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I hate the title I finally settled on, but titles aren't my strongest area. I don't sleep very well and often times I lay awake and think of things to write, this is one of those things. If anyone likes this I'll share more of my work, if not I'll slink back into my cave of weirdness. ?? Reliving By: TheUnknownAuthor It was the thunder that woke me up the first time, it changed to other things at various points, but it was the crack of thunder that did it initially. My eyes shot open and I looked around my room in a blurry eyed panic, the inky darkness giving little to ease my anxiety. My eyes came to the nightlight on the other end of the room, the Little Mermaid themed one that I’d gotten for Christmas the previous year, Ariel and Sebastian smiling warmly as the glow behind their faces cast enough light to show me the path to my bedroom door. I looked around the bed, breathing a sigh of relief that it was my big girl bed this time. I wasn’t always so lucky, finding myself back in the crib I’d given up years earlier more times than I cared to remember, trapped in the sleeping cage of my infancy forced to wait helplessly until the end came creeping into the room. Shoving the blankets off me, more Little Mermaid images adorning them, barely recognizable in the dim nightlight wash, I scooted to the end of the bed and tentatively peeked over the side to the wood floor, wondering if I should look under the bed this time before planting my feet on the ground. With a deep breath I pushed myself from the bed so I landed a foot or so from the bed, out of reach of anything that might be lurking beneath the big girl bed I’d been so proud to earn. The slip resistant pads on the bottoms of the feet of my pajamas made small sticky vinyl ripping sounds on the wood floor as I crept across the room to the door that was slightly cracked this time. The door creaked softly as I slowly opened it enough to allow my small frame to slip through the gap into the hallway beyond. A shiver ran up my spine, it always did when I saw the hallway, the length of it seeming impossibly long to my diminutive form. The photos that lined either side of the hallway told the story of a happy family, my family, beginning with my parents when they were dating near where I stood, their smiles genuine and hopeful for the bright and prosperous future ahead of them. Wedding photos were next, my parents with long dead relatives and forgotten friends, still happy and ready for the future. The bathroom was coming up on my right, the first real test of my bravery. The nightlight inside cast a dim glow inside, enough to allow me to see the door was open this time, a good sign. I crept close to the frame and took a quick look inside, breathing a sigh of relief at the emptiness within. Moving slowly, I entered the room and picked up the little pink stool in the corner and carried it to the vanity and set it on the furry mat before ascending to get a look in the mirror. I turned my head from side to side as I tried to discern my age, somewhere between seven and nine given the length of my hair, still a mess from sleeping, and the lack of a gap where my front teeth hadn’t come in yet. I felt my face flush as I looked at the pink footed pajamas I wore and finally acknowledged the clammy bulge around my waist, the timeline jumbled worse than usual this time around. A crash somewhere else in the house made me jump, the clamminess around my waist warming as I turned and descended the step stool and moved to the bathroom door to look down the hallway to the stairs, a light coming from the lower floor, casting various shadows up to the landing. Moving back into the hallway I could see the pictures of my birth and various images chronicling the assorted firsts of my life. I focused my attention on the floor as I continued on, knowing the pictures would start distorting around this point of the hallway, my mother becoming frailer, her smile diminishing more and more until it became the more skeletal grin that I could never forget. My father would remain in the pictures to a point and then disappear entirely, leaving me and my emaciated mother trying to put on brave faces for the camera. By the time I reached the end of the hallway I knew the photos were mixes of me with the various families I’d ended up with over the years, my actual age and development replaced by the stunted and fearful little girl that I saw myself as, retreating to safer and simpler times to protect herself from the various abuses she would experience in the foster care system. The frames of these pictures were crooked, the glass cracked and the pictures beneath curled and faded from the emotional damage they’d absorbed over the years. One of the bedroom doors creaked open behind me down the hall and the expensive manicured nails of my third mother clacked on the wood of the door frame as they walked like spiders to the edge, the fake diamonds faintly glinting in the weak light of the hallway. I smelled the booze wafting from the room even as far away as I was, the scent of Vodka overpowering the acrid scent of my earlier accident. “Samantha.” her voice called softly, dragging each syllable of my name out, her trademark slur acting as a fingerprint leaving no doubt who she was. I looked down the stairs, the normal number replaced by hundreds of tiers, distorted to shapes and lengths never seen in stair design outside of something dredged from the nightmares of Escher. I looked back to the doorway and saw her peeking out at me, her hair matted to the side of her face with sweat and vomit. “Where are you going, Samantha?” she asked, moving into the hallway slowly, crouched down like a cat ready to pounce on its prey, her nails clacking against the floor as a warning to me to stay away, like a rattlesnake would. She was naked, her fake breasts impossibly swollen, the ugly veins she’d done everything to cover standing out prominently as they stiffly wobbled as she drunkenly swayed side to side watching me intently, waiting for me to run from her like I’d done the night I’d found her passed out on the sofa, the night she’d drowned in her own vomit because I ran instead of helping her. “You’re not real.” I whispered to her, my voice tiny and fearful. The sound she made didn’t register as laughter until she threw her head back and cackled like a witch, the hoarse and gurgling she’d started with shattering the silence of the hallway as it evolved into a malevolent chortle. “Not real? Are you sure, dear?” she asked. I nodded my head and began to lower myself to the first stair, keeping her in my line of sight as I crawled backward down the stairs like an unsteady toddler, my feet feeling around uncertainly for the next step and the next until she disappeared behind the wall and I finally allowed myself to breath for the first time in what seemed like hours. More pictures adorned the walls on either side of the stairs, pictures of me in school, sitting alone at recess because I was the weird girl that dressed like I’d escaped from a salvation army preschool. My stomach lurched at the sight of me curled into a fetal position clutching my stuffed penguin, my thumb firmly in my mouth as the girls from my class stood over me pointing and laughing at the girl that had shit her Pampers despite being the same age as them. The next frame was a formal document that was stamped with a still wet “FAILED”, the red of the ink dripping down the paper and permeating the frame to run down the wall like blood. I stopped descending to read the paper, whimpering as I read “Adulthood Proficiency” at the top with check boxes going down the length of it with sections for “Emotional Independence”, “Maturity”, and “Toilet Familiarity”, all angrily scratched through with red ink to the point that the paper was ripping. “Pathetic, isn’t it?” came a voice from the top of the stairs, a husky voice dripping with disdain. I looked up and saw my second father standing there leering down at me beneath his trucker cap, his tobacco stained teeth coming to dagger like points that his serpentine tongue flicked across. “It’s not true.” I told him. He chuckled. “No?” he asked. “Wasn’t it you that cried every damn night because you couldn’t stop pissing your bed?” he added with a sneer. Another step was found by my foot and I lowered myself, moving away from him slowly. “It wasn’t my fault!” I cried out. He knelt down and held out his hand. “It’s time to take your medicine, Sammy, it’s for your own good.” he told me. I shook my head, the phantom sting of beatings long passed welling up beneath the seat of my pajamas causing me to whimper once more as tears welled up in my eyes. “Leave me alone!” I yelled as I moved down another step. He scoffed. “I know the medicine is bitter, Pumpkin, but you know Daddy always kisses your boo boo’s and makes them all better afterward.” he said with a lecherous, hissing chuckle. I shuddered at the memory of his particular brand of aftercare and hurried to move down the stairs faster to escape him, finding no stair too late to stop myself from slipping from the stairs and falling into nothingness, watching him grow smaller and smaller as I fell further than anything possible in reality until I closed my eyes and braced for what I was sure would be a fatal impact. I never landed, I just sort of stopped falling, laying on my back somewhere soft, the scent of fresh laundry filling my nostrils as I breathed in deeply. I heard the tinkling of a wind chime and felt a gentle breeze on my face and my arms and legs, something impossible with the pajamas I’d been wearing a moment earlier. I opened my eyes and saw the backyard of my first home, my real home, my dad was at the grill and my mom was bringing out a lemonade for her and my dad, smiling widely at me as she saw me. “Look who’s up from her nap!” she declared as she set her drink down and walked over to me. She was wearing the floral printed maternity top she’d been wearing in several of the photos leading up to my birth, but the fabric flapped in the breeze freely and regularly pressed against her body, showing no pregnant belly beneath. I looked around to get my bearings and saw that I was in a playpen beneath the large oak tree we had in our yard. A look downward showed me that my pajamas were gone and the only item of clothing I was wearing was one of the cheap brands of adult diapers I’d been supplied with by later families that actually cared to help with my accidents rather than just leave me in soaked and soiled bedding to teach me a lesson. The flimsy pull on garment was barely a step above a hospital gown, my pale, freckled skin visible through the stretched sides. I knew this wasn’t right and I tried to escape, but my mother was already at the side of the playpen bending down to pick me up, cradling me in her arms as if I weren’t nearly the same height as her. “Burgers are almost done!” my dad called. My mother nodded and continued her trek across the yard, arriving at the small semicircle of patio chairs of to the side of the large picnic table we had under the back awning. “Let me just feed Sammy, hon.” she told him. I could hear the sound of running footsteps getting fainter and fainter, the knowledge that my father was gone somehow entering my brain, filling me with deep sorrow that caused me to start crying. “Shh, mama knows.” my mother cooed as she bounced me gently in her arms and slipped the material of her maternity top off her now even more slight frame with ease exposing her graying skin, her overripe breasts leaking a yellowish liquid that reeked of the hospital she’d died in. I struggled to get away as she guided my head closer to her breast, my legs and arms thrashing wildly but futilely as the burst hotdog like nipple entered my mouth and the hot chemotherapy laced milk flowed down my throat. She looked down at me, her flesh tightening against her bones becoming a death canvas, her eyes sinking into her sockets as the whites began to leak down her tearing cheeks. “Baby needs her milk to grow up big and strong.” she wheezed, her breath putrid with the scent of embalming fluid. Her hold on me loosened as she began to dry up and fall away like she was a pile of dead leaves and I rolled off her lap and onto all fours on the concrete, feeling no pain as I hurriedly crawled away, looking back just in time to see the last of her fall through the seat of the patio chair and swirl away on the breeze. The tears were flowing from my eyes as I turned to crawl once more, bumping into a pair of legs. The legs bent and he was smiling at me, the first boy I’d ever had feelings for, James Atkins. He was the TA in my remedial math class in junior college and was the kind of guy my real parents would’ve adored. I looked around the room I now found myself in, the bedroom of his apartment, and saw the bed above me and him reaching out with his strong arms to pick me up from the floor and stand with me, my long legs wrapping around his waist as I continued to sob and mourn the somehow new loss of my mother. “Hey, it’s okay.” he whispered as he rubbed my back softly. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” he added. When I had actually been in his room we’d started kissing after getting scared during part of the horror movie we’d been watching and hiding my eyes in his broad chest. He’d made a romantic gesture of scooping me up into his arms and carrying me like a new bride to his bedroom. My inexperience with any kind of positive physical intimacy left me unable to move as he gently lay me down on the bed and kissed me once more, his strong frame looming over me bringing about a rush of buried memories that led to a panic attack and me wetting his bed. In this new reality he was softly patting the seat of my diaper, now much thicker and adorned with pastel elephants, the kind I wore regularly now in my real life. My head was against his chest and my eyes were drooping as I listened to his heartbeat. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Sam?” he asked me. I shrugged dreamily. “There’s good stuff here.” I murmured as my thumb entered my mouth. His voice carried his smile to my ears. “Not enough of it though.” he finally said, pausing to gently remove my thumb and replace it with my Cookie Monster pacifier. “You deserve to be happy.” he whispered. I shook my head. “Sammy bad.” I told him. He was shaking his head. “Not bad, just treated bad.” he corrected. “You’re a sweet and innocent girl that just got a shitty set of hands dealt to her, that doesn’t make you bad.” he explained. I opened my eyes and looked up at him with wide eyes. “You said a no no word!” I said in a hushed whisper, afraid to be too loud and alert the authorities to his transgression. His caramel colored eyes sparkled as his perfect white teeth revealed themselves as he smiled widely at me. “I suppose I did, little one.” he told me before he hugged me. The real world James had been worried about me when I’d started having my panic attack, offering to call someone for me, reminding me that I had no one in my life that cared about me that wasn’t court ordered to do so. He’d been obviously disgusted when he learned I’d wet myself on his bed, but he remained kind and calming until I was relaxed enough to let him call me a ride home. I knew things were coming to an end with Daddy James, the feeling of weight being added to the seat of my diaper signaled that the next bit was on its way, and I hugged him as tight as I could until he began to shrink, his skin growing softer as he morphed into my stuffed penguin and I saw that I was now living the picture of myself being bullied that I’d seen on the stairs. “Sammy pooped her diaper!” the circle of girls chanted over and over as the kicked dirt on me and spat on me. This was second grade, all of the girls standing around me had teased and picked on me since kindergarten but this was where the tipping point had occurred. One of the girls knelt down and ripped my thumb from my mouth to grind it into the dirt with her foot, causing me to howl in pain before she jammed the dirty digit back into my mouth so hard I had cuts on my thumb from my teeth. Another girl kicked the seat of my diaper and bruised my tailbone, in addition to squishing my accident out of my diaper into my pants which began to show the leak prominently. “Samantha, do you want to leave?” came an ethereal voice. I shook my head and continued to sob. The ethereal voice sighed heavily. “End session!” it called out. Everything faded away and I was left staring into the empty blackness of the virtual reality goggles I was wearing, until those were removed and my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room I was in and the sympathetic face of my wife. “Hey, kiddo.” she said softly as she wiped my tears away with her fingers and pulled me to her for a hug. I sniffled and hugged her. “Why’d you stop it, Mommy?” I asked her. “I shook my head.” I added. She rubbed my back and kissed the top of my head. “Sammy, Mommy doesn’t like what happens to you in there.” she told me. “It hurts you and makes you sad and afraid and when you’re sad and afraid it makes Mommy sad and afraid.” she explained. I took a deep breath, the smell of wet and messy diaper filling my nostrils before I exhaled in a long sigh. “They’re in there though.” I told her. “My real parents, and sometimes I find them and everything is okay.” I told her. “Remember the time when I woke up and it was real early and my dad came because I was crying and he got me out of my crib and took me downstairs and gave me a bottle on the couch and the fireplace was going and it made the Christmas tree ornaments twinkle and then my mom came down and sat with us and we were a happy family?” I asked, getting a genuine smile from her before she nodded. “I do it for those moments, because those are the one’s I can’t remember on my own.” I confessed. “I know, baby, but so much of what happens to you in there is warped and horrifying.” she said. “Bad things that happened to you get magnified and distorted into the stuff of nightmares, is it really worth going through that on the off chance that you might experience one happy memory that’s buried so far under all that other stuff that you may not experience it at all?” she asked. I looked over at the console that showed that session number sixteen hundred and thirty one had ended and then to her and nodded slowly. “I lived through all of that, the bad and the good,” I started, cupping her face in my hands and gazing into her lovely green eyes. “my mind creates what I see when I’m in there based on the impact those people and experiences had on me when I was growing up.” I felt myself begin to cry again but forced it down, swallowing hard on the dull ache in my throat, “The bad people and the bad experiences aren’t going to hurt me anymore than they did the first time around, but the good ones, they could help me to be better.” I told her. She shook her head. “You can’t be better, sweetie.” she said, pulling me into her arms and hugging me tightly. “Those experiences made you who you are today, and that’s the girl that I married and love with all my heart.” she said as she kissed the top of my head. She sighed softly, “If you don’t want to stop trying to find those moments I’ll be here to hold your hand and pull you out if things get too bad, but I want you to understand that nothing you could find in there will ever be as real and as fulfilling as what you have right here.” she explained. I looked over her shoulder at the display and hugged her tightly. “You’re right.” I said quietly. “Why have I been wasting so many years chasing the memory of a father that abandoned his family when his wife got sick and subjected myself to the pain of losing my mother more times than I could possibly count when all I need is you?” I asked. She rubbed my back softly. “Everyone deals with things differently.” she said. “When I put you to bed I use that to relive moments where I couldn’t think of a witty comeback or to tell that stuck up bitch Jan at work what I really think of the pictures of her cats.” she confessed. “The thing is, those victories and indulgences are fleeting, they don’t fulfill me the way that you do.” she told me. “As long as you understand the difference between reality and what you see in there, you can use it for anything you want.” I giggled softly. “Could I use it to be your Mommy?” I asked. She pulled me away from her embrace and looked at me with a stony, serious face. “You can never, ever use it for that.” she said sternly before breaking into a fit of giggles herself, tickling my sides to snap me out of my concern at her being so serious. “In all seriousness though,” she said as she patted the lumpy seat of my diaper, “I don’t think Mommies need their poopy diapers changed before bed.” she whispered before kissing my cheek and taking my hand in hers, leading me to a clean diaper and a bottle of milk while she read me a story and finally tucked me in for bed. The End

this will be a bit weird so bare with me im writing this based on a long dream i had. Also fair warning this will get really really really dark at times so if you can't do dark please don't read for your own health. this story will also be shorter and have smaller chapters. so just a heads up Chapter 1 I ran and ran as fast as I could I knew I couldn’t look back not after what I had told my parents when they found my stash. I knew I could never go back home now. I knew I was on my own. My male name is D.J. My female name is Emily. It’s the secret I’ve been trying to hide from my parents for years and thought I was doing a good job. At 19 with no income no job and stuck at home living with my parents I did everything I could to keep them from seeing who I really was. I knew I should have checked everything that morning before I left but my dumb-ass forgot to hide a dress I had, and I when my mom grabbed it a pacifier fell out of it. When I got home, they both sat me down and asked me about it, once they started yelling, I just took off and haven’t stopped running. I don’t know how long I had been running but it seems like hours to me. I decided to stop and look around knowing I would have to reset for a bit before I moved more tonight. “HELLO?” I yelled knowing it was hopeless I was in an empty field and the closet things were some old buildings that looked like they had seen better days. I make my way towards them hoping to at least get some shelter for the night. I knew it wouldn’t get too cold, but I didn’t want to risk it tonight. I had forgotten to take any of my savings or even my wallet with me all I had on me were the clothes on my back. After what seemed like almost an hour I was at the old buildings, it looked like a group of 4 or 5 apartment buildings around each other with maybe a courtyard in the middle I couldn’t tell for sure. The buildings must have been from the 70’s the outside of them covered in graffiti and looking like a mess. I got to the closest apartment and went inside the back door where the sliding glass should have been. It looked nice compared to the outside the room looked like no one had touched it in years I couldn’t even see any rust on anything not even the paint was peeling. “Hello? Is anyone here?” Yell in the room not hearing anything I open the front door and look out in the middle of the apartment’s my guess had been right it had a nice sized courtyard with swings a sandbox and play area for kids. Despite it’s age it still looked fairly new like most of the inside of this place did I couldn’t see any graffiti on the walls In here like I did on the outside and to be honest it creeped me out a bit. I looked around more and made my way up some stairs on the side and on each floor, I found the same thing rooms that looked perfect with no real damage to them or anything. I was starting to get really confused now with this place, I had heard stories about this place as a kid growing up but none of the adults at school or even my own parents would tell me what happened to this place it was the one place in town where there was no buildings around it for miles and I could never find out why no matter how hard I had looked and now to be here myself. I have no real idea how I even ended up here I thought I ran south while this place was north something I felt wanted me here so I kept looking in each of the rooms hoping to find something. I got to the 4th floor and checked the first room that was next to the stairs and that’s when I saw them. Shinny brand new metal toy car next to what looked like a barbie doll from the 70’s, now I was really confused more than ever. “Hello, is there anyone there?” I yelled again hoping to get an answer this time. That’s when I heard it what sounded like a child’s giggle. I quickly ran out of the room and followed the noise before I found another room. From how it looked it looked like it had been set up a daycare for the younger kids that lived here, cribs living the wall still all looking new changing tables on the other wall with 2 playpens in the middle of the room filled with toys. I looked around a bit more and that’s when it hit me like a ton of brick’s there were cloth diapers and plastic pants all brand new. I move forward to get a better look and that’s when I feel my foot kick something, I look down and notice what looks like a brand new clean stuffed animal. I look the stuffed animal over more and notice it’s a bright white baby seal clean as can be with no dust. Panicked I drop it and slowly back away. “WHO EVER IS HERE THIS IS NOT FUNNY.” “What do you mean dear nothing here is meant to be funny.” I can feel my voice stuck wanting to come out but all I can make is a light breathing sound…. I slowly turn around back to where the cribs were and that’s when I see a nice looking tall Hispanic woman. She had to be at least 6 foot 5. She towered over me I was barely 5 foot 2. “Um… Who are you?” I ask shaking. “You can call me Elizabeth. I guess you could say I’m the caretaker here.”

Alright, for reasons that I don't fully understand, some people who's opinions I greatly value think I should post this story here. For the record, I think this is a terrible goddamned idea but I love these people and I know they wouldn't lead me to my doom and banishment. Here's the deal, this story is very dark and deals with subject matter that is very sensitive to a lot of people BUT I've tried to include humor into it and the concept is very absurd even if the events included here are very serious. I'm WARNING you all now that this story may be too much for you if you're a fragile creature or if you care about the health and well being of fictional characters. I don't, clearly, I killed the shit out of a bunch of them in here, but I won't take it personally if you don't read this. I WILL take it personally if you read this and complain that it was too dark or that you weren't prepared for it to be exactly what I'm telling you right now that it is, it's dark and messed up. I'm proud of it and it's something I have an emotional connection to and I write for me so yeah. If you do read this I hope you enjoy it and if you don't I'm sorry, this isn't my normal thing but stuff like this will continue to happen so pick and choose what works of mine you read and steer well clear of anything claiming "darkness" if that's not your jam. I'm really nice, I promise, but I have serious big girl pants when it comes to my warnings. #srsface SMFH By: RambleLamb The door opened slowly and he saw her on the bed with a poop filled diaper on and his dick got hard and he fucked her right in the poop filled diaper. The end. "Jesus Christ." I muttered to myself, my head slowly shaking in confusion at the story I'd just read. What little amount of arousal I might have had vanished quickly, my sex becoming drier than a sandbox full of packing peanuts. I'd been looking for a story to rub one in to before bed, nothing special, just a quick and dirty romp to scratch the end of the day itch and relieve some pent up stress. I'd clicked on "Janey In Diapers Chapter Four" because the protagonist was named the same as me and I thought I could imagine myself in her position and conclude with enough time to change out of my soggy Pull-Up and into a nice thick real diaper. I also thought that if I skipped to a later chapter I wouldn't be bogged down with useless plot and characterization when all I wanted was to get off. Now though, I sat with my fingers inside my training panties feeling angry and desperately wanting to hurt the person that had not only wasted minutes of my life by creating this offensively terrible story. I tried my normal anger management techniques, counting to ten, picturing a calm blue ocean, rubbing my temples but nothing was working for me, I was just angry. A level of rage I'd never thought reachable for me had been met and exceeded just by reading this story and my need to cause harm to the author reached an agreement with my less rational side, causing me to get up from my bed and walk out to the living room. "Hey, Jane, I thought you were-" my roommate greeted in her sickeningly cheerful for the late hour of the day tone. "Are you wearing a diaper?!" she asked, her original greeting abandoned for a fit of laughter at my expense. I ignored her and went through the living room to the kitchen, pulling the biggest knife we owned from the butcher's block on the counter. She was rolling on the couch laughing, holding her sides, tears rolling down her cheeks, her breath coming out in wheezing bursts as I approached her. The knife slid across her throat with ease, spraying blood into my face, across the back of the couch, onto the television screen and onto the floor in front of the couch where it pooled as she slumped forward, her wheezing laughter now wet, bubbly gurgles. I watched her clutch her throat, staring up at me with confused and terrified eyes, the same eyes she'd bat at people to get them to do things for her, or to her as I myself had experienced. Too many Appletini's at the club one night led to her batting those eyes at it me in the Uber on the way home which led to us making out in the hallway outside the apartment which led to more eye batting and ended with me on my knees licking her holiest of holies and her cumming, squirting really, all over my face and passing out in my bed. She'd pissed herself that night, soaking me in the process and then batted her eyes the next morning and convincing me that I shouldn't be mad because she was so drunk the night before that something like that was bound to happen. The knife darted in and out of each of her baby blue's with ease, her cries of pain nothing but barely audible squelches as she rolled off the couch and onto the floor. I stepped over her, sluffing her blood soaked hand from my ankle with a small shift of my weight as I walked back into my room. Walking into the bathroom I turned on the light and dropped the knife into the sink, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Looking wasn't the right word though, admiring was more appropriate. I drank in the sight of my shoulder length blonde hair matted to my face with the after effects of her arterial spray. My purple My Little Pony shirt soaked in the same and the front of my Pull-Up smattered with crimson, the wetness within causing a quite beautiful watercolor effect. I smiled at myself, my teeth looking impossibly white against the dark blood on my face. I thought about her sliding across the floor on her belly blindly as the last bit of life left her body, trying desperately to get to her phone or to the front door or wherever her dying brain thought she should go for salvation. My hand was in my training panties before I even realized it, working to scratch the itch that terrible fucking story had robbed me of earlier. Just thinking about that story got my anger up again, a growl of pure rage rising up from deep within me as I grabbed the knife and slid it across my own throat. *********************************************************************** "Another murder/suicide rocks the country this morning." The newscaster said on the television in the other room. I turned my desk chair around to watch. "Twenty-Three year old Jane Riggs and her roommate Alana Chambers were found dead this morning by Chambers' sister who grew concerned when Alana had missed a lunch date. Jane Riggs is believed to have brutally murdered her roommate and then herself by fatal stabbing." the report stated. "This is the seventeenth murder/suicide this month and police and government agencies are baffled as to the cause." A video package began to roll of an interview with an FBI agent. "We're exploring the possibility that this is all connected to an underground fetish ring as all the perpetrators were found to either be wearing adult diapers or had fetish related pornographic literature on their computer or smart phone when the bodies were discovered." he explained before disappearing as the television was turned off. "Mom, I was watching that!" I yelled. My mother tossed the remote onto the couch. "Did you find a job today, Bradley?" she asked, completely ignoring my protests. I sighed. "No one is hiring." I told her, turning my chair back around. Her high heels clacked loudly across the wooden floor as she came over to the desk. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Did you actually look or have you spent all day writing your disgusting stories?" she asked with a sneer. I hated that she knew about my fetish, but unfortunately for me I live at home at thirty-two and that entitles me to zero personal space or respect to my private property. She'd been crying when I came home, my laptop on the dining room table open to my folder of stories I'd written. She'd asked me if I was gay for some reason, like I was writing these stories of women in diapers and being treated like babies because I wanted to be them rather than I wanted to be with them. We fought for over an hour and came to an agreement that she'd leave me alone and respect my privacy and I'd get a job as soon as possible and leave forever. "I told you, I don't do that anymore." I lied. She nodded, not even pretending to believe me. "Good, the government is looking for people that look at that kind of stuff and if you write it they'll think you had something to do with all those horrible things on the news." she told me, the concern on her face sincere. "Stop worrying, mom, everything is fine." I told her. She sighed and clacked away. "Apply to jobs even if they aren't hiring." she said. "Dinner's in the freezer and I'll be home late tonight." she called through the front door crack before she closed it behind her. Finally alone I opened my writing program and opened my newest work, "Claudia the Baby" and started typing. I'd based the bulk of my ideas for the story on a video I'd watched the night before, in it, the smoking hot star found herself bound in a crib too small for her, her white tight encased legs draped over top of the end of the crib, her high heels bouncing up and down rhythmically as she rubbed the front of her diaper, the one she wore under her tights. Even though I'd cum only a minute or so into the video I didn't click away immediately like I normally did. This girl was on display for me to capture in writing, to narrate her plight of having a diaper so full it was leaking that she had to masturbate her way out of. My stubby dick was in my hand as I wrote a few lines of description about her diaper leaking and staining her tights and her moaning loudly and I had to stop and grab my tissues as I spasmed and grunted into the wad of tissues and saved my progress so I could post it online to a story forum I'd joined. ************************************************************************ I actively hated having the name Claudia the second I read that Autistic asshole's story. My fingers moved across the keyboard in a blur of activity as I not so politely suggested to "Ddy4U" that he get bone cancer and die in a fire in a private message with the subject line of "Pwease Wet Bby Cummeez Ddy" that would ensure he read it. Why was it so hard for people to write actually good fap fiction? That was a question I had to ask with more and more frequency the older I got. I'd been reading stories about adults in diapers since we got AOL dial-up in our house and had learned what was good and what wasn't, becoming a pillar of the ABDL community as a whole and being well respected for my ability to tell people exactly what they were doing wrong when they obviously wrote a story one handed, as "Ddy4U" clearly had. Claudia, the unfortunate protagonist of this "story", if you can call two hundred and fifty words of describing a shit filled diaper that, found herself in a baby crib because reasons that weren't explained masturbating in a soiled diaper because reasons that weren't explained, and ended with her "cumming so hard the front of her diaper ripped and her tights filled with her poop and cum". I could literally shit into a bag and scream into it before throwing it at a wall and still tell a more compelling story than this fucking guy. My private message indicator alerted me that "Ddy4U" had responded, and I sighed loudly in exasperation. Usually these guys folded up shop at the first sign of an intelligent woman, that they probably thought was a dude, telling them they were awful at writing and should kindly fuck the fuck off, but this guy thought he'd be a badass and stand up to me, so I cracked my knuckles and opened the message. "Who the fuck do you think you are?! I can rite whatever i want you dike cunt! I hope you choke on a pussy" I couldn't even be mad when I read the hastily cobbled together message. For one thing, being told to choke on a pussy was easily one of the funniest goddamned things anyone had ever said as an insult to me. For another thing, he got my gender right even if his only actual contact with a vagina was when he slithered from his mother's twat, a fact I included in my thought provoking response. I didn't want to get into a pissing contest with him, mostly because I figured he was probably just emboldened by his parents not being home and he'd figured out the password to the parental controls on the internet or something but also because I didn't want to waste my time on him when actually talented writers needed to have my praise heaped upon them for a job well done. The girl in the bed across the room stirred and moaned quietly, causing me to stop typing and turn around in my desk chair. As my eyes adjusted to the dark of the room not having a computer screen glowing in front of them I saw her still sleeping, the pacifier she'd been sucking on having fallen from her mouth onto the carpet next to the bed. I got up with a slight rustle as my soaked diaper brushed against my thighs and walked over to her, retrieving the errant pacifier, popping it into my own mouth to clean it and replacing it in hers. I could smell urine, though whether I was the source or she was couldn't be established. I thought about "Ddy4U" and his bullshit story, the use of my name in such a crap narrative making me feel more angry than I'd ever felt. I cocked my head to look down at my sleeping baby girl and reached out to wrap my hands around her slender neck. She woke pretty quickly, faster than she normally woke, even when the smell of French Toast and bacon wafted to her from the kitchen, bringing her shuffling into the dining area rubbing her eyes, her already sagging diaper filling more as she released what remained of the liquid in her bladder into it, which wasn't much given how tiny she was and what a heavy wetter she was while sleeping. As I watched her eyes bug out and she started trying to pull my hands from around her neck, a futile effort with her cute little baby mittens on, I thought about all the times she'd ruined a piece of furniture or clothing with her little accidents. I remembered the time she told me she was fine at the movies only to force us to leave halfway through because her diaper had leaked and she was cold. My grip tightened and I felt her windpipe crumple in my hands, a sickening pop filling my ears as her thrashing diminished and a whistling wheeze rose through her open mouth, her body going slack beneath me. I didn't remember climbing on top of her, but in hindsight it had made it much easier than standing next to the bed and reaching over. I looked at her vacant stare, her eyes glassy in the dim glow of the computer and the small nightlight next to her side of the bed. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, saying something I'm sure was very motherly before I started punching her face with all my might. I thought of her squatting down like a toddler in the dressing room of a department store and filling her diaper despite the rule I'd established that she had to be given permission to do so and my fist smashed her mouth, cutting my hand on her teeth as several shattered, pieces falling down her throat and to the floor. I thought of her deciding to piss herself in front of several of our friends one night and throw an elaborate little tantrum to give her a giddy little thrill and my fist ruptured her eye, the viscous material within oozing down the side of her face onto the pillow. I thought of her grinding her wet diapered pussy on the lap of someone we'd both dated at different points in our lives while she made out with them under the guise of "too drunk to know better" and her skull cracked under my fists as I brought them down hard, my hands clasped together, my knuckles white from the strength of my squeezing. I thought of her toddling up to me with her homemade "Mommy's Day" card and crawling onto my lap while I read it, sucking her thumb as she lay against my chest, turning her head upward and kissing me on the cheek before replacing her thumb and shortly falling asleep in my arms and tears rolled down my cheeks. I thought of her blushing brightly when she told me about her little side, her little voice quavering as she fumbled with the button on her jeans to show me her diaper, explaining to me what being little meant to her and what having me as her Mommy would mean to her and I walked numbly out of the apartment. I thought of the time she'd gotten so sick she almost died, her fever getting so high that she had a seizure and was in a coma for two days. I remembered the chair I slept in next to her hospital bed, the feeling of being a bad Mommy as I watched nurses come in to change her diaper and I walked up the stairs to the roof. I thought of our wedding day, her being the fairytale princess I'd always told her she was to me and me being the most in love with her I'd ever been. I remembered our first dance as a married couple, the way the soft lights under the canopy hit the flecks of glitter in her hair and on her skin, the smell of her baby powder perfume intoxicating me as I held her to me and the world around us disappeared leaving just the two of us in a perfect moment I'd cherish forever and I walked off the edge of the roof. I thought of destroying the one thing that I found most perfect in this world as the street rushed toward me and then I stopped thinking. ************************************************************************ I read the thread about the death of "LexiQueen" and her wife "PitterPat" on the forum I wrote my stories for, feeling a surge of vindication that the bitch that had called me out for my writing ability probably lost her mind at my response to her and killed her wife and then herself. I laughed at everyone pretending what a 'devastating blow' to the community this tragedy was and that 'thoughts and prayers went out to their families' and more dismissive wanking motion bullcrap. One of the things I hated most about the ABDL community was how fucking weak and useless everyone was. They pretended to be so friendly and caring but they rally around a vicious bitch like "LexiQueen", praising her for brutally tearing down great works of art like mine and then whining like little bitches when she died, turning her into some kind of martyr for the community to hold a candlelight vigil for. I closed my browser and opened the next story I was working on, a story about a girl trapped in a robotic nursery, forced to endure humiliating punishments and degrading treatment at the hands of metallic arms. I was red faced and breathing heavy as I wrote about her having her head shaved bald to match her baby smooth pussy, my diaper containing my sticky accident when I got to the part about the enema she was given before being pinned into thick cloth diapers and put in a basinet too small for her, filling her diapers and throwing a tantrum as her mind snapped and she mentally became a baby forever. ************************************************************************ I shut off my computer and walked out into the hallway. The light crinkle beneath my footed pajamas broke the silence of the sleeping house as I moved down the hall to my parents bedroom and into the closet. The gun was in a shoebox on the top shelf, I remembered showing a boy from school where it was to try and impress him. He wasn't impressed though, he told me that his aunt had been killed in a driveby shooting and he hated guns, and fags. He told me that last part when I'd tried to kiss him as a way of apologizing, totally misreading the signals of the two of us being in a small closet together, our skin sticky from the Summer heat and riding our bikes to get to my house. I stood on the small stepladder and plucked the shoebox from the shelf, holding it to my chest as I descended, crinkling as I went. I remembered seeing him and his friends playing in the park later that week my heart racing as I watched him throwing water balloons with them, his white shirt clinging to his chest. I remember them seeing me watching them and talking among themselves before rushing over to beat the shit out of me. I took the gun out of the box and pushed the cylinder out so I could slide the bullets into place before pushing the cylinder back in and pulling back the hammer. I remembered the look on my father's face when I sobbingly confessed the reason why they'd beaten me up and the sound of my mother crying as he removed his belt and grabbed his bible, ready to go to war with the devil that had turned his only son into a "vile deviant". I shot my father in the head first, the headboard splattering with chunks of blood and brains, like a video game or a scary movie. I felt my diaper get warm when my mother woke up screaming but she stopped as soon as the next bullet went through her eye and she slumped over onto my father, her face a frozen scream that made no more sound. I remembered thinking how much better things would be if I weren't gay and didn't like wearing diapers and baby clothes, that maybe I could meet a girl like the ones in his stories and play with them and do things I still hadn't learned about it school but had seen in movies and on the internet. The gun was in my mouth, the muzzle sizzling as my tongue touched it and I remembered being happy once, with parents that loved me and then I pulled the trigger. ************************************************************************ Forty-seven confirmed murder/suicides all over the country. International agencies reporting similar cases. Death toll in the thousands from what police are calling "Diaper Rage". Protests in Washington in outrage for the lack of action to stop the seemingly endless string of horrific murders and suicides related to "Diaper Rage". Local dog saves toddler from drowning, film at eleven. ************************************************************************ They hadn't found me yet, so that was something, but I knew it was only a matter of time before they connected the dots. The news had said they pulled the hard drive's of all the people that had been victims of "Diaper Rage", whatever the fuck that was, and they'd already found out that bitch "LexiQueen" had talked to me the night of her death, but I had systems in place to protect myself, to remain hidden from their probes. Mom didn't understand why I was burning my laptop in the backyard fire pit, but I didn't care, I knew what I was doing. I'd stolen a hundred dollars from her purse while she slept and I was going to hit the bus station and head to the other end of the country, maybe to Hollywood to become a writer for Fox or E! or something. Find a place where my skills would be appreciated and I wouldn't be the target of a manhunt because some whiny babies couldn't read a story about a girl in a diaper without flipping out and killing themselves and others or something. Under cover of darkness that night I packed a bag full of things I needed to start a life somewhere else. I had a package of diapers, printouts of all my favorite pictures and stories of women in diapers, loads of candy and chips and cookies and of course, a map of all the Arby's across the country so I knew where I needed to stop on the way to my final destination. I slipped out the front door and into my new life, my new life it turned out was the butt of a S.W.A.T. team member's rifle. When I woke up I was shackled to a chair in a dimly lit room, a man sitting across the metal table in front of me and another behind him pacing and smoking. "Good morning, Bradley." the man seated in front of me said. He shook his head and took a sip of a paper cup of coffee. "Or should I call you "Ddy4U"?" he asked, reading my screen name off a piece of paper. "How did you find me?" I asked groggily, my heartbeat thumping in my head as the pain of my assault slowly diminished. The pacing man scoffed and approached the table. "Are you being serious right now?" he asked incredulously. I nodded slowly. "I filtered my IP address through a hundred different satellite networks and dummy nodes all over the world. What hacker did you get to track me down?" I asked. They exchanged looks of disbelief for a moment before pacing man turned back to me. "You had a link to your personal fucking Facebook page on your goddamned profile where you wrote your stories!" he bellowed. "Not only did you not do any of whatever the fuck you're babbling about, but you literally gave us your name and address willingly! What hacker did we get to track you down?! Bradley, my goddamned senile mother could have found you and she thinks Reagan is president still!" he screamed at me. Sitting man took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it, inhaling deeply from it and exhaling sharply. "Brad, I thought this was going to be a career case for my partner and I." he began. "We thought we were dealing with some tech genius that had figured out a way to brainwash innocent people into becoming violent murderers just by reading a few lines of idiotic drivel." he told me. "My stories are my art!" I declared. The two men laughed at that. "Lemme see, 'her pussy was on fire as the piss soaked diaper rubbed against it and she came and shit her diaper and cried for her Daddy.' does not sound like art to me, Bradley." he said, reading an excerpt from "Baby Vacation", one of my best stories. "I wouldn't expect you to understand!" I spat. "Oh, I understand perfectly," pacing man said. "I understand that a thirty-two year old probable virgin was so terrible at writing porn stories for a fetish board that he actually caused people to lose their shit and kill their loved ones and themselves." he said. "I understand that the person we assumed to be the head of a massive digital terrorist cell turned out to be a borderline retarded asshole that can probably only write a fraction of a "story" before he cums in his diaper." he added. I shook my head. "Fuck you, my work is great and lots of people think so!" I screamed at him, struggling against my shackles. "Bradley, the only people that think your work is great are mouth breathing losers like yourself. It's not hard to impress folks that dwell in the bowels of their parents basement and sit around in shit filled diapers picking their acne while they read your dreck and jerk off." he said. "Face it, you're the worst author in a field of authors that objectify women because they have zero chance of actually having a girlfriend, guys that will probably die of a heart attack in the basement while they jerk off to your shitty stories." "When I get out of here I'm going to show you and all the other haters out there that-" The gunshot rang out in the room going through Bradley's forehead, killing him instantly. He slumped forward, his head slamming into the table, his brains sliding out like jelly from an overly full peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then he shit his diaper because that happens a lot when people die. "So, you good with the whole genius terrorist hacker angle?" pacing man asked the seated man as he holstered his gun. Seated man nodded. "Yeah, we'll blame the Russians or the Iranians or something, give the news outlets something to embarrass those assholes." he said as he stood up and they walked out of the room. "Can you believe that guy?" pacing man asked as they walked down the long corridor to the exit of the building. Seated man scoffed. "I can believe just about anything." he said as they left the building and headed for their car, the American flag waving proudly at the top of the flagpole behind them. The End