging me to fall. “You don’t have to be ashamed,” she said. “You’re not a little girl.” The words struck like a hammer. Why did she have to say that? The air left my lungs, and my body was on the verge of collapse. All I wanted was to scream and to cry, to find somewhere safe, but there was nowhere to turn. Her expression turned. The cold in my chest was hers as well. With painted shock she flew to me and wrapped her arms tight. Wide stretched loving hands cradled my back, running up and down in a soothing motion. “Except you are a little girl,” she gasped in realization, “and nobody has seen you in a very, very long time.” Tears rolled down my cheeks like boulders. Shame caught in my throat. I was small in her arms, afraid, without the disciplined Starfleet officer to protect me. All I had was this strange and sudden women whose song and whose hands knew where to go. Finally I held her back, shaking, clinging with all I had. “I’m sorry. I-I can’t…” “Shhhh.” Her digit stroked my brow, removing a strand of hair so she could see me fully. I didn’t want her to see. The thought turned my knees to jelly. If experience had taught me anything it was that little girls were difficult to love when their hearts sat in an adult body. Flashbacks of every confused lover flew across my senses. Some were angry, others so bewildered by the reality that they turned cold. Why should this be any different? Artemis swayed, and cooed, and sang. Her hands were like magic, weaving warmth with every turn. “It’s alright, babygirl,” she said. “I’ve got you. I’ll protect you.” No. I wasn’t a baby. I was an adult. Nobody could protect me. I had to protect myself. But her words shattered my cold ego. Once upon a time I thought someone so loving a fantasy; something that could at best be created on the holodeck. But there she was, flesh and blood, resting my head above the cradle of her breast. I cried, I cried, and I cried. Hot tears spilled off my cheeks and onto her skin. Artemis didn’t seem to mind at all, and encouraged these out of control feelings with a gentle tone. Somewhere in an ocean of sobs I stopped being Ensign Morris of the USS Hyacinth, and became Sally, the small child wandering the distant cosmos.

Hi everyone, Just wanted to share a link I found with some really cute wallpaper murals! Disney Princesses Mural I found it while looking for ways to decorate our spare bedroom at home. My partner (who I haven't told about my little side explicitly) actually suggested it as a nice space to unwind and forget about adult problems. He wants to fill it with everything soft, fluffy and plush. He thinks he might be multiple and has a little girl in his collective that likes pink, princesses, cartoons, plushies (especially unicorns) and soft things and clothes. It's strange that he feels so similar to me, and I've been worrying about how to tell him I think I'm a little. I was so shocked that I didn't say anything about me being a little and just accepted him telling me. But I plan to tell him this week! So we're getting a room for little space. I know I want a mural and a princess canopy bed and a soft fluffy carpet. And I'm getting a giant 6ft teddy too! I'm so excited!!! I just had to tell someone! Emily

I

Hello... my name is Christopher but I like to be called Pinkie or PinkieSie, or both. I also go by the name of Chrissy, Chrisy and Krissy. I like what most girls like... especially My Little Pony stuff. I based my name on Pinkie Pie. I'm not really new to the lifestyle but I am trying out new things like wearing diapers/nappies and sleeping with my binkie and stuffed toys. At first I just played with action figures and then I went back onto pacifiers/dummies and then I found out about the ABDL/DDLG lifestyle