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  1. by LittleFallenPrincess So here's my second story, Witch in Training. It's an MDLG/ABDL romance novel about two Witches from very different backgrounds in a universe filled with Magic. Alternating between the perspective of each Witch every chapter, beginning with the more traditional village Witch. It should be about 40 chapters long, with an Epilogue at the end, and new chapters will be posted every Wednesday and Sunday. You can find my first story, Little in Love, currently in progress, here. Two weeks Early Access to chapters of Witch in Training is available for the second tier on my Patreon. The first five chapters in pdf form are up from the start, with the sixth being posted on Wednesday, the same time the second will be posted here. If you have any questions regarding this, ask away. Charge up front is enabled. Meaning you will be charged as soon as you pledge. Little in Love Chapters are not available for Early Access. I hope everyone enjoys this story as much as the first! Please feel free to leave comments and feedback, I love reading it all! Chapter 1: Village Life I watched as the water droplets made their way down the plants. Cascading down each leaf. Each leaf bending and swaying as the weight of the droplet forced its way downwards towards the soil. I admired the way this universe worked, even in small ways like watering plants. The cycle of life, the connection between the elements, the necessity to depend on others... I lost myself whenever I did this by hand. It’s why I did it this way, rather than relying on my power. Sure, I could just wave my hand, channel a bit of magic, and ‘poof!’ the plants are fully grown in an instant and no effort is needed. But I enjoyed the day to day, the daily watering, watching them grow and get stronger as I nurtured them, from a tiny seedling all the way to when it blooms. I liked feeling like the love I channelled in to my daily routine with them provided them enough to grow stronger than if I had just used my magic. It was the only way I could satisfy that part of me. For now. The bell from my front door rang. “Oh that must be Mrs Timpson. Here for her usual.” I liked talking to my plants. They didn’t talk back, but when you live alone, on the outskirts of the village, you don’t get much conversation. So I take whatever I can get. I put the watering can down beside the plants and walked over to the front door. As I passed the large mirror, I checked myself out quickly. My long black hair flowed down my shoulders, resting neatly on my cardigan. My glasses were wonky, so I quickly went about correcting that. I didn’t need them, but they did make my green eyes pop and it gave me an aura of intelligence to everyone around the village. I wiped a bit of dirt from my lightly freckled face. My t-shirt was on day 2 of use, I hadn’t found the energy or time to do any washing. But hey, it looked good on me at least. And it hugged my curves perfectly. At six foot, I was a bit on the taller side, with nice curves and a kind, affectionate face. Or so I’ve been told by ex’s and random guys hitting on me. And then I realised something I had nearly forgotten about. With a flick of my wrist, my comfortable cardigan was replaced by a long black robe, my jeans into a medium length black skirt, my favourite band tee turned into a smart white blouse. “Much better.” I said to myself whilst admiring myself in the mirror. I opened the door to see the familiar face of Mrs Timpson waiting for me. She was an elderly lady from the village with white hair and glasses. You would never catch her not wearing a floral outfit. She loved flowers and put her heart and soul into her garden, often exhausting herself beyond her limits. “Hello Mrs Timpson. Are you here for your usual today?” “Not today dearie.” “Oh, then come in and sit down. Tell me what’s up.” I held the door open for the elderly woman as she slowly shuffled into my house, sitting down at my rustic oak table in the kitchen. Closing the front door, I followed her through and put the kettle on the stove before sitting down across the table from her. “So how can I help?” “Well my plants are doing perfectly, thanks to you dearie. You have such a connection with nature, I really admire that about you. Not like those witches you see on television.” “Well thank you Mrs Timpson. I really appreciate you saying that. So if not your garden, what ails you?” “It’s my back dearie. I’ve tried everything I can. I’ve seen so many specialists, had so many different treatments. Nothing works.” “Why didn’t you come to see me sooner?” “I already ask too much of you with my garden. I didn’t want to bother you.” “Oh Mrs Timpson, you’re no bother. I wish you had come to see me sooner, I bet I can get that back of yours feeling better in no time. Cup of tea?” “Oh yes please dear. That would be wonderful.” “Can I just quickly take a look at your back?” “Of course. Go ahead. Do you want me to lie down or anything?” “Don’t worry, I just need to read the energy around your spine. It will only take a moment.” Running my hand down her spine, a few inches away from her navy blue floral dress, I sensed a twist in the flow of energy. “Ah yes. I see the problem. I’ll have it sorted in a jiffy.” I walked over to my plants and searched for the specific one I needed. Finding it, I snipped a bud from the stem and took it over to my kitchen counter, dropping it in my pestle. I channelled a little bit of healing magic into the bud. “Tea is nearly ready Mrs Timpson. How’s your husband doing?” As she started going on about her husband, I took the boiled kettle off the stove and pulled out two cups, along with some tea and an infuser. Pouring the boiling water into the cup through the leaves, I then went on to crush up the bud I had cut. Adding that to one of the cups, I passed that one to Mrs Timpson and sat down with my own cup. “Drink that and see how you feel.” “Thank you dearie.” She drank the tea, continuing to talk about her husband. Right at the end of the story she was waffling on when she suddenly put her hand on her back. “Oh my, the pain has gone! I feel 20 years younger!” “Good to hear. I’m always happy to help, you know that. So next time, don’t hesitate okay?” After she had finished her tea and after she had finished telling me all about number 9 who painted their shed blue, I smiled and showed her out the door, shutting it as soon as she left. Looking back at myself in the mirror, I waved my hand again and I was back in my comfy clothes, and I went about my day. I enjoyed spending time with the people from the village, but their lives weren’t particularly interesting. Always the same ‘my husband saw a robin’ or ‘did you hear the post office was busy on Tuesday?’ Whilst I loved living in solitude, outside the little village of Basinwall, I couldn’t help but feel like the Witches in the city had much more interesting stories to listen to. But I could never live there again, I chose this life. The villagers led very boring lives, whilst the Witches from the city were ambassadors, diplomats, and celebrities. They often went out and got drunk, fighting demons and saving people’s lives. I, on the other hand, had guests with such riveting stories such as they ‘may have had their garden gnome stolen by a teen’, or ‘a gate got blown down!’ Instead of the normal life for witches these days, I chose to live on the outskirts of a quiet little village in England, both for privacy and safety. I mean, I got on well with the fae folk whenever I visited the city, but I didn’t get on well with other magic users. They were often way too full of themselves and looked down on me for choosing the ways of old. ------------------------------------------------- You see, centuries ago, witches were often elders of a village who had the gift of magic. They were often sought out to fix problems for the community, whether it was helping crops grow, healing the sick and injured, helping with discussions and disagreements, whatever the people needed. We didn’t lead, but we were important when it came to a village’s health, prosperity and growth. And people looked up to us for that, revered us even. Over time, as towns grew, that role became more demanding and more important. But at the same time, the number of witches born started increasing. It used to be that each village had its own witch. But eventually there were multiple witches per village. Then cities started forming and witches started becoming diplomats and guardians, basically any very important positions of power within the city. They started working to further their own paths rather than help others. They became more and more selfish, often favouring power over empathy. The formation of the Council eventually united all of the witches into one powerful force, but they began to forget their roots. There was a point that most witches saw little acts of help, for example healing an old woman’s sore back, as ‘unworthy of their talents’. They became celebrities in their own way, often being idolised for their gifts and looks, but never worthy of such devotion. These days they graced magazine covers, hosted big arena events, signed autographs and got drunk at parties. They flaunted their magic, often in dangerous ways. But they never learnt their lesson, as the Council would just clean everything up and brush away the evidence, acting like nothing had happened. But that’s what this society had become. Witches had no humility. Even from a young age, witches were expected to become powerful and famous. All that pressure, all the expectations... it’s no wonder they grew up selfish and vain. At a young age, anyone identified as a witch would be assigned a more experienced witch to be their tutor. They would act as their guardian, support system, and guide as they taught them how to wield the magic they now had access to. You couldn’t ask for a different tutor. A tutor could choose a different student, but if you didn’t like your tutor... well you were shit out of luck. My tutor was some cranky old hag who was some old movie star whose career had shrivelled up decades before. She was the kind of person who loved reminding me that I would amount to nothing and I hated that about her. But because of that, I learned the power of positive reinforcement. I swore to myself if I ever took on someone, I wouldn’t be like her. At 31 years old, I was the right age and had the right experience to take on an apprentice, but I was isolated from the community and excluded from the inner circles. So I have never been given the opportunity to take someone on. Because of this I spent most of my time working on my plants, helping the residents of the village, or visiting friends. Not like I’d want one of the witches you see in all the magazines anyway, none of them are worth training. I know because I used to be like that. I was a stuck-up little Witch-in-training in the city, tutored by one of the best living witches. I partied, I got into fights, and I drank way too much. I got a few telling offs by the Council, but as I was one of the up and coming rising stars, I could do no real wrong in their eyes. But over time I felt empty. I felt hollow. I felt like I was just pretending to be like every other witch. After a lot of soul searching and travelling, I realised what I wanted. Part of what I wanted was to have a quiet life somewhere out in the countryside, near a little village, doing what we witches used to do. I wanted to get closer to nature, as that had always been my strongest affinity when it came to magic. ------------------------------------------------- All witches have magic. Any witch can learn any spell. Some are more difficult than others, but they are still available to all. What makes each witch different is their affinity. Usually inherited from a parent, an affinity is just a natural talent for one aspect of magic. Sometimes a witch can have two affinities, one from each parent. But it’s rare. I’m one of the few. Fire, nature, earth, air, water. All the elements could be an affinity, but there were plenty more. Some witches have a rarer affinity. Like augmentation, healing or self-regeneration. It doesn’t mean all witches can’t do those kinds of spells, but those with an affinity have a distinct talent for spells in that category. I, for example, gained one of my affinities from my father, his nature based affinity. I find I can connect with plants and animals more easily than any other witch. ------------------------------------------------- So in the end, I left my old life behind. The gossip magazines wondered where I went, the Council were furious. There was an incident with them but I ran as fast and as far away as I could. I didn’t care anymore. I built this house on the edge of Basinwall and have been happy since. Well, mostly happy. I couldn’t go back to my old life. I had severed all connections to it. My tutor disowned me, the Council hated me, and the community looked down on me and snubbed me. But I lived in my own little cottage, in peace, and could focus on helping people. I had what I had fought for. Mostly. ------------------------------------------------- I dragged my feet through the house. I had done my good deed for the day, helping Mrs Timpson with her back. But today an air of melancholy surrounded not only myself, but the house. So I whisked my hand a bit, conjuring a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on my front door. The people from the village were thoughtful and friendly, and whenever I got like this, they’d be understanding and leave me be for the day. They tried to offer their support, but we all knew, even myself, that there was nothing they could do to help me. I needed some time to myself. To clear my head a bit. To try and focus on something. But every time I tried to focus, my body wandered that bit closer to the bare wall between my bedroom and the spare bedroom. Giving in to my feelings, I drew an outline in the air in front of the bare wall with my hand. A door appeared and I walked through. This room hurt my heart every time I entered, and because of that, I hadn’t been in here for a while. But for some reason, it was now calling to me. Running my hand over the plush fabric of the animals, all stood to attention along the shelf in a neat line, I couldn’t help but feel like I would never find that missing piece to this room. It should bring me happiness, love... but instead it was just empty, devoid of joy. Until I could fill that piece that was missing, it was a reminder of the loneliness I felt. Not only in this house, not only in this village, but in this world. I took in the scent that never left this room. When designing it, I made sure that approximately half of the time you’d be able to smell it. Just a simple enchant. That’s all it took. Running my fingers over the wooden beams circling the bed, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made a mistake in leaving the city. It wasn’t easy leaving that life behind. I fought tooth and nail to get where I am today. And I won’t let anyone take that away from me. I know I’m still missing something, but at least I know what I’m missing this time. The cravings became stronger every day. Caring for the plants only satisfied me so much. But it was difficult living in isolation in a tiny village, how was I supposed to find the thing I needed? I just had to be patient. I’d find it eventually. One day I’ll find that piece I am missing. ========================================================== I hope everyone enjoyed this first chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! Don't forget, the next 4 chapters are available on my Patreon, which can be found here if you go for the second tier. You get two weeks early access to chapters of Witch in Training (Little in Love will not be available on there until it's all finished here). The first tier is purely for supporting my writing. There's also a discord server I've created, which you get access to with either tier. The discord server, my Patreon, everything is new and there may be bugs or mistakes or whatever that I'll try and sort out as soon as possible. That's where suggestions and feedback come in! I'd love to hear what everyone thinks, or what people would like to see from me or anything that needs fixing. I've never done something like this before, it's been a nightmare for my anxiety setting all this up on top of the anxiety of posting my second story, so patience is appreciated. Anyway, enough about all that, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, the second will be posted on Wednesday (and the sixth chapter will be posted on my Patreon).
  2. by LittleFallenPrincess So here's my third story, Glitch in Nanny. It's an MDLG/ABDL romance novel about a sci-fi/cyberpunk world where the world has flooded and everyone lives on giant floating cities. A little is working on a new project, one that will change her life and others. One of the characters was chosen by my patreons in a poll. It should be about 40 chapters long, with an Epilogue at the end, and new chapters will be posted every Monday and Friday. You can find my first story, Little in Love, here. And my second story, Witch in Training, here. (Currently in Progress) I would recommend reading Little in Love, then catching up with Witch in Training. Even if you're not usually a fan of diaper dimension stories, you may find you enjoy Little in Love. Two weeks Early Access to chapters of Witch in Training & Glitch in Nanny is available for the second tier on my Patreon. The first five chapters in pdf form are up from the start, with the sixth being posted on Monday, the same time the second will be posted here. If you have any questions regarding this, ask away. Charge up front is enabled. Meaning you will be charged as soon as you pledge. Little in Love Chapters are not available for Early Access. I hope everyone enjoys this story as much as my other stories! Please feel free to leave comments and feedback, I love reading it all! Chapter 1: Faith We raced through the streets of London, running red lights and dodging traffic. Weaving through the gaps between the cars, I held on for dear life as she made this normally terrifying act seem like it was easy. She loved showing off, especially to me. No idea why, she was already my closest friend, she didn’t need to do anything. I knew exactly how awesome she was and how tough she could be, she didn’t need to risk both of our lives on a night time drive. But hey, I enjoyed spending time with her, so I tightened the grip I had around her waist and closed my eyes. “You know... if you keep your eyes closed like that, you’ll miss all the pretty scenery?” she said, her voice slightly muffled from the helmet. Opening my eyes, she wasn’t wrong. It was beautiful at this time of night. The neon glow of the city in the night sky, the reflections of all the lights and signs in the water, the gorgeous Art Deco buildings that formed the floating city of London. It was worth keeping my eyes open, despite how scared I was. I don’t normally get out much, I’m a bit of a shut in. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I eventually gave in and agreed to go drive around the waterfront on her bike with her. We pulled up in a quiet little spot on the edge of the city and looked out across the endless ocean. The water was still, with no waves and no traffic out here. The night skies were clear, not a cloud in sight. The air was much cleaner out here too. Getting off her bike, she took her helmet off and let her long, dark brown hair flow down her shoulders and back. “Come on. This is my favourite spot.” She said, waving me over and she went and leant against the wall. I took my helmet off and sorted out the mess of red hair. ‘How does she manage to look so damn gorgeous when she does it, but when I do it, I look like I got out of the wrong side of the bed?’ Following her over to the wall, I shuffled up next to her and looked out. “I can see why. It’s beautiful. I keep forgetting to come to the edge, it’s so much better than the centre.” “Exactly. So you agree I should bring you out here more often?” How is she so confident? It took me months to ask my girlfriend out, and even then it was mostly her that did the work to get me to that point. “So Red... how are things with you and Sadie?” she turned to look at me and raised her eyebrow. Morgan has called me Red ever since we were teens. I’ve known her over half my life now and we’ve been best friends. She’s really intelligent, she’s an engineer, she’s a badass, she drives a motorcycle, she’s gorgeous... but since the day we met, she’s never come up with anything wittier than ‘Red’. I mean sure, my hair is red, congrats. But there are so many other nicknames she could have come up with... She only ever calls me by my actually name when she’s disappointed in me or angry or upset. ‘Oh Faith’.... ‘FAITH WHAT THE FUCK?’... ‘Come on Faith, stop screwing around!’... you get the idea. “It’s going really well actually, thanks.” I replied. “It’s been what, three months? When are you going to finally move in with her? Or is she going to move into the shit tip that is your apartment? I’m sure she’d loooove to be surrounded by all the spare parts and tools.” “We... we’re not at that stage yet. Although she does spend most of her time at mine.” “Really? And she doesn’t mind all the tinkering you do?” “Umm... I don’t think so.” “Well that’s a surprise. She always seemed a bit... pretentious...” “You think she’s pretentious?” “Ignore what I think, Red. You seem happy with her. That’s all that matters. I just want whatever makes you happy.” Morgan looked back out across the ocean. What I couldn’t tell her was that Sadie satisfied a part of me that had been neglected most of my life. For years I had tried to find someone who wanted that side of me, but it was just failure after failure. Too many people looking to take advantage of me or use me. No one who actually wanted to know that side of me, no one who wanted to take care of me and love me for who I was. Morgan had no idea of that side of me. We are best friends, sure, but I wouldn’t tell her about that part of my life even to save my own. We were inseparable, I didn’t want to ruin that with her by telling her about my stupid little kink. She’d look at me so differently. She already gets uncomfortable when I start acting childish around her. I don’t mean to, it just... happens, but whenever it does, she gets visibly awkward. But Sadie... Sadie understood that part of me. She cared for it, she nurtured it, and she encouraged it. She made me feel like less of a freak, she made me feel loved. I mean sure, we weren’t living together yet. She was busy most of the time with work, and we were both trying to save up a bit of money so we could get a nice place together. I stayed in my shitty apartment, she shared her place with a couple of friends. There was no room for me, but honestly, I’m glad. I needed my workshop, and I would have had to have given that up if there was room for me. My workshop is my life. It’s where I make my money, it’s where I work on my projects, it’s where I developed some of my greatest creations. All with the help of Morgan. I was gifted when it came to tech. From a young age, I just knew how machines worked. I’d often spend my days drawing cool looking androids and figuring out how to program them to do things. Most of my childhood was theory though, I didn’t actually get to create or mess around with any real tech. That was until Morgan turned up part way through the year in high school. Transferred from another part of the city, she ended up in my class. She sat next to me and we hit it off straight away, bonding over our love of tech. She encouraged me to actually start working on stuff with her. I focused on the design and the programming; she focused more on the engineering side of it. And together... we were amazing. And now, at 29, I’m working on my most ambitious project yet. Creating our own, fully functioning android, complete with programmed behaviour and a realistic looking body. Morgan was great at working out the specifics about the chassis and the inner workings, whilst I designed the thing and worked on the personality and behaviour she would have. I didn’t tell Morgan exactly what I had in mind for this; this was a bit of a personal project for me, something to keep me company whilst Sadie was away on one of her business trips, or when she couldn’t come over. I’d just need to program a second set of behaviours into it for when Morgan is around it. “So... when we working on Evie next?” Morgan asked. Evelyn, or Evie as we’ve grown to call her now, was the android we were working on. Morgan would often go dumpster diving to get whatever parts we could get for free. Whatever we couldn’t obtain, we’d have to get from the market. I hated going there, it was shady as hell, but sometimes we needed to. “Dunno. Whenever. Been a couple of days. We’re getting close, we just need a couple more parts and I need to finish the code before she’s ready.” “So once we’ve finished, she’s just going to help around your workshop? That’s a bit of a waste for such a brilliant piece of tech.” “What else can we do with her? She’s brilliant, sure, but we can’t exactly get her registered nor do anything outside my workshop. Only official androids can perform jobs and all that.” “I know, but she’s more advanced than any of that android market crap. She makes even the newer models look obsolete!” “But we don’t have a licence. We’re lucky we can even make her at all.” “Ugh.” Morgan flailed her arms and turned around, looking behind us at the city. “I hate this city.” “I know. It’s shit. But would you rather live out there?” I pointed out towards the empty horizon. “I know we got it good compared to other cities that survived the flood, and we got it infinitely better than the people who didn’t survive... but this city is toxic. There’s a reason I like this spot.” “No signs, no noise?” “Exactly. We’re on the floating city of London, and the only place I actually like is this quiet bit at the back because it doesn’t feel like the rest of it. I mean look at it, look at the city.” I turned around and did as she was doing, my back against the wall, looking out to the city of London. ------------------------------------------------- Forty years ago, London was just another city in the world. Advancement in tech skyrocketed after the Victorian era. Tech advanced so quickly, we were more advanced than we should have been. We pushed the world further and further into the future. Humanity as a civilisation advanced much quicker than we should have, which means we are now about 50 years ahead in terms of society and technology. By the thirties, we had developed smart phones. By the forties, we had perfected robots. By the fifties, we had already developed bionic limbs and organs. By the sixties we had created androids. But all of this came at a cost. Humanity polluted the planet faster than it could handle it. The ice caps melted, the world flooded. Most of humanity was wiped out in a decade. The survivors were those who escaped to the major cities. Instead of working on a solution to fix the climate crisis, engineers and scientists worked on a way to adapt to it instead. They created a way to make the major cities of the world... float, turning them into their own little islands. Creating a solid infrastructure beneath a large city, they were able to save a whole bunch of people when the world started flooding. London was one of them. These cities quickly became new nations with their own laws and their own jurisdiction. England no longer had control over the rest of the UK. England had a couple more cities that were able to be saved, but we didn’t have many. Scotland, Wales and Ireland quickly distanced themselves from us, but they were only able to save one city each. Edinburgh was the largest, and it quickly sailed away from the rest of us. Wales and Ireland managed to save their capital cities, and followed suit. And so, as the whole world sank, a hundred or so cities throughout the world survived, floating on the endless ocean that covered the planet. That was over 40 years ago, before my time. And since, London has gotten worse and worse. Crime rates increasing, tech has kinda... stagnated, corruption is rife within the police and the politicians. Hell, even slavery is making a comeback. Whilst we rarely interact with other cities due to us being pretty self-sufficient, there are a lot of stories about people being sold off to wealthy people on some of the less... civilised... cities. It’s illegal still, but the police are often paid to look the other way most of the time. It’s why I keep to myself mostly, only leaving my apartment when I need to. “Come on, let’s go back. Your girlfriend is probably worried I’ve kidnapped you or something!” Morgan said, pulling my arm. I nodded and smiled as we got back on her bike, driving into the centre of the city. As we passed all the tall buildings, I couldn’t help but admire their design. Sure, the city looked like any of those typical futuristic dystopian cities from the old movies and books, but where they differed to reality is the style of buildings. They had all these smooth, modern buildings and it was all dark and grungy. They got the dark and grungy part right. But for every three modern buildings that had been built in the past twenty years, there was one old building. And it was these old buildings that made this city. At some point during our rushed technological advancement, Art Deco buildings became popular, and London was flooded with architects creating large numbers of buildings of this particular style. I think they looked at New York and tried to copy it. And where other trends would go out of style... this never did. They became a part of this city and people were reluctant to replace them. So throughout the city, these towering structures withstood the test of time and are some of the most popular places to live. I managed to score an apartment in one, but only because my landlord owed Morgan a favour and she cashed it in to get me my place. I mean... it’s not exactly one of the best kept buildings, it’s a bit of a wreck in a bad neighbourhood, but it keeps me safe and I’ve got a roof over my head. ------------------------------------------------- As we pulled up to my apartment, I got off the bike and went to hand Morgan her spare helmet back. She pushed it back at me. “Keep it on you. I’m gonna take you for a ride again soon. Now that I’ve managed it once, it’ll be easier next time. I’ll call you later, and then we can work on Evie.” I knew better to argue against Morgan. If she wanted me to do something, there’s a very high chance I’d do it for her. She gave off a weird protective, maternal feeling. Maybe that was what attracted me to being her friend to begin with? Either way, I gripped the helmet and she winked at me, dropped her visor, and sped off down the road. “Hey baby, how was your little trip with Morgan?” Sadie said as I entered the apartment. “Oh hey! I wasn’t expecting you!” I replied. “I figured you’d want a bit of time with me... baby.” “Oh... you mean?” “Yep. Now go lay down on the bed and wait for me. Mummy has a couple more things to do, then I’ll be right in to get you changed into something much more appropriate for someone as little as you...” My face turned red and I did everything I could as to not wiggle my butt as I quickly rushed into my bedroom. I started taking my clothes off, unbuttoning my shirt, when my wrists were grabbed and I was quickly turned around. “Babygirl... you know you’re not supposed to do that yourself... now, are you going to be a good girl for Mummy?” Sadie looked at me with those gorgeous brown eyes of hers and I melted. “Yes... yes Mummy...” my voice had gone really quiet and shy at this point. “Good girl. Now, lay back. I assume you’re going to be working on your little Nannybot tomorrow?” “Yes Mummy... Morgan is going to come round and help.” “Good girl. Now you better be good, otherwise I’ll make sure you’re padded for your little playdate with her, and she’ll quickly realise just what you plan to use that android for..." She pushed me back onto the bed and I lost the ability to speak. I was so flustered that I hadn’t even noticed that she had brought out the super thick nappies she saves for when I’m feeling really little... ========================================================== I hope everyone enjoyed this first chapter! It's a genre I never thought I'd write, but I had a fun idea and went with it. Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! Thank you to all my patrons for their support! Don't forget, the next 4 chapters are available on my Patreon, which can be found here if you go for the second tier. You get two weeks early access to chapters of Witch in Training and Glitch in Nanny. The first tier is purely for supporting my writing. Access to my Discord server is included with both tiers, where people can discuss early access chapters, although it seems most of them use it just to tease me ? New chapters every Monday/Friday!
  3. Hello all. Here's a story I've been working on. I'm posting it another place as well, but figured no harm in having more eyes look it over. This story has a magical realism thing going on. Adult language, sexual situations, and violence are elements of this story as well. So, forewarned = forlorn and all that. Hope you enjoy. -malus Prologue: “How is it where you are, my precious boy?” the feminine voice was soft, kind, and strangely resonant. He paused for a moment before answering her, and watched as the sky drifted into focus - a collision of colors; violet, amber, magenta, and orange. Dawn and dusk, noon and night met and mingled as bright stars sparkled. “Different” he felt himself say. His words and movements were not his, he felt. His gaze drifted as he leaned his head back and beheld her delicate face, with those eyes of green which blazed with adoration and something near mischief. “How so, sweetest of all?” Her full lips spread wide as she smiled lovingly. His nostrils flared as he breathed in. Lavender. She always smelled of lavender. “It’s…more.” His voice came out distant. He tried not to think about it. He didn’t want to be where his thoughts would lead. His gaze was pleading as he took in her impossible loveliness. She laughed brightly. “More…what?” she pried as she traced a long, slender finger over his pouty lips. The odor of talcum mingled with the prevailing scent of lavender. He relaxed into the fragrance. “More everything. Moreness. More Substantial…more hard.” He answered in a choked whisper. Tears welling in his eyes. “That will change soon, little one” Her smile was sad. The words could hardly leave his mouth “I’ve missed you.” He tried to reach out to her only to find that his limbs were frozen. Her aspect suddenly solemn, she said “You will know me soon”. The words were not the succor that he needed. He wanted her to hold him close. “Don’t go” he begged in a thin squeak. Panic rising within him, her warmth diminished as she started to fade away. Tears rolled down her high, regal cheeks “I am not the one that is going, precious creature.” Once more she smiled sadly, leaning in to kiss his forehead. He never felt her lips. He was dissolving as the lunatic sky shimmered, its colors muddling and mixing, becoming darker with each moment. Coldness remained in the absence of her warmth. Something musty replaced her scent. Darkness reigned. He still could not move. Nor could he breathe. Chapter One Nathaniel Carmichael woke with a sharp, greedy inhalation. Promptly following was a low moan which was equal parts terror and longing. A few rapid, ragged gasps followed as moan became a soft whimper. He regained his senses, awake now, in his bed; cold and wet. Sighing as he starred at his ceiling, the dim, azure light of dawn let him know that it was about five in the morning. As much as he hated waking up wet, he needed a moment to find himself. It had happened again, the third time in four weeks. Nathan pulled back his blanket and gazed down at his soaking wet boxers, as well as the large wet patch on his sheets. After a few more moments he rolled out of bed, and stripped the sheets with practiced efficiency. “Mattress is ruined” he thought as he padded down the hallway of his apartment “Third time in a month. Over 12 this year. God damn it.” Stuffing his soiled sheets and wet boxers into the tiny washing machine located in one of the hall closets, Nathaniel sleepily puzzled over the meaning of what was happening to him. He had this dream, on and off, since his mid-teens. It wasn’t always the same, but she was always there, whoever she was. He always woke up soaked, too. His best guess is that it was some kind of reaction to finding out he was adopted. He had taken enough 100 and 200 level Psych classes to provide himself an armchair analysis of his problem. While his adoptive parents were kind and provided a loving home, finding out he was not theirs put his identity in crisis. Not knowing what he could trust in the world, he created some fantasy mother-type character in his dreams. The end of each dream was the same. She would go away, and he would wake up terrified, half choking, and wet. The problem with that analysis is that she always told him that it was Nathaniel who was going. Still, it made enough sense; abandonment, mommy issues, Freud and all that bullshit. Also, Nathaniel did not think of himself as being especially bothered about being adopted. He loved his parents. Walking into his bathroom, Nathaniel frowned in the faint glow of the bathroom’s night light. He looked at his slender form in the mirror. Broad ribcage, narrow waist, and a surprisingly ample bottom for someone of his build...Nathaniel Carmichael was a handsome, rather pretty, young man. He blinked at his reflection, and a finely featured face with a strong chin, expressive hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and a wild mop of thick ringlet curls, blinked back. “You’re too old for this shit, Nate” he admonished himself in the best grizzled old man affect he could manage. After relieving himself in the bathroom, Nathaniel returned to his bedroom. He donned a clean, dry pair of boxer briefs, and fetched a composition book from his bedside table. He then went to his living room, and sitting on his couch wrote in his book Had dream Again. Dinner was a salad and turkey sandwich. Fluids after 6 were three glasses of water, glass of wine. Tomorrow – get plastic sheet and other stuff. Make shrink appointment? He turned on the television, and put it on some quiet show about the history of Russia or something. Nathaniel was not paying particular attention to the program. He just wanted a distraction to sleep to. Some noise to keep his thoughts away from her, and that wild sky, and the dreadfulness of parting ways. Chapter Two The morning routine - coffee, shower, dress, more coffee, drive to work. Groggy as he was, Nathaniel found it easy to not dwell too much on last night’s dream. His job as assistant manager at little corner candy shop in the town mall was not especially strenuous, just retail - a kind of work that came with its own frustrations. Nathaniel made just enough to afford his relatively Spartan lifestyle, though he would occasionally need some help from his parents when his car insurance, or some other large bill, was due. Come lunch time, Nathaniel flipped through the phone book in the small backroom of the store. He first searched for a pharmacy, and was struck by the name Gonne Apothecary. It had an antiquated kind of affect that tickled him. Even if they didn’t have what he needed, it might be a weird and neat place to visit. The address indicated it was near enough to work, so he called to find out about their hours. “Thank you for calling Gonne Apothecary, your independent source for all of your health needs. This is Heather, how may I help you?” the voice was pleasant and lilting with the practiced enthusiasm of someone who had been answering phones for some time. “Uh, hi. I just wanted to see what your hours are?” “We close at nine tonight, and we’re open 10-9 Monday through Friday; noon till six, Saturday, and noon till four, Sunday” Heather replied promptly. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” She chirped. “No…um, that’s all” he said before adding “Thanks.” He had considered asking if they had what he was looking specifically looking for, but shame kept him from it. “Welcome! Bye now” Heather ended the conversation with warm finality. Nathan flipped through the counseling section of the phone book. He didn’t have any recommendations, so he was mostly looking for a shrink that was close to work or home. It took a while before he found someone, Alexander Weinack, M.D. He called, and after a few rings, went to voicemail. “Hi there…This is Nathan Carmichael. I’m having a few” he paused “problems and was just looking for someone to sort it out with.” He spoke into the machine. He went on to provide his insurance information, and his cell phone number. Those tasks out of the way, Nathan went on with his day. Clocking out at 4, he bid his co-workers a good night, and drove to Gonne Apothecary. Gonne Apothecary sat in a rundown strip mall, sharing the building with a CPA, a nail salon that appeared closed, and a vacant space for rent. The apothecary itself seemed closed as well, its windows tinted in such a way that no interior lights could be seen from the outside. The only hint that it was open was a little read sign hanging on the front door that stated as much. “Don’t see how they could stay in business like this” Nathaniel thought as he parked. He was having second thoughts. On one hand, he could use something to protect his already ruined mattress. His four years of being single would continue on for a while if he brought women to his place and his bed smelled like a toddler going through a rough patch in his potty training. On the other hand, he’d never bought anything related to his intermittent problem. His mom took care of the mattress protector when he lived at home, and he didn’t wet that often when he was on his own…well, until recently. “They’re professionals. They won’t laugh. It’s for someone else, or something. Besides, it’s not like I’ll see any friends in here” he thought, a touch sardonically. A bell chimed as he entered the apothecary. Nathaniel felt a bit of disappointment as he entered the place, finding it to look much like a normal pharmacy; the floor linoleum, the walls white, the air anti-septic, and the tall shelving units ecru. He was hoping for dark, stained wood and drawers filled with obscure reagents. Despite his initial disappointment, the place seemed well stocked, and the shelves were tall, which blocked the line of site to the counter at the back. It was a mercy for privacy, but not a good way to prevent theft, Nathaniel surmised as he glanced about for the incontinence section. He quickly found it, against a wall of, thoughtfully tucked away from casual view. All sorts of products, ranging from gloves and wipes to catheters and leg bags were in the section, and each range of product was helpfully labeled. He tried to be quick about getting what he needed, and was relieved to find Mattress Protectors/Bed Pads. While Nathan was trying to be quick, he was trying to be casual as well. “Don’t want to act all weird” he thought, which was quickly followed by “maybe this is acting weird. Just pick something and go”. Nathaniel grabbed the most visually striking package that had ‘Double’ written on it, and quickly regretted his choice. KeepDry Mattress Cover from LeakPro he cringed as he read and looked at the package containing the vinyl mattress cover. It showed a night sky, with an oversized moon, and cartoon stars. Rather than feeling like an adult with a medical problem, Nathan felt, for the first time since his ex left him, like a bedwetter. He sighed as he felt his shame burn in his face. “No one’s seen me. I’ll just leave. Can’t deal with this now” Nathan thought to himself as he started to replace the package. “There you are” said a voice from behind. Feminine and soft, kind and adoring, the voice held Nathaniel fast. He gasped softly in surprise as goose bumps arose on his arms and the back of his neck, and the gentle fragrance of lavender filled his nose. For nine years, he had heard her voice. For nine years, he had begged her not to leave. Nine years, she was the reason he was here. Gently, with a just a hint of chiding, she added “I’ve been looking all over for you.” Chapter Three Falling from Nathaniel’s hand, the mattress cover hit the linoleum floor with a smack. He swallowed hard, as a thin sheen of sweat formed on his brow. His knees felt weak, and goose bumps continued to form on his skin. “Can’t be! It sound just like. Holy shit! Fuck I just dropped! Gah!” Nathan’s thoughts roared all at once. “Oh! I didn’t mean to startle you. I heard the bell, and knew someone had to be about. Let me help with that.” She said kindly. Nathan stood stock still as the woman moved beside him and bent over to retrieve the mattress cover. Despite himself, he made a quiet noise that sounded like a groan and a whimper as he watched her. As she stood up, he couldn’t help but stare. She seemed to be in her late twenties or early thirties, at a glance. Her black hair was bound in a loose bun. Errant strands of hair hung down, framing her face. The shape of her face was not that of the face in his dreams. This woman’s face had fuller cheeks, a more drastic jaw line, and the nose was more button like. It was on the whole, a more heart shaped. Her eyes, however, were the same enchanting green which stood in contrast to cream colored skin. Nathaniel stared into those eyes as his heart raced. Images of kaleidoscopic skies casting schizophrenic arrays of gloam and bright over familiar, alien, landscapes flashed through his mind’s eye. He could see her lips moving as a look of concern crossed her face. “…such a freight. Are you faint? Do you need to sit down?” Nathan caught only the last part of what she was saying, enough to know that he should respond to her question. He shook his head no in response to her question. “Poor thing” she said sympathetically “I should really get louder shoes. Heather is always complaining that she can never hear me when I come by” she continued. Nathaniel blinked a few times as he fought to regain his composure. He had to say something. Not saying something was definitely not normal. He didn’t want to be weird. He couldn’t say “I’ve dreamed of you”, that’s what a crazy person says. “Hhhhhh Hi” he stuttered out, a bit lamely “i-it’s alright. I, uh, just, uh…I was just lost in thought. I just need some, um, things.” He looked down at the woman’s hands, and noticed that she had a lab coat over her clothes, which concealed her figure. He also noticed that she was on the tall side for a woman. Not wanting to ogle more than he had, Nathan glanced at the shelf of mattress covers and bed pads, as his cheeks flushed. “I can tell” The woman said with a smirk “I just wanted to see if you needed help finding the best products to suit your needs.” She shifted the mattress cover in her hand as she joined Nathaniel in looking at the shelf. “I just need something for the night.” The indirect admission of his problem came from Nathaniel unbidden. All hope of playing it cool was lost now; he had essentially just told this woman he wet the bed. “I see. Well…This will certainly keep your mattress dry. It is one of the more durable products we have, though a touch on the noisy side” The woman offered Nathaniel a smile that was at once coy and kind. “My name is Anya, by the way; Anya Gonne. I would be happy to help you get whatever you need, or advise you in product selection, if you wish” “I’m Nathaniel” He replied, mentally kicking himself afterwards. He cleared his throat, and looked at Anya again. ‘She wants to help you. Just ask her to help you’ Nathaniel thought in a voice that wasn’t his. She was smiling softly at him. “Could you help me, please?” He asked as he looked at her, losing himself for a few moments as he looked into her eyes. She beamed happily at him. “Of course I can. Now, Nathaniel. Do you wet very often?” “Oh, I…No. I mean, recently, yes.” He replied. He wanted to take back asking her for help. He was unsure why he even asked. Was he losing his mind? Yet, he couldn’t figure out a way to gracefully back-peddle out of the situation. Anya’s smile took on a coy aspect once again. “I see. Well, a mattress cover will protect your mattress. However, it won’t keep your bedding, or yourself, dry. If you’re having more frequent night time accidents, I have some products over here that might help.” Anya led Nathan to some adjacent shelves. Nathan swallowed hard as he looked at the contents of the shelves. He knew well enough that these were diapers for adults, the kind of thing that old people wore. During one of her more cruel moments, his ex had joked about making him wear something like these. “God, I should put you in some old man Pampers , or something” she ridiculed. His heart continued to race, and he felt a swell of panic. Maybe he could run. “Do you wet much, Nathan?” Anya asked casually, as if it were a normal topic of conversation. Her voice kept his feet still, and the urge to run diminished. “Huh? Oh…yes.” He cringed, wondering what precisely motivated him to admit that. “I assume you’ve seen the doctor? “ Anya’s statement, phrased as a question, contained a maternal note of menace. “Oh, well, I’m, uh, working on that” Nathan blushed. He didn’t look too closely at the packages, most of them having labels like Assure, Abena, Dignity, UltraDry, Freedom, Gentle Care… “Tsk-tsk” Anya admonished “Do that immediately. We want to get to the bottom of this, don’t we?” her question rhetorical. Anya handed the mattress cover to Nathaniel, which he accepted in an automatic fashion. She then reached for a package as she said “In the mean time, you may want to wear these to bed. These are just like normal underwear, only a bit more absorbent. If you wet, your sheets will stay dry, and you may sleep a little better.” Anya’s smile was peculiar, her tone consoling. Nathan swallowed hard. His mouth felt rather dry. He managed a weak nod in response to Anya, hoping this would be over soon. The odor of lavender seemed to linger in the air, he noticed. “Come now, let me get these bagged up for you” Anya said softly as he she led Nathan to the back of the store where the cash wrap was located. She placed Nathan’s pull ups and mattress cover in two separate, opaque, black bags and handed them to him. “I’ve put my card in the bag with your pull ups. If you need anything else, please feel free to call whenever you like” she said to Nathan in a reassuring, almost tender, voice. Nathaniel nodded again and managed a “Uh huh.” Once he had his bags, he left the apothecary as quickly as his shaking legs would take him without completely abandoning his composure. Throwing his bags into the passenger seat of his car, Nathan buckled up and drove home. Questions roiling through his mind: ‘Oh God. What the fuck was that? Did that just happen? Who was she? I’m crazy. This is crazy. Dream women don’t happen. I dream of that voice, and I hear it the next day. My mind is fucking with me. Wait? Was she supposed to act like that? Was that professional? Agh!’ All during the drive home, and once at home until it was nearly time for bed, Nathan asked himself the questions came up again and again. Each time, they went unanswered. Strangest of all was that not at any point did he wonder why she did not make him pay.
  4. So... Book 5... Love in Dimensions. An MDLG romance novel set in the multiverse that my other books have been set in. The big finale to my ongoing story. Hard to say anything else without spoiling things, but readers of my previous stories will understand. Never would have thought I'd have made it this far honestly... Nearly a year since I posted the first chapter of Little in Love, half a million words later... we come to the final book in my 'littlefallenverse' series. This is what all hard work has been leading towards. All the little clues I've dotted around my books, all the mentions and everything... hopefully this book answers all the questions people have. It's my most ambitious project ever, and I'm so proud of myself for coming this far. I know they may be silly little kink stories, but they mean a lot to me and I'm glad that people enjoy reading them! Now... a quick, and VERY important disclaimer... IF YOU HAVE NOT READ ALL FOUR OF MY OTHER STORIES, DO NOT READ THIS! GO READ THOSE FIRST. OTHERWISE THIS STORY WON'T MAKE SENSE AND YOU WON'T ENJOY IT. It'd be like reading H.P. and jumping to the end book without reading or watching any others before it. SO GO! GO READ THEM NOW IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY! THERE ARE LINKS BELOW TO MY PREVIOUS STORIES. (Little in Love -> Witch in Training -> Glitch in Nanny -> Thief in Service -> Love in Dimensions) (Correct order to read them in for those who don't know) Anyway, now that that is out of the way, I hope people enjoy this. It's very... lore/story heavy. Maybe not as much kink included as previous stories, but I hope to have as much as possible. It's got a lot happening and a lot of characters. Not going to lie... it's been difficult to write, but I hope it's still good! Each chapter will show whose perspective the chapter is being told from. You're bound to see some familiar faces as we go on. And familiar settings. It should be about 60 chapters long (closer to LiL length), with an epilogue after it. Two chapters per week. Wednesday and Sunday. (Due to mental health and stuff, I've started limiting how much I post so I don't get overwhelmed or stressed) And as usual, if you want two weeks early access to chapters of Love in Dimensions, you can sub to my Patreon. You'll also get access to my discord server to discuss chapters there and stuff. And also to tease me apparently. Grr. I hope I've covered everything that needs saying and I hope everyone enjoys this story as much as my other stories! Please feel free to leave comments and feedback, I love reading it all! Also, please link to my stories rather than posting them as files when sharing with others! Chapter 1: Visions Love in Dimensions – LittleFallenPrincess “I don’t want to leave you...” she cried. “Do you trust me?” I asked, trying to brush her cheek. “Always and forever...” “Then trust me when I say... we’ll be together again. One day. I promise you that.” “I hope so. Our love could never keep us apart. Of that I’m sure.” she said, smiling. ‘If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be with you again, babygirl.’ I thought to myself, hoping that everything I had set up would pay off. If it didn’t, all hope is lost. “I love you, my little Ophelia.” I kissed her, despite the illusion being unable to touch her. “I love you too, my wonderful Mummy... Freya.” She replied. The guards started unlocking my door, so I dispelled the illusion I was weaving. Standing up straight, I braced myself for what was to come. ‘I hope you’re right, Babygirl. I hope I see you again.’ ============================================================== “What the...” I pushed myself into a sitting position. My head was killing me and my vision was blurry. My robes were a mess, my hat had fallen to the floor, but apart from that I was fine. I felt... weaker though. “What was that...” I heard from across the room. “Owww... my head!” Another voice came from opposite me. “Who... oh god!” Alexandria said, jumping to her feet and looking directly at me. Her sweater and jeans were a bit scuffed, but she looked unharmed otherwise. I jumped up at the same time as her, ready to defend myself as she looked ready to attack at any moment. Paige got up onto her feet and looked around, confused. Her little maid outfit was scuffed a bit too, but was fine otherwise. “Who are you?” Alexandria screamed at me. “Please... calm down...” I used my calmest voice, I didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. “What was that? And that thing you did before... wait... why do you look like me?” “I promised I’d answer all your questions, so I will. But please... is there anywhere to sit down? I don’t know about you, but my head is killing me...” I gave an awkward smile, hoping to defuse the situation. Alexandria looked ready to attack still. Sure, I could easily defend myself, even when feeling this out of it, but I didn’t want to hurt her. I also didn’t want to make her hate me any more than she currently does, we may need her help. Thankfully, Paige came to my aid, running over to Alex and holding her. “Please. No more fighting. Please, can we just hear her out? There’s something about her... I trust her.” Paige said, pulling her best puppy-dog-eyes expression, rivalling that of Noelle’s. “Oh good. I had this effect on Olivia and Faith too. Seems any of Noelle’s variations see me as someone they can trust. It’s similar to how I feel a need to protect all of you...” “Huh?” Paige was confused. “Let me explain... let’s sit down first, please.” I smiled. Paige walked over to me, took my hand and escorted me out of the room. Alexandria used her cardigan to pick the jewel up and bring it with her as she followed close behind us, eyeing me up the whole way. ------------------------------------------------- “So... talk.” Alexandria ordered. We sat in a large, very expensive-looking room that looked like it may be their living room. The fireplace was gorgeous, and the sofas were ridiculously comfortable. No doubt this woman was well off, like Charlie. Maybe even more so... But as I sat there, admiring the taste of my Earth Prime variation... I couldn’t avoid their stares any longer. “Right. So... how do I explain this... It seemed a lot easier with Noelle here too...” I shuffled about on the sofa as the other two sat patiently awaiting my explanation from the other sofa opposite. “Noelle?” Paige asked. “She’s... right... let me start from the beginning.” I took a deep breath, trying to think about what I was going to say... and worrying about if they’ll believe me. “Right... so you have a portal to another dimension, right?” I figured I’d get them started with something familiar, something I could work from. “To the diaper dimension, yes. What about it.” Alexandria’s face was as stern as mine is when Noelle decides to be a brat. “That means there is another Earth out there, one that is slightly different to this one.” “The multiverse theo....OH! SHIT!” Alexandria suddenly seemed excited. “HOW DID I NOT FIGURE THIS OUT?” She was flailing her arms about at this point, so I figured I’d just let her continue until she either calms down... or no longer has the energy to move her arms. “Multiverse?” Paige asked. Alexandria calmed down and looked at her wife. “Baby... you know how the diaper dimension is just like our Earth, but there are Amazons and Littles?” “Yeah?” “Well the multiverse theory is a hypothetical theory about there being infinite universes out there, all slightly different from each other. Decisions made throughout time have lead to the creation of new universes. So say... there was a universe where the Nazi’s won World War II, there’s a universe where we never evolved from apes, there’s a universe where climate change won and we’re living underwater.” “Actually... they live on floating cities.” I butted in, correcting her. “Wait... that actually exists? And you’ve been there?” Alexandria turned to look at me. “Yes. And I come from a dimension where magic developed faster than technology.” I smiled awkwardly. “Wait... so that stuff you did earlier...?” “Was magic. I’m a Witch.” “You’re a... holy fuck.” Alexandria just sat there, her mouth agape, startled by this revelation. Paige still looked confused, so I looked at her and tried to explain myself. “Paige... so basically in the diaper dimension, instead of humans developing at a steady rate throughout the population like they did on your Earth, half the population diverted one way, creating Amazons, and half stayed the same, who became Littles. “I... think I understand. I watched some sci-fi shows as a kid that had alternate realities. But what I’m most confused about... is why you and Alex look so alike...?” “Because... I... am Alex? Or more so the Alex that was born in the magic universe. Whilst Alex here was born with blonde hair, I was born with black hair... and magic. Due to differences in our parents and our universes.” “So there’s more than one Alex?” She asked. “We don’t know how many there are yet, I’ve been exploring different dimensions. But there are quite a few of us. And quite a few variations of you!” “Me? There’s more than one me?” I took a deep breath and sighed. “Right, so this is where things get weird.” I said. Alex pulled Paige close to her. “Weird how?” she asked. “So there are multiple Alex’s... and there are multiple Paige’s... well it seems like that in every dimension... every single Alex ends up with every single Paige...” “Seriously? So you...?” Alex continued. “Her name is Noelle in my universe. She’s also a very talented Witch.” “That is very weird.” “That’s just the tip of the iceberg, sorry. I’ve spoke to two other couples, we’re all in constant contact... I’ve also come across a few more but haven’t interacted with them yet. But it seems that every single variation of us... is into... you know...” This was the hardest part to explain... especially when they were so discreet about it all. “Into what?” Paige asked. “You’re a little. Alexandria is a Mummy.” “Wha? No!” Paige tried to deny it, but you could see it clearly on her face. I had seen the nappy the first time I visited them, casting that little wetting spell on her for a bit of fun, and also... unbeknownst to her or Alexandria... Paige’s padding was on full display to me right now. “You don’t have to lie. I’m Noelle’s Mummy. Charlie is Liv’s Mummy. Morgan is Faith’s Mummy... I’ve not seen a single variation of us that isn’t into it.” “You can’t be serious?” Alexandria still didn’t quite believe me. “Completely serious. Either we get them into it, or it develops between us naturally, or the little gets us into it. No matter what, we’re all Mummies and littles.” “Statistically, that’s next to impossible.” Alexandria was as intelligent as the rest of my variations it seems. “That’s not all. Every Alexandria has green eyes and freckles. Every Paige has blue eyes.” “But... that dream...” “So you saw it too?” I asked. This was exactly what brought me here to begin with... that jewel. “What, are we having shared dreams now too? Of being with a blonde version of Paige?” Alexandria was stubborn, but she was slowly coming to accept everything. “I... I didn’t see that...” Paige quietly butted in, as shy as a mouse. “Wait, sweetie... did you see something different?” I asked, using the ‘Mummy voice’ that I used around Noelle so much. “I... I saw it from the perspective of the blonde me...” “And Alexandria... you saw it from the perspective of the brown-haired woman who looked like us? Like I did?” “Y... yeah...” Alex replied. “It’s as I thought...” “Huh?” “Right, let me tell you something I haven’t told anyone. Because you’re the only other version of us that knows as much about the Goddesses as I do...” “Wait, the old mythological story? The one I was read as a child?” Alex asked. “The exact one. Ever since I interacted with a statue back in my dimension, shortly before I met you two for the first time... I’ve been more powerful. Before then, I had to use a wand to cast spells and I couldn’t portal between dimensions. After the statue... I could cast without a wand and can visit any dimension I want.” “Wait... is it by any chance a statue of two women, both with gems in their eyes, one with blue gems, the other with green?” ‘How did she...?’ I thought to myself. “The same. Why, do you have one?” I asked. “I did...” Alexandria looked at Paige. “Sorry!” Paige responded, looking... guilty. “Huh?” I asked. “She... she stole it from me years ago, shortly before you visited. To get out of a difficult situation. Well she tried to steal it... I ended up feeling sorry for her and giving it her. Then she ended up moving in.” “Shame. I’ve not seen another statue yet, I’ve always wondered if it would do anything more to me... wait, did it give you any powers?” “Us? No. Both of us have touched it, and nothing happened.” “Okay, so maybe it only works on the magic user variations of us...” I thought out loud. “Wait so what have the Goddesses of the Zadri got to do with us and our variations?” “I believe... I believe they are variations of us too.” “Wait... really?” Alex seemed astonished. “Think about it. Blue and green eyes. Same faces... I mean we literally just had some kind of vision about them! And that’s not the first time I’ve seen one!” “It’s not?” “So this is the big thing I haven’t told anyone, not even Noelle. Last year... I died.” “You... died?” Okay... this was the biggest reaction so far to all these revelations. I was a bit worried too many of these would give them a heart attack or something, but they needed to know. “Yes. I died, fighting a rogue Witch who absorbed a demon.” “I am not drunk enough for all this...” Paige joked. “Sorry, I know it’s a lot, but it’s true. I died... and whilst I was dead, I had a vision. A vision of the Goddesses together. It’s what first put the idea in my head to search the dimensions for more evidence. I never told Noelle, but I’ll have to soon, especially after that vision. She’s going to kill me.” “I like the sound of Noelle!” Paige laughed. “You’ll probably get on really well with her. And the others.” “Wait... I can meet them?” Paige perked up at the sound of meeting her doppelgangers. “I think you’ll have to, after what we saw, we’ll have to go back and tell them what we saw.” Alexandria started laughing. “Normally if a strange woman burst in, attacked me, then I had a weird hallucination... I’d throw you out and lock the door... I certainly wouldn’t go with them!” Alexandria stopped laughing and took a deep breath. “But... that vision felt real. It felt as if I was really there. And I don’t know why they were being kept apart, but I need to know more. So... how do we meet the other... us...’s?” “I can conjure a portal and take you there, although at the moment Morgan and Faith are in the diaper dimension with Olivia and Charlie, and Noelle is on this Earth. We ran here after the rogue Witch attack, and we’ve been living here ever since, when we’re not travelling that is.” “Wait... why are they in the diaper dimension?” Paige asked. She seemed nervous as she asked this; she must have heard the horror stories. And after what Charlie and Liv have told me... I didn’t blame her to be scared of that place. At least Noelle and I had our magic to protect us whilst we were there. “Charlie and Liv are from there. Faith was injured last year and was sent to their dimension to receive treatment to reverse everything done to her. Morgan, being her Mummy, went with her of course. Last time I saw them, Faith was ready to be discharged after making a full recovery.” “Wait... they’re from there? Have they not been kidnapped and adopted yet?” “I assure you, Morgan and Faith are fine, they’re under the care of an Amazon that Liv trusts with her life. They’re originally from that flooded dimension I told you about. Liv and Charlie are from the diaper dimension though. Liv nearly got adopted a few times, kidnapped too... but Charlie keeps her safe.” “How? How hasn’t Charlie been adopted yet?” “Because she’s an Amazon.” “SHE’S AN...” Paige grabbed a nearby cushion and covered her face with it, she was too scared to come out right now, so I turned my attention back to Alexandria. “Is a portal... safe?” she asked. “It’s perfectly...” I was quickly cut off as light popped into existence in the middle of the room, quickly expanding to create the familiar sight of a portal. Noelle hopped out of it. Wearing her usual black robes and that cute little schoolgirl outfit underneath it that she’s been refusing to take off lately. Alexandria’s eyes were wide open in disbelief at what she was looking at. Paige had popped her head from behind the cushion long enough to pull the exact same face of disbelief. “Hey baby!” I said to Noelle, casually. “Hey Mummy!” Noelle waved at me. Turning round, she saw the other variations, ones she hadn’t met before and gave a casual wave and a smile. “Hey newbies!” she grinned at them before turning back around to face me. “So Rose...?” “Yes, my love?” “What the fuck was that vision?” ========================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this new story as it goes on! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! Thank you to all my patrons for their support! Don't forget, the next 4 chapters are available on my Patreon, which can be found here if you go for the second tier. You get two weeks early access to chapters of Love in Dimensions. New chapters of Love in Dimensions every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post! Thanks! ?
  5. by LittleFallenPrincess So here's my fourth story in my series, Thief in Service. It's an MDLG/ABDL romance novel set in London. A thief is indebted to someone and is tasked to retrieve rare items in order to pay off her debt. She may however, end up in way over her head... This story has been so much fun to write so far, expect much kinkier things than my previous stories! I would recommend reading my other three stories (Little in Love, Witch in Training, and Glitch in Nanny) before reading this, but you don't have to. You can find my first story, Little in Love, here. And my second story, Witch in Training, here. (Currently in Progress) And my third story, Glitch in Nanny, here. (Currently in Progress) One of the characters was chosen by my Patrons in a poll! It should be about 40 chapters long, with an Epilogue at the end, and new chapters will be posted every Wednesday and Sunday. Two weeks Early Access to chapters of Glitch in Nanny & Thief in Service is available for the second tier on my Patreon. The first five chapters in pdf form are up from the start, with the sixth being posted on Wednesday, the same time the second will be posted here. If you have any questions regarding this, ask away. Charge up front is enabled. Meaning you will be charged as soon as you pledge. I hope everyone enjoys this story as much as my other stories! Please feel free to leave comments and feedback, I love reading it all! Also, please link to my stories rather than posting them as files when sharing with others! Chapter 1: The Jewel of Aenonnos Thief in Service - by LittleFallenPrincess As I crawled along the edge of the rooftop, ignoring the bustling, illuminated city of London in the background, I couldn’t help but think of the money this job was going to make me, rather than the beauty of the view that surrounded me. I mean... money it was going to make us. Five figures for some stupid jewel named after some stupid made up ancient city. Five figures... each. Sure, it wasn’t ‘run away to the Bahamas and live the rest of my life on a beach’ money, but it was enough to pay off my debts, get out of this life, and maybe a down payment on a house. I could settle down, find someone, and maybe even have kids. Well... maybe in another ten years or so, I still had a lot I wanted to do in life before I had kids. The important thing is that this job would allow me that future. The future I had always dreamt of. “Paige. Focus.” As I was rudely interrupted by the voice coming from my ear piece, I noticed that I was a little bit too close to the edge, so I shuffled over carefully. “I’m fine, Jack. Why, were you worried about me or something?” I joked. “No. But if you mess this up, we’re out a lot of money. And you have no idea what Christian will do to you if you mess this up for him. So stop playing around and do your job.” “Christian can go suck his own...” “His own what, Paige?” Christian interrupted me. “...Lollipop.” ‘Yeah. Great save, Paige. He totally bought that...’ “Stop messing about. You’re nearly at the vent.” Jack carried on guiding me towards the entry point to the museum. “You don’t have to take everything so seriously. And that goes for both of you!” I joked. Big mistake. “Paige, stop being such a childish brat and get your arse in that vent. Or else you’re going to miss your window. If you mess this up, I’ll mess you up.” Christian sounded vaguely threatening. But after knowing him for years, I was used to it and knew better than to take him seriously, so I shrugged it off and continued onwards. Reaching the vent, I pulled out the toolkit I had in one of my vest pockets. Quickly unscrewing the cover, setting it aside carefully as to not to make any noise, I took a deep breath, I wasn’t expecting the vent cover to be that heavy. “Good job. Now go.” Jack instructed. “You don’t have to praise her like she’s a fucking child, Jack. Just do your job.” “Christian, leave them both alone!” yelled a feminine voice. ‘Great. Now Naomi has joined in. This isn’t distracting at all, having 3 voices in my head arguing and having a go at me... now all I need is Emily and I’ll have the whole gang!’ I thought to myself as I shimmied down the dark ventilation shaft, heading deeper into the heart of the museum. “Why? What are you going to do, Naomi? Cry again?” Christian could be a real jerk sometimes, but he was our leader, he was the one with the contacts, he was the one who organised us to do jobs like this. I hate to say it, without him... we’d be lost. “Shut up! That was one time like two years ago! Why do you always bring it up?” Naomi yelled. “Mimi... just let it go. He knows how to get to you.” I whispered, trying to calm her down. ------------------------------------------------- Naomi, or as I like to call her, Mimi, was my best friend. We had been for a long time now. We met in sixth form, hung out a lot, then moved in together, and eventually she got me into the crew because I got drunk one night and told her about my debt and the reason I had it. She promised me that we’d make enough money to pay it off, and that I didn’t need to go solo anymore. If it wasn’t for that one stupid hidden alarm, resulting in me getting me arrested, I wouldn’t be doing this shit with these guys. Mimi has known the crew longer than I have, and honestly I have no idea why she puts up with them. I’m only with them because I need to pay off my debt. She hasn’t got any debts (that I know of), so there must be some reason why she stays. She hates Christian just as much as I do, but we don’t mind Jack and Emily. I mean, sure, they like to play jokes on us, and they look down on us, seeing us as annoying children despite us being older than them (I mean... sure, I can be a tiny bit bratty and childish... sometimes...), but they’re not too bad. At least when Christian isn’t around. ------------------------------------------------- I crawled along the vent as it straightened out, looking down each grate I passed to see the museum floor. The walls were lined with the typical paintings you’d see in any normal museum. And in the centre of each room was the usual centre piece, usually some statue or piece of art. Something... valuable. Not too valuable though. This wasn’t some fancy museum like the British Museum, it was actually a private museum owned by some rich dickhead who loved to show off his ‘bargain bin’ collection. You know... the stuff that’s too cheap to put in the proper museums, so he buys it cheap and puts it on display. It’s still worth a pretty penny to us common folk, but to him... most of it was worthless. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to complain that these items are of a lesser value to any fence, mainly because the higher you go in value for an item... the better security it has protecting it. And this guy... well this guy was a cheapskate. He charged patrons way too much to get in, just to make himself wealthier, whilst also scrimping on decent security. Honestly I’m surprised no one has already tried to rob this place. But despite the hand-me-downs, there was one item stored right at the heart of his little museum... the Jewel of Aenonnos. Named after the fictional city in some mythological story, it was a ruby the size of your fist. Now before you start telling me that surely a ruby that large would be worth millions, hundreds of millions maybe... the exact thing I asked when we were offered this job... apparently it wasn’t actually a ruby. I was told it was a huge scandal years ago, no one could identify what kind of gemstone it was. It looked like a ruby, but most people said it was just a lab-made one, so it was practically worthless. But that didn’t matter to us, the people who hired us to steal it offered us ten grand each. Which is more than enough to get... him... off my back for a while. -----------------------And now for a little backstory-------------------------- I was twenty. I had some experience pick pocketing and breaking into large estates at this point of my life, growing up on the streets of London. My parents died when I was young, fell into a life of crime... blah blah blah wrong crowd. Usual sad story you hear in books and on TV. I was hired by this shady guy called Tony. He knew of my skills, knew how good I was at getting into places unnoticed. I could be in and out of a place before anyone knew the item was even missing. And he needed me for a job. Something he wanted that he didn’t have. Something that the person who currently owned it... didn’t want to part with. At least not willingly... I had done a few basic jobs for him before, and out of the blue he offered me this. It was a simple job, break in, get the necklace, and get out unnoticed. Simple. He promised I’d make enough to be able to go wherever I wanted. So I, being the stupid young girl who trusted people way too easily, accepted the job. And of course... the job goes sideways. I tripped an alarm. An alarm that wasn’t on the blueprints of the estate. It was like it was purposely hidden from me. And then there’s the fact that security was way too fast, it was as if they were waiting for me. As if someone had tipped them off. Now, I know I was set up. Clearly Tony had set me up. He got me arrested just so he could bail me out with his connections, claiming ‘I owed him now’. He wanted me on his payroll. All the talk about getting to run away wherever I wanted, getting to have whatever life I wanted... he was bullshitting me the entire time. He set me up with this job just so I’d get caught and end up owing him. A debt that would probably never be payable, at least not in my lifetime. That way he can get me to steal whatever he wants, because every bit of cash I pay back adds time to my debt deadline. If I run out of time... well, I’ve been promised it won’t end well for me. So I decided to take whatever jobs I could take, just to pay him back. Shortly after, I got drunk with Mimi and told her everything. She told me about the guys, that they were starting their own crew. She introduced me to them, and I quickly impressed them, becoming part of the crew, along with Mimi. I don’t know why Mimi is on the team, she doesn’t have any skills for this line of work, but I appreciate her being on it nonetheless. I’d hate to be stuck with those three dicks. Christian is the boss. He has the contacts, gets the jobs from Tony, and comes up with a plan. He leads us. But he’s also a dick. Jack is our tech guy. He’s good at getting his way into security systems, even teaching me a few things along the way. Emily was our driver. She got me in and out, and picked up all the equipment we’d need. Mimi... again, she didn’t really have any skills. She was there because she was my friend and because for some reason, the others didn’t want to get rid of her. We don’t have a name for our little crew, although Christian likes to come up with really bad names occasionally. We humour him until he inevitably decides on the next name. I don’t care either way; I’m just here to get paid. It was going well for a while, we hit some pretty big targets. Big for us at least. Made enough to add a bit more time onto my deadline with Tony. I didn’t get to keep much for myself to live on, most of my cut was paid directly to Tony to keep him away for a bit longer. And then I reached my mid twenties...and we got this job. From Tony himself. He said he’d cancel my debt, as well as letting me keep my cut of the rewards to spend however I like. So of course we took it. I just hoped he didn’t screw me over like last time... ------------------------------------------------- I looked down at my target. The jewel was just below me, out in the open, not even covered by a glass case. ‘God, this guy really does cheap out when it comes to security...’ “Focus, Paige. Take it slowly. Your window is in two minutes. Get that grate open.” Jack said. Slowly and quietly removing the grate, I set it aside like I did the last one and tied my harness to the vent. According to the blueprints we... ‘acquired’, we determined the vent should be strong enough to hold my weight. I’d just simply rappel down, disable the panel that controlled the sensors, and then take the jewel. And so I began my descent. Lowering myself down, I was putting my faith in Jack that his timing is correct and the two guards hired for security were at the other end of the building. If we timed this right, I’d be back up into the vent before they got back, and they’d never notice the jewel had been replaced by a replica. I slowly lowered myself to the ground, making very little sound when I touched the floor with my boots. Creeping up to the panel on the side of the basic white pedestal the jewel was displayed on, I quickly plugged in the device Jack had prepared for me. I didn’t know exactly how it worked as he liked to keep some secrets, but thankfully it worked perfectly as I took the jewel from its display without so much as a sound. No alarms, no security... maybe this wouldn’t go bad like I was expecting! Carefully placing the jewel in my backpack, I took the replica out and placed it back on the pedestal. Pressing the button on the pager-like device, the security system started up again, returning back to normal. ‘Perfect!’ “Good job. Now get back up into the vent. You’ve got sixty seconds!” Jack instructed. I attached myself back to the cord and pressed the button on the side of grip. Quickly ascending back up into the ceiling, I reached the vent in seconds, pulling the rope back up with me. “Good job. Now put the grate back on.” Jack talked down to me like a child again, infuriating me. “I know...” I whispered angrily into the comms. “I know you know, but I’m still going to remind you.” “Stop treating me like a child. I’m older than you!” I nearly yelled, but got myself under control quickly enough to whisper it. “Stop arguing!” Christian yelled, causing us both to shut up immediately. Carefully and silently putting the grate back into place, I climbed back out of the vent, up back on to the rooftop, where I quickly put the other grate back in place. “Where’s Emily?” I asked, looking over the side of the large building at the street lit up by the street lamps. I couldn’t spot any cars or anything, it was strangely quiet, even if it was in the middle of night. ‘Good thing I’m not scared of heights or anything, or this would kill me.’ “She’s on the next street over. Get back down to street level and head over there.” “On it.” And so I climbed down the side of the building, using the ladders available, making sure not to leave any evidence that anyone had been here. If everything has gone according to plan, they’ll never know I was here or that the jewel had been switched. As I reached street level, I unzipped my jacket and tied it around my waist by the sleeves. Letting my jet black hair down from the ponytail it was in, I ran my fingers through it after having it up for so long. “Much better. Now... where’s Emily...” I said as I wandered off down the road to find my ride back. ========================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this new story as it goes on! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! Thank you to all my patrons for their support! Don't forget, the next 4 chapters are available on my Patreon, which can be found here if you go for the second tier. You get two weeks early access to chapters of Witch in Training, Glitch in Nanny and Thief in Service. New chapters of Witch in Training and Thief in Service every Wednesday/Sunday! Glitch in Nanny on Monday/Friday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post! Thanks! ?
  6. So I couldn't help but be inspired, after BabySofia kind of enshrined this piece with a reference in "Exchanged", to continue on with the story. Hope you guys like the latest chapter, I think it adds a number of interesting wrinkles to be ironed out later... Forward "I'm Eileen Vaux, WILY News, and these are the top stories of the day. At Municipal High Court today, Pauletta Keaira has been convicted of first degree murder in the brutal slaying of her adopted mother, Miranda Guilory. The ruling has sparked both celebration and outrage, as Pauletta's family and friends have repeatedly clashed with CAMOL demonstrators outside the courthouse during the proceedings. Let's go to Tate Cozbi, who is on the scene." "Thank you, Eileen. It took a mere 47 minutes for the jury to find Miss Keaira guilty, sparking an outcry from her supporters and promises from CAMOL representatives to appeal. I've been told Miss Keaira's own testimony was the biggest blow to her case, as she admitted on the stand that, at the time of the killing, Miss Guilory was only preparing to administer punishments that Miss Keaira had already received in the several months she'd been living with Miss Guilory. In his closing argument, Prosecutor Daniel Hegarty insisted that Miss Keaira was therefore not in life-threatening danger when she stabbed Miss Guilory, and therefore must be found guilty." "Now we've heard previously from CAMOL officials who have said that Amazonian law does not grant the same rights to adopted Littles that it does to Amazonian children when it comes to abuse, is this correct?" "Yes, Eileen. In fact, one of the major issues raised by the defense in this case was the fact that Miss Keaira was adopted against her will, which stripped her of the rights she had as an adult free Little, but then she was not protected under child welfare law while under Miss Guilory's care, and after she killed Miss Guilory, she was then tried as an adult." "And how have legislators responded to this watershed case?" "Well, the prime minister has urged Parliament to draft some sort of legislation that at least provides a measure of consistency for adopted Littles, but there is fierce debate right now over what exactly that should look like. CAMOL, of course, is demanding that what it terms as kidnapping of Free Littles be banned, but lawmakers are hesitant to make such a sweeping change." "Thank you, Tate. I have with me here in the studio Malinda Attor, president of the pro-adoption group ELNAP, to discuss the verdict. Malinda, what is your official position on the matter?" "Thank you, Eileen. We at Every Little Needs A Parent believe that this tragic situation could easily have been avoided if the law viewed Littles the way everyone else already does, as children." "Could you elaborate on that position, Malinda? How do you feel the law should handle Littles?" "Well, Eileen, if it weren't that so many of these so-called Free Littles get these ideas in their heads that they're adults and should have the same rights as Amazonians, they would accept their place in society as being in need of caretaking by loving Amazon parents and be happy when an Amazon takes pity upon them and adopts them. We believe strongly that Miranda Guilory would still be alive today, and that none of what CAMOL is calling child abuse would have happened if Pauletta weren't so convinced by Free Little brainwashing that she were a grown woman capable of taking care of herself. It's high time Parliament put an end to this insanity, and we at ELNAP intend to do everything in our power to make sure it happens." "So how do you propose Parliament rectify the situation?" "Very simply, Littles don't belong in adult Amazon society. Right now, when they reach age 20, they're assumed to be adults just like Amazons, and they can get jobs and sign leases and borrow money and a whole lot of other responsibilities they are just not capable of handling. Every time we turn around Littles are getting mugged, raped, and all sorts of horrible things because they just aren't capable of taking care of themselves! They can't drive, they need special accomodations in their apartments, I mean, come on, a Little needs to carry a ladder with her to go grocery shopping, else she has to ask every stranger in the store to get her anything that isn't on the bottom shelf!" "But that's just a size issue, Malina, surely you're not suggesting..." "There's an old saying about that, Eileen. It goes, 'I used to have the same problem, but I grew out of it.'" "Thank you, Malina. Miss Keiara is currently being held without bail pending her sentencing hearing on Thursday. I'm Eileen Vaux, and this is WILY News." 1 "This is a bad idea, that's all I'm saying." His voice has grated on your nerves for the last two months, but none as severely as today. "Dammit, Mike," you huff back as you snatch the blazer, slacks, blouse, and personal care kit out of his hands, "we wouldn't BE here if that bitch had respected the fact that I'm a grown fucking woman, not a child!" "Paulie, I'm your lawyer. I'm trying to look out for you here. The DA is seeking the death penalty. You wear that suit and they'll see a grown woman who killed someone and deserves to face justice! I can have my wife bring one of my daughter's old dresses in a few minutes here, and they'll see what we were trying to show them all along, a confused little girl who..." "I'm NOT a confused little girl, Mike! I'm twenty-one years old, and before I got kidnapped by that psycho, I had my own goddamned LIFE!" And with that, you storm into the ladies' room. Well, you storm towards the ladies' room, but you have to ask the bailiff that has been charged with making sure you don't disappear to open the huge door for you. Which doesn't improve your mood any. You find an unoccupied stall and, after a couple of hops, manage to flip the lock on the door to keep it closed while you strip away that awful orange jumpsuit. God, that thing made you look like a rotten carrot with your straight brown hair flopping all over the place. The feel of the sleek silk blend on your legs as you slide the pants on is, in a word, glorious, after two months in that horrible polyester thing preceeded by another two in... well, you don't really even want to think about how many days and nights you spent in that wretched plastic nightmare. One great thing about solitary confinement; the only distractions to regaining your bladder control were in your head. After donning the blouse and blazer, you do the best you can with your hair and makeup in the reflection from the toilet paper dispenser. If they're determined to martyr you, well by god, you're going to go out proud, and everyone in that courtroom is going to know that you're not some inferior being fit only to be treated like a helpless infant. If this is your destiny, then you're going to meet it with a roar, not a whimper! Full of bluster, you turn to unlock the stall and, of course, have to hop a few times to knock the latch loose. Undaunted, you strut toward the door and... pound on it as hard as you can. The wind rushes right out of your little sails of fury as Mike opens the door from the other side, and you meekly step back out into the lobby under his outstretched arm. "You look good, Paulie," he says with a sigh. "Let's get this over with." The courtroom has taken on a degree of uncomfortable familiarity, and it has indeed bred contempt within you as you scramble your way into the defendant's chair, adorned with that loathsome plastic booster seat. You hate this stupid booster. Six months ago, you didn't have to use these stupid things. Six months ago, you were about to be a woman, a legal adult, a respected member of the community in Amaratos, the island that seems so impossibly far away now. "Pauletta," he said, his face devoid of emotion, "I'm going to ask you once more." "Don't bother!" you shriek. "I'm not marrying that pig, Papa! I'm not going to spend the rest of my life being miserable just so you can feel like you're a big shot! Tomorrow I'll be twenty, and you'll no longer have control over my life!" The argument last night was fierce, and you prepared yourself for this moment, knowing it was going to come to this. Your clothes are already packed, and what little cash you were able to save is already safely hidden in your stocking. It's not even a surprise when he announces, "Then go. Go and never return." You dash to your room as Mama begins to blubber and beg and plead with him, grabbing the gym bag you stuffed to bursting last night and storming toward the door. "Pauletta, please, listen to your father!" she begs as you brush past, pulling loose from her grasp. What you weren't expecting was what happens when you step outside. The beautiful sunshine is doused almost immediately, the very second you walk through that door and into what you believed to be your freedom. Just that quickly, you're upside down, disoriented, and you quickly realize you're in a sack made of fine mesh and canvas. The mesh enables you to look straight ahead, not to mention breathe, but all you see is the back of whoever it was that snatched you, and the first thing you realize is that this person is much, much bigger than anyone you've ever seen. You hear your mother bawling even louder as a deep voice not connected to the person carrying you says, "Sign here." "I'm sorry that I failed to raise you propertly, Pauletta," your father booms. "Perhaps the Amazons can do better." "PAPA! NO! WHAT DID YOU DO?!" you scream as you kick and struggle vainly within the bag. Confused, terrified, but most of all angry, your last words to your father are, "I HATE YOU! I HOPE YOU DIE!" as you're thrown roughly into the back of a large vehicle. A series of doors slam, the engine jumps to life, and off you go into a kind of hell you never imagined possible... 2 "All rise for the Honorable Stephen Nechus!" the bailiff booms. You startle at the announcement, though you've heard it so many times before, and nearly lose your balance as you hurriedly spring up out of the booster and shift your legs out to the edges of the chair to find footing. The foul old man in the black robe shuffles to his seat silently, and the courtroom settles to the crack of his gavel. The entire trial he has treated you alternately with condescension and disdain, and at this point you're sick to death of him. Mike explained how this hearing was going to go; basically it's duelling psychologists, the prosecution's shrink making the case that you were of completely sound mind when you stabbed Miranda and are a lost cause now, while Mike's shrink trying to convince the judge that you were under extreme duress and that, with rehabilitation, you will no longer be a danger to society. Mike was rather vague, however, about what exactly "rehabilitation" meant, only that the goal was to get you into protective custody and that you'd be spending a pretty long time under the care of a psychiatrist. "Call your first witness, Mister Hagerty," the judge says disinterestedly. The DA rises and states, "I call Doctor Isaiah Machlon." Another white-haired old fool. You recall the hours you spent filling out his stupid little multiple-choice tests. He barely spoke to you in the visiting area, just glaring at you as you checked off box after box after box. He steps into the witness box, a folder in his hand, and is sworn in. The DA asks him about his findings, and he dryly begins to read straight from one of the pages in his little folder, babbling on and on about how you're "antisocial" and "passive-aggressive" and "narcissistic", and that you're likely to be "refractory to treatment" due to an "inability to recognize or admit flaws" and a "mistrust of authority figures". Your blood boils as he heaps on what you perceive as insult after insult, but you do your best to maintain a calm exterior. Still, your fists clench almost of their own accord as the old bastard deems you a poor candidate for treatment and at high risk for "recidivism" if they ever let you out. The DA sits back down, and Mike begins his cross. "How much time did you spend with the defendant during your examination?" he asks. "Four hours." "What tests did you administer?" He ticks off half a dozen different acronyms, a nearly smug look on his face. "That's quite an extensive battery," Mike says. Where the hell is he going with this? "I do my best to be thorough in my examinations." "Seems to me you didn't leave much time for an actual conversation. How long did you spend actually talking to the defendant?" "Well," he stammers, clearly blindsided by the question. "I... I don't see much need in trying to talk to a Little. It's common knowledge they're all pathological liars!" "Common knowledge?" Mike asks incredulously. "Do you have some sort of studies to support this assertion?" "Well, no, I just..." "It's fine, I'll concede your point. Yet, you had the defendant spend four hours answering questions on a test believing that she is incapable of telling the truth? How do we know she answered your questionnaires honestly? How can you put any stock in your assessment of her psychological profile knowing that she probably lied on all the questions?" "Well... I mean..." "Objection!" the DA shouts. "Argumentative!" "Sustained," the judge says. "Withdrawn. Nothing further, your honor." Mike struts back to your table confidently, and the shrink just scowls at him, then you, until the judge dismisses him. The DA seems unphased by the demolition of his expert, and you realize why rather quickly as he comes back to his feet. "I call Joseph Keaira," he announces. Your blood runs cold as you see your father rise from the back of the gallery and make his way to the stand. He's sworn in, and the DA has him introduce himself. "Mister Keaira," he begins, "Is it true that you signed the adoption papers allowing the defendant to be adopted by Miranda Guilory?" "I did," your father replies. "Why did you do that?" "Pauletta was promised to be married to Ernesto Vahan. The marriage was arranged when they were both very young." "But she refused to marry him, is that correct?" "She did. The night before their wedding, she told me she wouldn't do it. So, rather than allow my family's reputation to be sullied in our village, I sold her to the exporters and promised her younger sister to Ernesto." They continue their back and forth, but you're lost now, lost in the back of that truck again... "Please, I have money, I'll pay you more than whatever he did!" you plead as the truck rumbles along over the dirt road, bouncing you around in the sack. "I don't think you understand, little girl," one of them laughs. "He didn't pay us, we paid HIM! But when we get where we're going, we'll be getting a LOT more!" "Please, I'll give you all I have, just let me go!" "Where is it?" he asks. "It's... it's in my stocking!" The truck comes to a stop, and you feel a glimmer of hope. One of them begins fiddling with the top of the sack. "Now you be a nice little girl and don't be trying to kick me!" he says. He grabs your ankle and peels back your sock, snatching the small bundle of bills you had tucked away. "Pretty nice, little one. Thanks for the tip!" he laughs as he roughly shoves your ankle back and presumably recloses the sack. "NO! You BASTARDS!" you shriek as you kick at the top of the bag in vain. As you squirm and kick, you feel the bag once more being hoisted up, and you stop to try and peek out through the mesh. You catch a whiff of salt air, and you realize you're at the shoreline. Now you're desperate, in a full panic, and you start to weep. "Please, just let me go! Please! I didn't do anything wrong!" "Aw, poor baby," the other one sneers. "You made her cry, you heartless bastard!" You hear their boots thud onto wooden planks, and you're dropped roughly. You must be on a boat now. "Where are you taking me?" you whimper. "Don't worry, little one. You're gonna have a nice new home soon. The giants will take good care of you." The engine springs to life, and you lie there and sob quietly as you motor toward a place you've only heard of in your mother's warning fables when you were a tiny girl. You honestly believed that's all they were, just fables, but now... 3 "So, Mister Keiara, is it fair to say Pauletta's disdain for authority has been present since early childhood?" "Oh, she was always in trouble. Teachers, principals, myself and other family members, it didn't matter. She did what she wanted, consequences be damned. We tried everything. No punishment would deter her, no promise of a reward would coax her. I hoped getting her married a good young man from a prestigious clan would finally settle her down, having a family of her own and children to raise might change her, but when she refused to honor our family's promise to the Vahans, I knew it was hopeless." "Thank you, Mister Keiara. Your witness." The DA offers a smug grin your direction as he heads back to his seat, and you scowl back. Unbelievable, that your own father would betray you like this. "I have no questions for this witness," Mike says flatly. You look at him, stunned, but he just puts a hand on your back and mouths the words, "Relax, I got this." The DA calls both of Miranda's parents, to no one's surprise, and they both tearfully talk about what a wonderful person she was, and how she just wanted to love me and care for me, and that I was just impossible to deal with, that I fought her constantly, that they couldn't believe how ungratedul I was. And Mike doesn't cross-examine either of them. By the time they're done, you can practically feel the needle they're going to stick in your arm. And your so-called attorney is just sitting there and letting it happen. "I have no more witnesses," says the DA. "Go ahead, Mister Antonino." Mike stands up. "I call Doctor Ivan Metzger to the stand." The other shrink that spent an enormous amount of time with you. In fact, he made three trips. Except he really didn't do much in the way of testing, just asked a parade of questions, most of which seemed completely irrelevant to the trial or even your life. The old coot steps to the witness box and is sworn in. After he gives his credentials, Mike begins. "What are your thoughts on Doctor Machlon's assessment of my client?" "Between his obvious personal bias and the outdated testing procedures, that's exactly the conclusion at which I'd expect him to arrive." "You spent a pretty fair amount of time with Pauletta as well, didn't you?" "A total of nine hours over the course of three days." "And what is your assessment?" "There is no doubt that Miss Keiara suffers from numerous personality disorders, but to say that she's untreatable is foolishness." "How would you approach treatment if she were your patient?" "Intensive therapeutic support, focusing first on behavioral modifications, then, once rapport had been established, extensive cognitive reconfiguration. I'd accomplish this with both medication and direct behavioral therapy sessions centered around constantly challenging her perceptions of herself, other people, and the world around her." "So, psychiatric hospitalization?" "Not at all. I'd keep her in a residential setting with a guardian ad-litem with extensive experience in specifically interfacing with Littles. Her social skills are extremely weak; a hospital would be a poor milieu for addressing that deficiency. No, in fact, challenging her with difficult public situations would be a critical component of the treatment plan." "Wouldn't there be a concern for violent outbursts, considering her history?" "Miss Keiara is certainly oppositional-defiant, but violence is a tool of last resort for her. Even what happened with Miss Guilory wasn't an outburst, but a desperate, though calculated, response to what she perceived as an extreme threat." "Surely you're not justifying her behavior as self-defense, are you?" The DA furrows his brows as Mike asks this question. You wonder if Mike just stole his thunder for his planned cross-examination. "Not at all. Her perceptions are distorted, built from years of ineffectual authority in her life setting weak limits and failing to follow through on them, from her parents to her educators. Her mother was an enabler; any time Pauletta's father or any other authority figure tried to implement some sort of discipline, her mother would be right there to either help her escape it or otherwise diminish it. Limits are completely flexible and ambivalent in her mind as a result, and this is one of the key components that must be addressed in any sort of successful treatment plan. She must learn boundaries, and she must learn to embrace, rather than disdain, authority figures and discipline in her life." You find yourself biting your lip unconsciously as you stew over his assessment. Condescending bastard. And this is supposed to help how? "Okay, let's cut to the chase, then. How long do you think such a treatment program would take to complete?" "Depending on Miss Keiara's level of compliance, I'd estimate somewhere between 30 and 60 days to reach a stage where the court would be satisfied with her condition." "So, an Observation would be the acid test?" "Absolutely." "Do you know of someone who would be willing to take Pauletta on as a patient for such a treatment plan?" "A volunteer has already stepped forward. Due to the publicity surrounding the trial and potential security issues, I must keep his name anonymous, but he is similarly credentialed to me, a graduate of a very prestigious medical university with over two decades' experience in the field." "Thank you, Doctor. Nothing further." Mike walks back to the table with a smile, but you're even more confused. The DA stands. "Doctor Metzger, you just elucidated to us that Miss Keiara was responding to what she saw as an extreme threat when she murdered Miss Guilory, isn't that correct?" "I did." "So what stops her from responding to this treatment plan you've elucidated in similar fashion? What assurance do you have for the court that I won't be trying her for another murder before you can 'fix' her?" "Very simple. When she came into Miss Guilory's care, she was quite literally kidnapped by force from a familiar environment, brought here to the mainland, and deposited at Miss Guilory's door. She was already severely traumatized by this experience. Miss Guilory's administration of what we perceive as fairly normal discipline for a noncompliant Little just scared the poor girl even more, not to mention Miss Guilory's insistence on forcing the most infantile treatment on her right away. It was shock after shock to her system, and the more she fought, the more intense Miss Guilory's disciplinary actions became, to the point where we can all agree that, were she doing it to her own child, she would be facing charges of abuse right now." Well, for all his condescension, at least he's offering some vindication here. Until the DA pipes up and asks, "Your Honor, I move to strike. This was all pontification, and none of it answered my question." "Objection!" Mike speaks up. "Overruled. The witness' last statement shall be stricken from the record." Smugly, the DA continues. "So you're saying Miss Keiara is going to suddenly just comply with treatment?" "To a certain extent, here, she doesn't have much alternative. It's quite literally a choice of being compliant, spending the rest of her life in prison, or possibly being executed." "Aren't you concerned about her giving lip service, you know, just going through the motions?" "Sir, we're not speaking of talk therapy here. Lip service will be quite impossible, simply because the therapist will be interfacing with her constantly, around the clock. She couldn't possibly keep her guard up for an entire month." You know what's happening here. And, the fact is, you don't really want to die. But all these vague references to "intensive therapy" and "boundaries" and "discipline" aren't exactly reassuring. The DA badgers the doctor a while longer, but he's unflappable, really, and finally the DA gives up. Mike stands. "No more witnesses, your honor." You're stunned. His whole case for sparing you from the death penalty is a shrink with a nefarious-sounding plan to "fix" you?! "Thirty minute recess while I make my decision," the judge says, just as disinterested as he's been the whole trial. Once again, the crowd stands, and the judge shuffles back into his hobbit-hole. "I told you I had it," Mike says. "You call that 'having it'? Really? I don't know what river you're trying to sell me down with this whole therapy thing, but that judge looked like he didn't give two fucks about anything that was said!" You're trying to keep your voice down, but the frustration is starting to boil over. "He always looks like that, Paulie. I've tried fifty cases in front of him, and never once has his face been anything but stone unless someone really pissed him off. Trust me, if you had pissed him off, you'd know it, and we'd be up the creek." "You know what? Whatever, Mike. It's been out of my hands since the second I left my parents' place. Why would I believe I'd have any control over it now? If he comes back in here and sends me to my death, there won't be anything I can do about that either. Fuck it." "Well, if that's the closest to relaxing I can get you, I'll have to take it." "It is, Mike. It is." 4 "Misters Antonino and Hagerty and Doctor Metzger," the bailiff calls out suddenly. "The judge has requested you all in chambers." Your eyes widen, but Mike puts a hand on your shoulder and whispers, "It's okay, Paulie. This is a good thing. It means he's giving serious consideration to rehab over prison." He rises along with the DA and the doctor, and they all head into the door held open by the bailiff. It closes, and you're left alone in the front of the court, feeling the eyes of the gallery on you, especially the eyes of Miranda's parents, their hateful stares, full of fury and a lust for revenge. The same fiery look that Miranda herself wore every time you defied her, the one that disappeared so quickly when... It's early yet, but you know you can't wait too long. You had such incredible luck last night, managing to steal the little paring knife from where she carelessly dropped it while putting the dishes away. This may be your last chance for freedom, and you can't squander it. You played the role last night so well, showing her just enough affection to convince her that she had finally broken you, all while that knife sat hidden in your sleeper, safely tucked in the sleeve. She was so full of joy when she put you in the crib for the night, pulling you in close and rubbing noses with you before lying you on your back, and you played right along with her, accepting that horrible pacifier without a fight so she wouldn't strap it down again, giving her a sugary little "Goo-nye Mommy, I lub oo" from behind it. She grinned like an idiot as she stared down and responded, "I love you too, my precious little baby girl!" Now is your opportunity. The stage is set. Waiting for her to wake would be disastrous; you need every advantage you can get to pull this off, and her being half-asleep will be a decisive edge. You work yourself up into the most pitiful, sad-sounding cry you can, waiting patiently for her to show up at your door, the pommel of the knife in your hand, blade pointed back toward your wrist, hidden inside the cuff of the sleeper. You toss that miserable pacifier through the bars of the crib and onto the floor; with any luck she'll pick you up before she sees it. She arrives, bleary-eyed but smiling. "What's wrong, baby girl? Did you wake up all wet and icky?" "Pee-pee, Mommy!" you whimper, calming your whining down to a sniffle. "Mommy get that nasty wet old diaper off you!" she coos, hoisting you up and draping you across her left shoulder. She always puts you on her left side, so her right hand stays free. "Binky, Mommy!" you whine. "Binky!" "Oh did you drop your binky too? Let's see if we can find it." She looks in the crib, then down to the floor. "There it is!" she exclaims, bending down. This is the moment. Adrenaline rushes through you as she bends over; it's a short fall from here, far shorter than if she were standing. Quick as lightning, you flip the blade around as her hand makes contact with the rubber nipple. It slides into the side of her neck so easily; you landed the perfect shot, right into her esophagus. She drops you and reaches for her neck, her eyes a picture of horror as she gasps for air. Blood nearly sprays over everything as she pulls the blade out. She staggers back, coughing and choking, drowning in her own blood now as her hand futilely covers the wound. The crib, the floor, her nightie, and you, all covered in blood, and you lay there and watch her. She drops onto her backside, her eyes lock on you, and she starts to reach toward you with her free hand. You crawl backward, backing up against the wall as she falls forward, and you watch the light fade from her eyes as she coughs up more blood, drooling it out over her chin like garishly red spittle. Her hand reaches your foot, but there's no strength left, and it flops uselessly across your shin as her last breath leaks out and her head drops awkwardly sideways onto the floor, her eyes still open in a picture of shock. You shiver for a moment, stunned at what you've wrought, a pang of guilt rising at your deception. A bloody price you just paid for the promise of freedom. A solitary tear slips from your eye as the full weight of your deed falls upon you... "All rise!" the bailiff commands once again. Out comes the judge, followed by the three men who negotiated your fate. The judge sits; the rest of you do likewise. "It is this court's opinion," the judge booms, "that the defendant's actions were premeditated, meticulously planned, and devoid of remorse. For that alone, she is truly deserving of the supreme penalty under the law!" You cringe. They failed you, your lawyer and that wretched doctor. A white-hot ball of lead sits in your belly as you wait for your destiny to be pronounced. "However," he continues, "let it also be acknowledged that this court is not only just, but merciful. A plan has been laid before me to afford the defendant one last chance to prove herself fit to exist in our society, and it is a plan that I hereby approve. The defendant shall appear at the Maritonia Psychiatric Center in thirty days for a formal Observation, after which she will be brought before this court for a formal accounting of her condition. If she is demonstrated to no longer be a danger to society, she will be remanded to the guardianship of the doctor who will be treating her between now and in the future. Otherwise, she will be scheduled for execution by lethal injection as soon as is expedient. Court is adjourned!" His gavel crashes down, and the gallery erupts. "BAILIFFS! CLEAR THE COURTROOM!" he shouts over the din. From within the chaos of the crowd you hear Miranda's mother scream, "I'LL SEE YOU DEAD, YOU LITTLE BITCH!" "Come on," Mike says, swooping you up into his arms. "We gotta get you out of here now!" He walks swiftly out a side entrance and down several halls, snaking deeper into the courthouse, down the paths toward the holding cell area. "What the hell is happening?!" you bark, but he doesn't answer. "Mike?!" "You'll be safe soon enough. Just trust me." You take little solace from his answer as the hallways blur by. Soon you find yourself in a parking garage, and you're being handed off to a tall, middle-aged giant. "Mike?! Where are you going?!" "I'll see you in a month, Paulie!" he says. "We'll be fine soon, Pauletta," the mysterious stranger says. "I'll explain once we get into the car." He strides over to a black SUV with darkly tinted windows and hoists you into a booster in the back seat, scanning the parking lot before he closes the door, then quickly jumps into the driver's seat. "I'm Artis," he says, firing up the engine and throwing it into gear. "Artis Barrett. I'm here to try and save your life." 5 "Eilieen Vaux, WILY News. We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news from Municipal High Court in the case of Pauletta Keiara, convicted last week of the brutal slaying of her adopted mother, Miranda Guilory. We're going live right now to Tate Cozbi outside the courthouse." "Thank you Eileen. Tate Cozbi, WILY News here. The scene here outside Municipal High Court is absolute mayhem right now, with both pro-adoption and pro-Littles-rights advocates outraged at Judge Nechus' decision in the sentencing hearing today on the convicted murderer, Pauletta Keiara. Police have formed a wall between the two crowds, and I'm told thirty-five people have already been made in conjuction with some violent clashes between the protestors today. I'm here with the parents of the victim, Miranda Guilory. Mr. Guilory, how do you feel right now about the judge's decision to allow for an Observation?" "My daughter deserves justice, and that [beep] stole it from her! The idea that Pauletta Keiara might go completely unpunished for what she did is inconceivable!" [scream from the crowd behind] "MIRANDA WAS AN ABUSIVE [beep]! SHE DESERVED WHAT SHE GOT!" [crowd noise intensifies] [Mr. Guilory] "GO TO HELL you [beep]!" [turns back to the mic] "Miranda went through all the proper legal channels to adopt that little psycho in there. She was a loving, caring woman who wanted nothing more than to embrace that [beep] as her own. Pauletta is a rabid animal, and she deserves to be put down!" [Mrs. Guilory speaks up] "My daughter did everything right by the system, and now the system has failed her! That [beep] in there deserves to die for what she did!" [Tate turns back to the camera] "Well, there you have it, Eilieen." "Indeed, some pretty strong emotions, Tate. I understand there is a whole other controversy surrounding the case at this moment as well?" "There is, Eileen. Pauletta's current wherabouts are unknown at this point as she was whisked away from the courtroom today. I'm led to understand that only four people know the identity of the person who currently has custody of Pauletta, that being the judge, the two attorneys in the case, and defense witness Doctor Ivan Metzger. So far, none of those parties have commented on the situation, but with the chaos going on out here, I have to presume all the secrecy is to protect both Pauletta and her caretaker from potential harm." "Thank you, Tate. A tense scene outside Municipal High Court, for certain. Join us again on the five o-clock news this evening, where we'll have Parliament member Tony Braen, CAMOL leader Benjamin Nabal, and director of the National Organization for the Care of Orphaned Littles, Alexander Dowling in studio for a roundtable discussion. I'm Eileen Vaux with Tate Cozbi, WILY News. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming." As the truck lurches out from the parking garage and into daylight, you finally organize your thoughts enough to speak. "Who are you and where are we going?!" you ask, suppressing your panic and indignance over being passed around like a hot potato. "I'm the doctor who has been assigned to get you ready for Observation," he says. "And right now we're headed to a safe house." "I don't understand! What is all this observation crap?! Why can't I just go home?!" You can't help but feel like everything is happening around you and that you're little more than a helpless observer. "Look, Pauletta, I'm a member of CAMOL, so..." "I don't even know what that IS!" you plead. "It's an advocacy group that's trying to prevent what happened to put you here in the first place. Please, will you let me explain?" "Okay..." "As I was saying, there are a lot of us who would love nothing more than to get you out of here and back to your island, but to do that would cost me and your lawyer our licenses to practice and probably land us both in prison for a long time. So we've got to play ball with the court." "So why all the rushing around and secrecy?" "There are people out there who want to kill you, Pauletta. Me too, if someone found out who I was and that you were in my custody." "None of this makes sense! I was kidnapped, dumped in some apartment with this crazy person who decided to try and dress me and treat me like an infant, beat me and locked me in dark rooms and all sorts of other horrible things to get me to go along with it, and because I fought back, suddenly everyone wants to kill me? How is this even right?!" "You really don't understand how Amazon society works, do you?" "No, I don't! I don't get any of this! I mean, my mother used to tell me, 'you'd better behave or we'll send you off to the giants!', but that was supposed to just be a scare thing, not reality!" "I hate to tell you this, Pauletta, but it's all true. Here on the mainland, Littles are 'adopted' by Amazons all the time. And they go through all of what you did and worse. They're sent to brainwashing centers where they're taught by force how to be compliant and act like babies. They get all their teeth taken out so they talk in baby talk all the time and so they can't bite when their adoptive mother wants to make them breastfeed. And they get tendons in their ankles cut so they can only crawl. Grown men have sex changes against their will. Women have their breasts removed. All so their Amazon 'parents' can have perfect little babies that never grow up." You're completely in shock now. "How...?!" "How is it legal?" he finishes for you. "Because here, few people think of Littles as anything more than children who never grow up. It's hard for a Little to get anything but the most menial work. Housing for free Littles is scarce. The law doesn't even acknowledge Littles, other than the right of Amazons to adopt them at will. It's a horrible, horrible place for a Little to be." "So what happens now?" you whimper, trembling as you try to process this nightmare. "Well, the immediate right now, I hate to tell you, is that we have to change your appearance. Your face is all over the national news right now, and if you're going to live long enough to make it to Observation, we need to make you blend in." "How are we going to do that?!" you ask, not really wanting to know the answer. "By making you look like my daughter." 6 "Now just hold on a minute!" you snap, panic giving way to indignation. "What the..." "Relax, Pauletta. We need you to be able to blend in, so we're going to just do a little makeover to give you more the appearance of an Amazon child." "I don't want to look like a kid, Abel, or Andy, or whatever your name is!" "Artis." "Okay, fine, Artis. Why can't we just change my hair color or something?!" "Because people will start connecting the dots if they see me suddenly turn up with a Little in tow. The only clues the press is going to have is what Doctor Metzger gave in his testimony. And my colleagues already know I live alone and have ever since my boyfriend passed a few years back." "Oh wow, you're gay?" "Yes. Does that bother you?" "No, actually. Means I don't have to worry about you being all creepy." "I'll try not to take offense to that suggestion. Anyway, I can put together a cover story about a niece coming to visit a lot easier than I can explain away a sudden decision to adopt a Little right about the time it leaks out that you're under the care of a renowned psychiatrist in a round-the-clock setting but not in a psychiatric hospital." "Ugh... Okay, I get it, I get it. So what exactly is this 'makeover' going to entail?" "We'll just redo your hair, change color, do a more little girl type of hairstyle, you know, probably change your eye color too. Of course, the court's going to demand a tracking implant, but you'll hardly notice that. I'll be getting one as well; you need to be within 100 feet of me at all times, or the police will be alerted immediately. There'll also be a plastic surgeon on hand to do some other minor things like make your cheeks and chin a little more chubby. I think your chest is okay as it is, so long as we lose the bra." You wince at his assessment of your breasts. Not that any of the women in your village were particularly busty to begin with, but you always felt self-conscious about how small yours were compared to other girls at school. "Yeah, thanks," you mutter back. "Oh, and we're going to have to figure out a new name for you, too. But that can wait until after the makeover." Well, at least it doesn't look like they're going to try and babify you like that bitch did the very second she laid eyes on you... After what seemed like hours, the boat finally thumps into a solid object. A dock, no doubt. You've long since run out of tears, and now you're just numb, the fear having given way to a cold resignation as you listened to one of the men converse on the phone to the person you figured was going to "handle" you once you made land. There's no way out of this; you're just going to have to face whatever fate is coming. "Alright, we got all the papers in order?" a new voice calls out as you hear heavy footfalls on wooden slats. "All right here," one of the familiar ones says. "Poor little twerp's gonna turn twenty tomorrow. Fat lot that'll do her now!" He laughs, as do the others, and suddenly you're back in the air, rising off the floor of the little boat, only to be set back down on the much more solid dock. "Here you go, then, five thousand. Keep 'em coming; I got plenty of customers lookin' for wild ones that ain't already been housebroken, ya know?" "You keep payin' in cash, and we'll keep bringin' 'em, don't you worry!" "So, is this one a scrapper?" "Nah, she struggled a bit in the beginning, tried to buy us off with half a hundred rupees. It'll help pay off the next frustrated parent or husband or whoever." "You just make sure and stay legal with 'em; I don't need us bein' in the middle of some political crisis over you snatchin' someone ain't supposed to be snatched." "Don't worry about us, you just keep the money comin'. We got another one to go pick up out on Gethsemane Island right now. Long goddamn boat ride ahead." "Well get gassed up and get goin', and call me when you're back in range. We'll just be off, then, won't we, little one?" With that, he hoists you up over his shoulder. "Off we go then," he says cheerily. Through the mesh, you can see the figures of the two men in the boat fading away, huge men, six or more feet tall. As best as you can figure, this one is just as tall, bigger than any man you've ever seen on the island. What could these people possibly want with someone like you? As he hoists you into the back of another huge vehicle, your mind spins at the possibilities. Are you to be someone's servant girl? You imagine yourself scrubbing huge floors and standing on stepstools to wash dishes and prepare meals for these monsters. After a much longer but smoother ride than the one you experienced on the way to the boat, the vehicle lurches quickly, then comes to a stop. "Ride's over, little one!" he calls, and you hear what is presumably his door opening, then another door behind you shortly after. Back in the air you go, back over his shoulder. "They were right, you are quiet!" he says over the din of more vehicles passing by, the chatter of more people than you ever imagined possible in one place. You try to look through the mesh again, but somehow your position has shifted in the sack and you can no longer see. You're moving, is all you know, and the bustle of an enormous number of people is going on around you. It's not long before you come to a stop, and you hear a buzzer sound. "Hello?" a very deep, but distinctly female voice calls out, sounding almost like it came from a speakerphone. "Very special delivery for Miss Guilory," the man responds. Her pitch rises, and you can hear the excitement in her voice. "Wonderful! Come right up!" Another, louder buzzer sounds, and the man opens a door. The noise of the bustling streets is cut off, and now it's just his footfalls, seemingly going up a number of stairs. Another door opens. More footsteps. A knock on a door. The door opens. "Come in! Come in!" the almost giddy-sounding female speaks. Her tone changes again, almost scolding. "Oh the poor thing, was the bag really necessary?!" "They're quick little buggers," the man replies as he sets you down. "They'll take off on you in a second if you don't keep 'em wrapped up!" "Well let's see her, then!" "Right, right." The door closes, and you move a few more paces before you feel him fiddling with the bag, then turning you over and pulling it back over your head. The sight that greets you is terrifying; you thought these men were huge, looking six feet or more tall, but the woman that stands before you is positively enormous, easily nine feet or more! In a panic, your eyes dart around the room; it looks like normal furniture for a family room, but it's all sized for someone her height. You start to crawl backward away from the two towering figures, but you bump into something hard almost immediately. You turn and realize you've cornered yourself against a huge footstool, and you stop, trembling in fear. "Oh my god, she's adorable! What a tiny little thing! I thought you said she was full-grown?" the lady says, turning to the much shorter man. You feel incredibly self-conscious at your height, yes, you've always been short compared to the rest of the girls in the village, but at three and a half feet, the difference was never so stark as what you're feeling right now. "She is! Got the papers right here; she turns twenty tomorrow! You're a lucky one, Miss Guilory; lotta people would pay a tall premium to have a tiny one like this." She turns back toward you. "Oh and that sad little pauper dress! Did you sew that yourself, sweetie?" she asks, leaning down and grasping the hem as you cower before her. "N...no... my mother made it for me," you manage, trembling. "Well don't you worry, little girl, Mummy's got plenty of pretty clothes for you to wear here, much nicer than this!" She rights herself and turns back toward the man, reaching into the pocket of her blazer and producing a huge wad of bills. "Here you are. Eight thousand, just as we agreed." The man takes the wad from her and begins quickly flipping through it. "Looks like it's all here. I'll just be on my way, then. Enjoy!" He picks up the empty sack and starts toward the entrance. She opens the door. For a second, you think about making a run for it, but both of them are directly in your path; you'd never make it. "Thank you so much! You've made a lonely woman very, very happy today!" she says as he steps out, and she quickly closes the door behind him, leaving the two of you presumably alone in this cavernous space. Your eyes are fixed on her as she struts toward you. "Stand up for Mummy now," she instructs. "Let's have a look at you." You nervously slide up the footstool, struggling to keep your legs from shaking. "That's a good girl," she says. She reaches behind you, and your eyes follow her arm, but you can't see what she grabs off a nearby end table, though you quickly figure it out as huge scissors suddenly appear at the shoulders of your dress and snip, snip, it falls away, leaving you in your underwear, even more terrified now. She takes your hand gently and pulls you into the room, examining you back and front. "Those mean old men didn't hurt you, did they, precious?" You shake your head. "Good. Poor thing, you must have been just terrified in that horrible sack all this time." Another snip, and your bra falls to the floor. You cover your chest with your arms in embarrassment, and she snips away your panties as well. You cross your legs in front of you, stumbling as you try to hide your nakedness from her. "Oh, don't you worry, you adorable little thing. Mummy will get some pretty clothes on you in just a minute," she says, setting the scissors back on the table and, without warning, snatching you right up around your middle. She sits down in an enormous rocking chair, holding you tightly in her lap. You finally find your voice as the two of you slowly rock back and forth. "Wh... what's going to happen to me?" you ask. "Don't you worry, baby, I'm going to take good care of you from now on," she says sweetly, reaching into her pocket with her free hand. "I... I'm not..." you start, before her hand flashes in front of your face and a huge mass of rubber finds its way into your mouth. "MMPH!" you squeal, squirming and kicking, but her powerful arm holds you fast, and her hand covers your mouth locking your head in place against her enormous chest. "Just relax, baby, just relax," she says. You hear a click, and suddenly the rubber is expanding in your mouth, pushing your cheeks out wide. "MMMMM MMMM MMMMM!!" you nearly scream through your nose, flailing away uselessly with your arms and legs. Her hand comes away from your face and wraps around your entire torso, pinning your arms at your sides. You shake your head, grunting and squealing, trying to rid yourself of this thing in your mouth, but it's so huge now you couldn't spit it out if you wanted to. Her other arm, meanwhile, has made it's way down to your legs, wrapping them up and holding them fast as she calmly continues to rock back and forth in the chair. "Just calm down, baby, calm down and let Mummy love on you," she says. You continue to thrash against her, but she's far too strong, and before long your adrenaline runs out, and fatigue takes over. Your eyes fill with tears as you finally realize that a huge pacifier is now stuck in your mouth, and you offer a weak, whiny, "Mmmmm," in protest. "That's a good baby," she says, a tone of approval in her voice. "Don't cry, baby. Mummy's not gonna hurt you." She shifts the one arm under your legs and hoists you up, cradling you in front of here as she stands and walks down a huge hallway, stopping at a slightly open door. "Time to get my baby dressed!" she coos as she kicks the door open gently. The sight that greets you is more horrifying than anything you imagined possible... 7 "Yeah, we're about 5 minutes out... No, I'm pretty sure we got out clean, no one following us that I can tell... Got it... See you then..." Artis hits the terminate button on his phone and sets it in the console. The city has dissolved away, replaced by the serenity of grasslands, wire fencing lining the road beside you, cows and horses dotting the lush landscape. "Where are we?" you ask. Dumb question, for sure, but at the same time, this is the first open space you've seen here since those bastards carried you off. "About ten miles outside the capital," Artis replies. "Not quite the middle of nowhere, but far enough away that the cameras and microphones aren't likely to catch up to us before we get you fixed up." Oh yes, "fixed up". That's a delicate way of putting it. "Do we really have to go this far with it?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Can't we just dye my hair or something?" Even the thought of ruining your long chestnut locks with dye makes you shudder, but... "Trust me, Pauletta, you're not going to want the kind of attention that will happen if someone figures out who you are. Neither of us will." You let out a long, frustrated sigh. "I'll be glad when this month is over," you mutter. "Me too," he says as he turns down what looks like a dirt driveway off to the left. A short, bumpy ride later and you arrive at a sprawling ranch house with a huge barn adjacent. He pulls the truck into the barn, and someone pulls the door shut behind you, leaving only the light filtering in from a few windows to illuminate this suddenly very gloomy place. "Here we are," he says, opening his door and stepping out. You fidget a bit with the buckle on your booster, but you lack the strength to release the latch. He opens your door and pops it loose, then helps you down to the hay-strewn dirt floor of the cavernous building. He leads you out and over to the main house, and you're greeted at the door by a heavy-set blonde woman maybe a foot or so shorter than Artis, but still enormous compared to you, who hurries you both in quickly, looking around outside before closing the door. "Glad you made it, Artis. You must be Pauletta," she says, sizing you up. "I'm Arlene, and I'm a hairdresser, but this is my family's farm. My sister's a plastic surgeon, and she and I've been doing these kinds of 'makeovers' here for a good while now." "Is Jolie here yet?" Artis asks. "She is; she's just getting into her scrubs upstairs." She must have noticed you cringing at the word "equipment", because she cheerfully adds, "Don't worry, Pauletta, you'll be asleep for the whole thing, and when you wake up, I bet you won't even recognize yourself." "Yeah, that's the part I'm not really looking forward to," you say glumly. "I know, sweetie," she says. "But I promise you, Jolie and I will be delicate. Artis already told us what a tough patch you've been through here lately." "How soon does Doc want to get started?" Artis speaks up. "She'll be ready to go in a few minutes." She looks back down at you and extends a hand. "Come on upstairs with me?" Nervously, you take her hand, and she leads you through a galley kitchen and up a set of stairs with old-looking, beautifully carved white slats supporting a dark hardwood handrail. "Jolie's the plastic surgeon, but she's gonna just do some little touches here and there to soften up your features, and then it's all on me." You resist the urge to pull away as she runs her fingers through your hair. "You got beautiful, thick hair, Pauletta. I'm pretty jealous, you know?" "Thanks," you murmur, still feeling very uncomfortable with this whole process. "It's okay, I'd probably be pretty nervous if I were you too." The two of you reach the top of the stairs, and she guides you down a hall, stopping to knock on a door on the right. "Come on in, I'm ready!" a cheery voice calls from the other side. Arlene opens it and ushers you in. As much as you can tell from the shapelessness of the medical outfit she's wearing, Jolie looks trimmer than her sister, but also shorter, maybe eight feet tall, and she smiles broadly as you enter. "Been a while since we had such a petite client!" she chuckles. "Are you Pauletta?" You nod quietly, feeling increasingly self-conscious. She squats to her knees and puts a hand on your shoulder. "It's okay to be scared. We're gonna get you fixed up quick and on your way, maybe even this evening, if everything goes right. Have you eaten anything today?" "No, food's kinda been..." you start. "I doubt I'd have much of an appetite either," she affirms. "How about you get changed over there behind the curtain, and then we'll get started?" Silently you walk over to and behind a makeshift blind set up in the corner of the room, where a hospital gown awaits you on a footstool short enough for you to sit on it. You strip down to your bra and panties and slip the gown on, doing your best to tie it behind you, though you're sure you didn't do a very good job of it. With a sigh, you step back out from behind the blind. "Good, good. Let me give you a hand here," she says cheerily, hoisting you up onto the bed in the middle of the room. You lie down and manage to stifle a squeak as she pricks your arm with a needle, attaching it to an IV bag dangling above you. "Ready?" she asks softly. "As I'm ever gonna be," you answer. "Okay, I'd like you to start counting backward from 100," she says, picking up a syringe and inserting it into the IV line. A subtle rush of cold shoots through your arm as you begin to count. "One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight, ninety..." Your eyes droop, and the room begins to dissolve. "seven, ninety..." You open your eyes. The IV is gone from your arm, replaced by a small cotton ball held on by a piece of tape. Your blouse and pants are back on as well, which feels very strange. What is even stranger is that it's not Jolie but Arlene standing over you now, grinning ear to ear. "How do you feel, sweetie?" "Uh... disoriented?" You look down your arms, your eyes stopping on your hands and wrists. They look softer, almost a little chubby. You wiggle your fingers; they feel fine. Are you imagining things? This couldn't be right. You try to look around, and you realize your cheeks seem more in your field of vision than they used to be. You reach back to touch your hair. There's no doubt, it's much, much shorter now, and it's... curly? You grab a strand and tug it in front of your eyes; it's... strawberry blonde?! "You ready to see?" Arlene asks. You nod nervously. No, you're not ready, you're terrified, but you HAVE to see... She picks up a large mirror from a nearby table and holds it in front of you. The face staring back, those bouncy curls, the girly little bangs, the chubby cheeks, the pouty little lips, this isn't you, is it?! This is a kindergartner's face! And her eyes... they're bright blue! Adorably cute, bright blue, mystified eyes. What happened to your deep, dark, brown eyes?! Your throat starts to close, and tears begin to form in your eyes. "I... I..." Words fail you. Everything that horrible woman tried to take from you, it's all gone in an instant. There is no more woman, just a little girl playing dress-up in this suit. A tear streaks down the little girl in the mirror's cheek, and her little lip trembles. "Oh, Pauletta," Arlene says, her face a picture of sympathy as she puts the mirror aside. "I know it's a big shock, but you really are beautiful." "A beautiful... toddler," you whimper. You want to be angry, but all you feel now is empty, like someone just scooped out all your guts with a melon baller and left you a pile of skin. A pile of skin with adorably chubby cheeks and bright glassy blue eyes, and a bob haircut that's just begging for a great big pink bow on top. How can you face the world like this? How can you be anything but ridiculous trying to be proud and dignified with a face like this?! "What time is it?" you finally manage, dropping your head into your chubby little hands. "Four thirty," comes Artis' deep, powerful voice from the doorway. "As soon as you're ready, we'll head for home or, well, what's going to be home for the next month or so anyway." 8 Eventually you recover, or at least you gather yourself enough to where you're ready to get the hell out of this house of horrors. The two women offer encouragement as you leave, but it's just more empty words to you, someone trying to convince you that they didn't just strip you of your womanhood and that you actually look nice as a four-year-old, which is exactly the opposite of what you want to hear. As you re-enter the barn, Artis pipes up, "How does Rosalita sound?" "Huh?" you ask, surprised and a bit confused. "Your name. I can't go around calling you Pauletta or Paulie all the time, it'll be a dead giveaway." "Oh sure," you shoot back. "You've already taken my identity away, I might as well give up my name!" "Okay, so you're still pretty upset about the makeover, I'm sorry. Maybe now wasn't the best time to bring it up." "Rosalita's fine," you grump as he helps you into the truck and gets in himself. Arlene opens the barn door once more, and you pull out into the dim light of the dusky evening. "Rosalita, or Rosie, or Rose. I'll probably interchange them depending on the situation. At some point here, you need to stop addressing me as Artis as well, but one step at a time, okay?" "Sure. Whatever." Apparently he's content not to pursue it further, because he falls silent as the dimming scenery outside whips by. After riding silently for a few minutes, you finally realize you have to try and get your mind off this horrible "makeover". "So what exactly is this rehab thing supposed to entail?" you ask. "Well, they're going to put you in a room and basically try to goad you into getting violent. Every button they can push, they're going to push it, to see if you snap." "So all I have to do is hold my temper and I'm good, right? That sounds easy enough." "Trust me, Pau... I mean Rosie, it's not as easy as it sounds. You and I are going to spend the next month getting you accustomed to dealing with the kind of stuff they're going to do to you." "That... suddenly sounds very ominous. Like, what are they going to do to me?" "Well, there'll be bullying, and humiliation, and degradation, and I won't be able to help you once you're in there. No one's going to beat you up, obviously, because self-defense is still self-defense, but rest assured, it'll come right to the very edge of that line." "So... what are we going to do to 'get me ready'?" This is all starting to sound increasingly uncomfortable. "All you need to do, Rosie, is remember that everything that happens between now and the Observation is part of the process that we need to go through, and just do your best to roll with it. I'll handle the rest, okay?" "Well... I guess..." you offer, not entirely convinced. You fall silent, regretting your decision to try and "change the subject". This is definitely worse, this anxiety not only about what's going to happen a month from now, but what's going to happen between now and then. The landscape begins to change again, fields and forests giving way to houses and buildings. "Are we back in the capital?" you ask. "No, this is Maritania, about twenty miles outside Guajiro. It's much quieter, but it's big enough to where we have access to everything we're going to need here. Tomorrow we'll probably be doing some shopping at the big mall at the edge of town." Again with the ominous vagueries, and something much more pointed to dread; your first public appearance pretending to be an Amazon kid. Without warning, he announces, "Oh, I nearly forgot, we need to stop a the pharmacy." Almost immediately he pulls into the parking lot of a building with a tattered old neon sign that announces, "Ralph's Rx". Strange that he decided this so suddenly? Maybe, but certainly more strange when he insists you come in with him. Then suddenly it isn't so strange, just horrifying... "Good evening, Sir!" a deep, but cheery male voice booms. "What can I help you with?" "We need to get some appropriate underwear for little Rosie's bottom," Artis says nonchalantly. "Wait... what's wrong with the..." you stammer, recoiling from Artis as he suddenly latches on to your hand. "Artis, what the hell are you doing?!" "Of course, sir!" the towering, bearded man replies. "Right this way! Will she still be going potty on her own?" He leads the two of you straight toward the diaper aisle, Artis' hand locked in a death grip on yours as you vainly struggle against him. "Well I'm not sure," Artis replies. "Would Rosie like some pull-ups so she can go on the potty chair like a big girl?" he coos at you. "I don't need pull-ups, Artis! What the hell is this?!" "Well, I guess we have our answer," he replies. "Diapers it is!" the man declares. Artis set you up, and you fell for it like an idiot. "She looks to be about 120 pounds, am I right?" the clerk offers, looking you up and down. "One twenty?!" you snap back, indignant at his suggestion of you being so fat. "I haven't been more than 65 pounds in my life!" A broad grin crosses his face as he looks back at Artis. "Only way to get the truth out of a Little is to offend their vanity," he says, laughing. "By the way, she's adorable, but as soon as she opened her mouth she gave herself away." You feel like a bigger idiot for being so easily manipulated a second time. "I recommend the Comfeez Super-Dry Overnights for a first-timer like this. They're the thickest, most absorbent diaper I carry, good for up to 12 hours, to get her accustomed to being changed on your schedule instead of going to the bathroom on hers." "Okay, okay, I'll take the pull-ups! Don't do this, Artis!" "Sounds fine, so what size?" Artis asks the clerk, completely ignoring you. "Fine?!" you shout. "I'm not wearing those fucking things!" This situation is deteriorating rapidly, and your mind reels trying to figure out how Artis suddenly turned into Miranda and what you can do to fix it. "Someone is about to get her little bottom tanned right here in the store," Artis says, glaring down at you. The salesman laughs. "By weight she's in the size three range, but these are sized for Amazon babies. They tend to run rather big on Littles, though, because of their slighter but more muscular frames. A size two would probably fit her nicely on her waist, though you could go with the bigger size if you wanted. It would ride up nearly to her chest and be much thicker between her legs, which would keep her more aware of it all the time." "Well, that is a conundrum, isn't it?" Artis says thoughtfully. "Any chance you've got a restroom where we can try them on?" "Artis, Please!" you complain, still wrestling against his iron grip. "You're right, Rosie, it's much easier to just do it right here." "NO!" you shriek. Artis squats to your eye level and pulls you in toward him. "If you yell at me one more time, I'm going to take those ridiculous pants off you right here and now, spank your little tush until it's good and red, and then put your diaper on in the middle of this aisle. Is that what you want?" he says in a low, intimidating voice. "No," you reply, much quieter, though no less panicked. He stands up. "So, restroom?" 9 "Absolutely!" the salesman says. "Right in the back. One of each, then?" "No, just a size two," Artis replies. "Artis!" you plead. "Maybe Rosie wants the size three instead?" he asks, eyeing you fiercely. "No!" "Then size two it is," he reaffirms. "Excellent choice, Sir," the clerk says, reaching for a bag and ripping it open. One side of the package shows a sleeping Amazon baby, thumb in his mouth, with a simple blue T-shirt reaching to his waist, below which the puffy white diaper dotted with cartoon animals is displayed prominantly, followed by his chubby bare legs. The other side, to your chagrin, shows a Little in an identical pose, though she's dressed in a ruffly white top, and her legs are obviously much more slender. Sick bastards, outright marketing these things to the psychos that kidnap and abuse Littles. You have little time to dwell on the thought, as Artis takes the diaper the clerk offers and walks you toward the back of the store and into the restroom, first unfolding the wall-mount changing station, then quickly reaching for the clasp on the front of your trousers. "I can do it myself!" you complain, reaching down to grab your waistband. "I can't believe you're doing this to me!" He swats your hands away. "Keep those hands out of there," he growls, unceremoniously jerking the slacks down along with your lacy black panties, then hoisting you up onto the table. Bewildered, you let out a squeak as he straps you down, tosses the pants and panties onto the floor, and pulls your ankles into the air, flopping the noisy garment out underneath you. "I thought you were on my side!" you whine, tears of humiliation threatening to fill your eyes once more. To your horror, it's at this point you notice that your entire crotch area is devoid of hair, smooth as it was when you actually WERE a little girl. What'd they do to you back there, laser it off?! "What did I tell you in the truck?" he says as he pulls the noisy plastic between your legs and up to your waist. "You said trust you! And now you go and do this!" you blubber back, incredulous at the entire situation, the tears beginning to stream down your cheek. He secures the tape on each side, sealing you into your bulky prison. "Are you going to cooperate, or would you rather have the bigger one?" "No!" "Good. You can put your pants back on now if you like." He plants you on your feet and motions toward the slacks lying on the floor. You quickly sit down with a loud rustle and pull the pants up your legs, but as you stand to pull them over your hips, it's fairly obvious there's no chance of them getting over the diaper. "I can't get them up!" you sniffle. "So you won't mind if I just take this stupid thing off, right?!" "Sure, if you want the size three instead," he says flatly. "You knew they wouldn't fit, didn't you?!" "I didn't figure they would, but you wouldn't believe it otherwise." No warning again, he snatches you around your middle with one arm and pulls the pants off with the other. God, he's strong! And fast too! He hoists you up and stands you on the counter next to the sink, pointing you straight toward the mirror. "Now, take a good long look at what you see there, and remember it. Remember it when you want to yell curse words at me in front of strangers, and think about how utterly ridiculous you'll look when you do." Furious, you open your mouth to respond, but then you see it. Your anger doesn't translate to this face. You just look like an adorable little girl having an adorable little tantrum. The tear-streaked cheeks and the tiny little pout and... dear god, the diaper... The huge white mass poking out below your blouse, which looks completely silly on you now. No matter how you contort that face, it's just a ridiculously cute toddler girl looking like someone told her she had to eat her broccoli. It's positively devastating. With that, he plunks you back on the ground and grabs your hand, marching you back out of the bathroom with your slacks in his other hand. You can't help but stumble both from the pace he's setting and the slightly bowl-legged stance your new, yet familiar underwear imparts. Half running, half staggering, rustling loudly the whole way, you make your way back to the diaper aisle, where the salesman stands there grinning like an idiot. "I think it fits pretty well," Artis announces. "Lift your shirt up and show him how it fits." You start to complain, but instead just give him a scowl as you pick the hem of your blouse up. "Turn around, please," the clerk instructs, and you comply. "Again, please." You turn again, your eyes shooting daggers as you face him. He doesn't acknowledge, though, instead reaching in to tug at the leg elastics, then the waistline. "It definitely won't leak. I still think the three would be better between the legs. A pronounced waddle is quite an effective behavioral modification for particularly defiant Littles, especially the girls." "What do you think, Rosie?" Artis says. "Do you like your new diapers, or should we try on the bigger ones?" "No," you nearly whisper. "I'm sorry, do you like this diaper, or do you want to try the other one?" he repeats. "This one," you reply, slightly louder. "Please answer the question," he insists. "Or I'll just take his recommendation." "I like this diaper," you growl. "Whose diaper is that?" he presses. You can't believe he's going this far with it. "I like my diaper!" you snap, then blush even deeper as you realize you've basically just announced it to the whole damned store. "I'm glad you're happy with it," he says. "We'll take a bag of the size twos." "Excellent choice, Sir," the salesman says, grinning evilly at you and leading the two of you toward the checkout counter. He slips behind the counter, scanning the package and announcing the price. Artis flashes his black chip-card in front of the scanner and a receipt shoots out of the printer next to it. "Thank you very much, Sir, and good luck training your new daughter!" "Say thank you to the nice man for helping us," Artis says sweetly, grabbing the package and staring at you expectantly. "Thank you, sir..." you pause for a moment. Artis' glare doesn't wane. You swallow and continue, "...for helping us..." He's still staring. "...pick out... my new diapers..." "See, we can be polite when we want to, can't we?" Artis beams. "Thank you again for all your help, sir. Come along, then, baby." He grabs your hand once more and off you waddle out the front door. Back in the booster seat, the ominous package sitting on the floor at your feet, you snarl, "What the fuck was that?!" "That," Artis says, "was the beginning of your retraining process." "So you're gonna try and make me back into a fucking baby?!" "I don't think you quite understand what has to happen next month," he says. "You killed your caretaker. The only way to convince the judge that you are no longer a danger to society is to demonstrate to him that you can control your emotions in the same exact circumstances." "But why?!" Your mind reels at his revelation and the implications of "same circumstances". "The best case scenario here is that the judge is going to grant me permanent guardianship over you. Now as I told you, I'm sympathetic to your situation, but the judge doesn't give a damn about any of that. He wants to see that you're not going to get violent in response to this kind of treatment!" "You could've warned me!" The weight of the situation is crushing you now, stealing your resolve. "They're not going to give you an itinerary at the Observation, Pau... Rosie. I'm going to bring you in, put you in a room, leave, and they're going to send people in there to do whatever they decide to do. And trust me, I've watched my fair share of awful treatment in Observations before." Your blood runs cold at the picture he paints. "Now, unlike other people who have attempted to train Littles for Observation, I've presided over plenty of these fiascos, so I pretty much have an idea of the range of abuse they're going to subject you to. In addition, as a doctor I have access to medications and other treatments that will help you along, make it a lot easier for you to handle what you're going to endure. This month is not going to be pleasant for you, but I'm going to do my best to make you comfortable as we go through the process. But you have to trust me, even when what I'm doing doesn't make any sense at the time, even when it seems cruel." "I'm sorry," is all you can come up with. You stare at the bag at your feet silently the rest of the ride, struggling in vain to close your legs, the thick, noisy bulk between them sneering at you, teasing you every time you move, reminding you of the horrible sight in that bathroom mirror... 9 The truck pulls into the driveway of a rather sad-looking old house, much smaller than the sprawling ranch where you spent most of the day. Artis lets you out of the booster and helps you to the ground, and you find yourself looking in every direction, terrified of someone seeing you in your current state of dress, even though deep inside you know such anxiety is not only pointless, but eventually will be fulfilled, unless Artis somehow has designs on leaving you here alone whenever he has to go out for provisions or whatever else. Regardless, you still breathe a sigh of relief once he leads you through the front door and into a sparsely furnished living room, where he sets you up on a plush couch and hands you the remote to what you presume is the television in the corner. "Maybe this'll help get your mind off it for a while," he offers. "I'm going to go see if there's anything useful in the pantry for dinner." You turn the TV on and begin, with some difficulty managing the huge remote with both hands, to flip through the channels, when an image stops you cold. It's a picture of you; the one they took at the police department after they arrested you. It's horrible; Miranda's blood still spattered on your face and neck, matting down parts of your hair. The news reporter is jabbering about some kind of protesting going on and Parliament debating over new laws. They cut to a photo of her, a little younger than the day you had the misfortune of meeting her, smiling and happy. That smile is one you'll never forget; it's the smile she wore most of that afternoon as she imposed her will on you the first time... A belt strapped across your chest, pinning you down on the vinyl-covered table, you squirm and kick, squealing behind the enormous nipple still lodged in your mouth, as she reaches under and pulls out a huge square of white plastic decorated with cheery little cartoon animals. Your eyes dart around the room in a panic; this is a nursery, there is no doubt of it, but the furniture is enormous. The crib in the corner is at least as tall as her shoulder height, though the mattress sits only just above her knees as best as you can tell. If she put you in there, those bars would certainly rise above your head, far too tall to climb out. The furniture and walls are all various shades of pastel pinks and whites, perfectly color-coordinated for a little girl's room. A little girl about your size, no doubt. The crazy woman hums a merry little tune as she sets out a bottle of lotion and a can of powder. You want to grab them, swat them away, anything to delay the inevitable, but your arms are secured by the strap; you can barely bend your elbows from this position. She turns to the closet and brings out a garish pink-and-white dress, all ruffly and lacy and looking like something made for a newborn, hanging it up on a hook next to the table. She grabs at one of your legs, but you kick it loose, and she frowns down at you. "Lie still now, baby. Mummy needs to get clothes on you," she scolds softly. She grabs the leg again, more firmly, and you keep squirming, but this time her grip is stronger. You kick at her with your free leg, and she slaps you across the thigh sharply. "Naughty baby!" she says, shaking her finger in your face. "You don't kick Mummy!" "MMMMM!" you scream at her and kick her arm again as hard as you can. Her face darkens, and you can see her grit her teeth, but then she takes a breath, lets go of your free leg, and says, "Then you can just lay there and kick until you decide you're ready to get dressed." She turns and leaves the room, leaving you there to thrash away. It doesn't take long to realize that you're not getting off this table until she accomplishes her aims, no matter how much you fight, so you decide to lie still and save your energy for a better opportunity. A few minutes later she comes back and says, "Baby ready to get dressed?" You glower at her silently, but offer no resistance as she rubs your whole bottom half down with the sweet-smelling lotion, nearly choking you with its pungent odor. She picks your legs up by the ankles, covering your bottom with a cloud of the equally potent powder, then flaps the disposable diaper out in the air and slides it under you, laying you back down onto it with a rustle. "My goodness, Mummy didn't realize you were going to be such a tiny thing when she bought your diapers! Maybe the nice man at the store will let us exchange some of them for something that fits you a little better." She coats your front with powder as well, drawing the diaper up between your legs. You're horrified as her little comment comes into focus; the top of the diaper rides up over your rib cage and just short of your breasts! She puts a firm hand in the middle of your chest while releasing the strap with the other. "Arms up, please," she says. Clearly, she can't tape the diaper up with your arms pinned to your side. An opportunity to resist! You lie there motionless, staring at her with as much hate as you can muster. You may not be in a position to fight her right now, but you damned sure aren't going to HELP her do this to you. "You're a little spark plug, aren't you?" she says, looking around the table with a puzzled face. Suddenly she smiles and grabs the strap with her free hand, forcing it up under your armpit, then tucking it back through the other, despite your best efforts to keep your arms locked in place, then secures it again. Now the position of the strap actually makes it painful to keep your arms at your sides, digging into your armpits on the edge, and you reluctantly relax them, allowing them to splay out to the sides. She smiles and proceeds with pulling the tapes snug across your stomach, crossing them nearly over one another to get the fit tight. The bulk between your legs is incredible; you can't do much of anything but splay them out wide. She turns to grab the dress, and in defiance you reach down and rip one of the tapes loose, and to your glee it tears some of the plastic away with it, clearly ruining the diaper. She turns around with a fierce glare. "I can see this is going to be quite a challenge," she says, no small amount of annoyance in her voice. She grabs your hand and swats it fiercely, causing you to squeak at the sharp pain. "NO!" she booms. "NAUGHTY!" You can't help but flinch at her powerful voice. She rips the other tape off, tossing the diaper into the pail next to her and grabbing another one from under the table. "If Baby takes her diaper off again, Mummy will spank her bottom but good and put it back on her. Understand?" she says, returning to the syrupy tone she's maintained through most of your interactions. "MMMMM!" you screech at her in defiance. She ignores you and repeats the process, but you're not going down without a fight. Kicking and squirming as she tries to draw the diaper up, you can see that she's becoming more and more agitated. After several hard swats on your legs, she manages to get it into position, and now you're darting your arms in and out, pushing the plastic down and pulling it away. She grabs one and swats it three times in rapid succession, yelling, "NO, NO, NO!" The sting actually brings tears to your eyes, and you pull it away, still furious, still defiant, but at this point content that her victory, though hard-earned, is temporary. She finally cinches the second diaper up even tighter than the first, the leg elastics now biting ever so slightly into your thighs. She grabs the ridiculous little pullover dress and sticks your arms in one by one before loosing the strap across your chest, then sits you up and pulls it the rest of the way down. "Now is that so bad, that you had to be such a naughty baby your first day with Mummy?" she asks. You glare straight into her eyes and respond with a growl. "I know the problem," she says. "You're just overtired after a long hard day, aren't you?" She hoists you up under your arms and plunks you into the crib. "Time for baby to have a nice nap," she says. You jump back to your feet and screech at her through the bars, but she walks away. "Go to sleep now, Baby. Mummy be back soon!" She flips the light off and closes the door, leaving you in the dim light peeking through the shade on the window. You immediately set about trying to wrestle the huge bulb out of your mouth, pulling this way and that on the ring, fumbling around for buttons, twisting and turning it, but all that gets you are sore lips from all the tugging. Frustrated but undaunted, your attention turns to your waist. RIP! RIP! You tear the tapes loose from the diaper and throw it over the top of the crib bars. Immediately you hear her footfalls approaching the room and she bursts in. "Mummy didn't want to spank the baby on her first day here," she says, a black look on her face, "but Baby didn't give her any choice!" You stumble backward in the crib, trying to evade her grasp, but she gets hold of you anyway, hoisting you out, then sitting down in the rocking chair beside it, draping your squirming form over her lap face down. She holds you fast with an arm wrapped around your middle, then her hand comes crashing down on your backside. The pain is incredible, stinging fire on your bottom and jolts shooting all the way up your back and down your legs, and you scream in protest, but she's undeterred. Over and over again that hand comes down with terrific force as you wail and sob and plead incoherently behind the pacifier gag... "Pauletta! Pauletta!" The memory dissipates, and Artis' face fills your vision. Confused, terrified, you mouth words, but no sounds comes out. You can feel yourself trembling in his grasp as he hoists you up and embraces you. "It's okay now, I promise. It's all going to be okay," he says over and over again, rocking you in his arms as you struggle to regain your grasp on reality. The pieces begin to fall back together as Miranda's horrible face fades back into the recesses of your memory, but doubt has come to the surface, doubt as to whether you're even going to be able to hang on to your sanity between now and the coming day of dread. 10 Artis sits down, settling you in his lap, and quietly rubs your back for a long time before he speaks again. "I'm sorry about the flashbacks, Pauletta. And I'm sorry that the training process is triggering them. I wish there were some other way to do this, but..." "I get it," you offer without much conviction. "I have to be a good little baby for them, like I should have been for her. Or else they'll kill me, like I killed her." "That's... about the size of it." "Artis?" you ask, grabbing on to a random thought just to get away from the current topic. "Yeah?" "You mentioned being part of a camel or something – what were you talking about?" "Tell you what, let's go eat dinner and I'll explain." "Sure." He carries you into the kitchen, where he's stacked a few books on one chair. "I don't have a booster here, sorry, but we'll see about getting one soon," he says, setlling you onto the stack with a rustle. "Of course, eventually we have to get you used to a highchair; they're GOING to have you in one at the Observation, guaranteed." He puts a plate of food in front of you along with a normal-looking juice glass full of water. "Might as well skip the stupid booster then," you say glumly. "I hate those things." Day after day in court, struggling to look dignified in a big plastic booster; no, you're sure a highchair wouldn't be any worse. Either way, you'd prefer not to think about it anymore, so you decide to change the subject. "So, about this camel stuff?" you ask, digging into the casserole-looking thing Artis put together. "Ah yes, CAMOL. Citizens Against the Mistreatment of Littles. It's a small but rapidly growing group of activists trying to get laws changed to offer some protection for Littles in Amazon society. So far, all we've accomplished is giving ourselves national visibility by staging rallies when situations like yours come up, although yours is definitely new territory." "What, I'm the only Little to ever fight back against her owner or whatever you call it?" "You're just the first one to actually kill her adoptive parent. But how the legal system handled you has sparked a lot of conversation in high places, and we're definitely making inroads in Parliament as a result." "Oh great, so I get to be the martyr everyone rallies around. Just what I always dreamed of doing with my life." "No, I stepped in and volunteered to handle your rehab to prevent exactly that from happening. There were certain high-ranking CAMOL officials that were hoping to engage in a protracted legal battle over a death sentence, but they've backed off trying to appeal because of the negative publicity it would bring at this stage of the game, since the judge gave you what is considered by the vast majority of the public to be a very generous reprieve." "You'll have to pardon me if I don't seem exceptionally grateful, seriously," you huff, squirming a bit atop the pile of books and the very unwelcome padding. "No, I understand, believe me. I'm pretty well familiar with what Miranda did to you, and the best I can offer is that I have no intention of repeating same. Hitting people with sticks and spoons and belts and the like, no matter how big or small those people are, is just wrong. The sudden shocks, well, they're a part of the process, one we can't avoid, but between them I aim to make you as comfortable as possible." It's the 800-pound gorilla in the room, and no matter what side conversation you try to spark up, you have the feeling it will all eventually come back around to it. You decide, at least for now, to just stop talking and eat. Artis seems content to do likewise, and the rest of dinner is relatively quiet. You do notice him constantly refilling your glass throughout the meal, and it's not hard to figure out the motivation behind it. Every time you try to adjust on your little hardbound perch you're reminded of it. Get comfortable. Get comfortable with pissing on yourself again, with wearing your toilet around your waist, with giving up one of the first pieces of independence a child gains in her life. Sure enough, you haven't finished your plate before you hit that crossroad. Much to your shock, however, fighting it is nigh impossible. At the very first urge, the flow begins, and you gasp in surprise at it, feeling yourself blush in response. "Wet?" he asks softly. You nod. "I... That was..." Confusion reigns; how could you possibly have lost control so fast?! "Too easy?" he follows through. "You may have re-trained yourself while in jail, but it hasn't been that long since you taught your body that voiding in a diaper was acceptable. This is a good thing, really, because it means we just have to get you over the psychological aspect of the problem, the embarrassment over what you perceive as self-degradation." Anger rises up in you as the stream becomes a dribble, then stops. "Easy for you to say," you offer bitterly. "You're not the one sitting in your own piss over here!" Fact is, you don't feel wet right now; the padding definitely wicked it away, but the residual warmth is a very present reminder of your shame and disgust over what just happened. "I know, I know, but you have to keep reminding yourself that this is not your fault. You don't have a choice in the matter. This is something you have to do to survive right now. Go ahead and finish your dinner, and I'll change you afterward." "Yeah, I kinda lost my appetite, to be honest." All you want now is to be out of this thing as fast as possible. Of course, another one just like it awaits you, but... "I'd rather you finish eating; it's the first meal you've had today." "Please?" "Alright, alright. You've had enough shocks to your system today, we can take it easy." He stands, hoists you up off the seat, and carries you into the living room, lying you down on the carpet near where he left the bag of diapers. "Sit tight, I need to grab some supplies," he says, disappearing quickly down the hall, then resurfacing with a handful of items that he lays out next to you as he kneels. You recognize immediately the wipes and baby powder, but the last box takes you by surprise. "Why the gloves?" you ask as he dons them casually then hoists your ankles into the air. "Oh, I have a hell of a time with psoriasis on my hands, so having to wash my hands after every time I do this is just not an option," he says, not even looking up from his task. "I'm sorry if it feels weird." "Right, because being twenty years old and being wiped and powdered and diapered like an infant doesn't feel weird at all," you huff. "Rosie..." he says, raising an eyebrow at you. "Yeah, yeah, I have to get used to it. Doesn't mean I have to like it." Apparently he decided not to engage you any further, because he quickly wipes you down, powders you back and front, and tapes you back up. "Thanks," you mutter quietly. If you have to wear these miserable things, a clean and dry one is damned sure better than a wet one. "You're welcome," he answers, scooping you up and carrying you over to the couch. "I'm thinking the news isn't the best choice for viewing material right now. How about we just relax and watch a movie?" "Sure, whatever." It's been so long since you watched television, and even longer since you watched something that wasn't what seemed to be propaganda against Littles, it's hard to care. You watch in dismay as Miranda produces a jumper seat, which she quickly sets up in the corner next to the couch, ratcheting it up to its tallest height. Quick as a wink, she has you under your arms and plunking you into the seat. "Now you just keep Mister Binky in your little mouth and be a good girl while we wait for the movers to get here!" Your predicament is worse than you thought now; miraculously your toes do just brush the carpet, but the seat sinks so low your arms are forced nearly parallel across your shoulders, all but eliminating anything in the way of mobility. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't play with the stupid colored beads on the wire or the little spinner attached to the table. Thankfully you're actually skinny enough to pull your arms in with you into the seat, which is marginally more comfortable, and you stare at your hands and suckle your pacifier, doing your best to stay calm and ignore Miranda as she flits back and forth between the front window and the kitchen. "Comfy?" she asks as she returns with a paper plate full of saltine cracker "sandwiches" filled with peanut butter and a sippy cup full of what you're guessing is juice. "Eat up, or there'll be another spanking in your immediate future," she warns. "Go to hell!" you snap back. "I'm sorry, were you addressing me?" she says expectantly. "Fine! Go to hell... Mommy!" you growl. "So adorable when you try to be all grown-up. Here, Mommy turn the TV on for you while we wait." She points the remote at the huge panel on the wall and, after a quick run through the guide, settles on a children's show. With a frustrated sigh, you hoist your elbows up onto the table in front of you and drop your head between them, staring at the colorful puppets bouncing around on the screen. This particular show ends and a new one starts, one featuring a number of young Amazon children and a big, hairy, pink monster of some sort, all of which are sickeningly joyful to be there, dancing about to goofy kid songs. As the show moves along, though, something strange happens. An older kid arrives on the set with a Little in tow, in full baby regalia including a pacifier, her big poofy diaper obvious under the hem of her dress. Simultaneously horrified and transfixed, you lock in on the dialogue. "This is my adopted little sister, Cammy!" the Amazon girl shouts joyfully. The Little blushes and offers a tiny wave at the group. "It's her birthday today, and she's turning TWENTY-NINE!" the girl boasts. This announcement is mostly received rather well from the other children, with a few notable exceptions, including one boy busy playing in the sandbox. Almost predictably, after the staged excitement over the Little, her Amazon escort heads straight over and deposits her in the sandbox next to him. "Cammy play in the sand too?" she coos at the Little, who doesn't look any happier to be there, but gamely picks up a plastic shovel and begins digging. "Aw, Clarice! I don't wanna play with some dumb baby Little!" he pouts. "That's not nice!" the newly identified Clarice says, hands on her hips. "I'm five and I don't have to wear diapers! She must be really dumb or something to be that old and still a baby!" Thankfully, the goofy pink host steps in. "Tommy," she says, sitting down in the sandbox and pulling the blushing Little onto her lap. "It's not nice to make fun of Littles!" "But she's older than my big brother!" Tommy says, "and she's still a baby!" "Would you like it if you had a baby sister and someone made fun of her?" Clarice asks. "Well no." "That's right, Clarice!" the pink thing adds, before turning back to Tommy. "You used to be a baby, but then you grew up! It's not Cammy's fault that she's already grown as much as she can. She needs big kids like you to be nice and look out for her, because she can't take care of herself!" "But I've seen some Littles with grown-up clothes and grown-up jobs in the city," another boy says thoughtfully. "That's because they don't have anyone to take care of them like lucky little Cammy here. They have to work so very hard to pretend to be grown-up because they have to take care of themselves, even though they don't really know how. Some of them end up getting hurt, really bad, because they don't have a grown-up to give them the help they need." "That's so sad," a girl pipes up. "I wish my mommy would adopt a Little." "Me too!" agrees another. Tommy walks over and hugs Cammy, then says, "I'm sorry for being mean to you, Cammy." He lookes at Clarice and says, "Can I go push her on the swings? I bet she'd like that!" The crowd moves over to the playset, and the bewildered Cammy is deposited on a swing. Music cues, and the pink fuzzy host begins singing a ridiculous song about being nice to Littles because they're just like babies, but they don't ever grow up. "They're here!" Miranda says, breaking your concentration on the insanity in front of you. She's entirely too happy about this, from your perspective. As she dashes for the door, you sink deeper into the jumper seat, wishing for all the world that you could just disappear under the table and have the two burly Amazons Miranda reveals at the door not notice you... 11 No surprise to anyone involved, you wind up giving Artis another wet diaper before the evening is over, and it happens just as easily as it did the first time. Unfortunately for you, he lets you sit in it for a good hour, adding a few extra little spurts to it, before he decides it's time for bed, which is immediately predicated by a rather embarrassing bath. The bigger surprise, though, is when he carries you, coccooned in a huge towel, into what you assume is going to be "your" bedroom. You were certain a full-blown nursery would be waiting behind that door, but instead there sits a simple bed, though sized for a giant, against one wall with a lift-up rail on the room side along with some rather plain-looking furniture you might expect to find in a guest bedroom. There's a night table with a simple lamp, a bureau, and a vanity, all in a lightly-stained wood tone. "Wait... where... I mean... what happened to..." you stammer, confused, but certainly not wanting to invite him to change the decor. "I figured you'd appreciate having a normal bed, at least for a while, as you get used to the situation," he answers with a gentle smile. He lays you on the bed, unravels the towel, puts his gloves back on, and proceeds to rub down your legs and arms with an incredibly sweet-smelling lotion, but not so pungent as to overwhlem your nose. You can't help but enjoy the relaxation you're experiencing right now as you melt under his soft touch. In fact, you're in such a state of bliss, you scarcely notice as he powders between your legs and pulls that thick diaper up, snugly taping it off as you lay there like a puddle. "Sorry I don't have any pajamas for you. We'll take care of that soon enough, okay?" he says softly, slipping the towel out from under you and covering you with the soft sheet and a very cozy comforter. "Mmhmm," you offer, eyes half-closed, already nodding off to sleep. "I sleep in my underwear most of the time anyway." He lets loose a little chuckle and says, "Well we can't have that long-term. Goodnight, Rosie. See you in the morning." You're barely aware as he lifts the bed rail and locks it into place with a metallic click. Unfortunately for you, it's not morning when you wake up. It's not even close. The alarm clock on the stand next to your bed taunts you with the time; just after four AM. You have to pee, badly. You could get out of bed if you crawled all the way to the foot and carefully climbed down, and you could probably find the bathroom again, and you could take this infernal diaper off, and you might even could get lucky and not kill yourself trying to crawl up onto the giant-sized toilet. Oh, and do all of it in complete darkness. But there's no way you're going to be able to do all that before you piss all over yourself. Or avoid waking him up in the process. You're trapped, and you know it, and now you're going to have to wet yourself, and then you're going to have to try to go back to sleep afterward. It doesn't take long, lying on your back and fixated, for physical need to overcome willpower and pride. Once again the pillow between your legs is warm and swollen, only now there are hours between you and a change. Rolling over on your side doesn't help; the extra bulk presses against your thighs and makes the position thoroughly uncomfortable. Lying on your stomach isn't much of an improvement, more like a hard pillow pressing against your pelvis. No, flat on your back with your legs splayed out is the least miserable of your options at this point, and that's exactly where you wind up, staring into the darkness above you, feeling disgusted. Five o'clock rolls around, and finally you've had enough. To hell with Artis, you're not laying in a puddle of your own piss until whenever he decides to get up. You cover up with the huge comforter to quiet the noise and pull the tapes loose very gently. They still make a terrific racket, but the blanket is definitely helping. You lift your hips and pull the thing out from underneath you, kicking it down to the bottom of the bed, flopping the blanket over it, and enjoying the cool night air on your nether regions. Naked never felt so good as this, and you revel in it for a good long while before curling up on your side, pulling the sheet over your shoulder, and drifting back to sleep. In fact, you sleep so soundly that you barely even feel Artis pull the sheet down. "Well, at least I know why Miranda lost her temper so much," he says, shuffling the blankets around as you begin to stir, then suddenly snap awake. "Oh, good morning," he says flatly as he locates what he was looking for: the wet diaper at the bottom of the bed. He holds it up and says, "Any particular reason why this came off?" "It was four in the morning, Artis! What was I supposed to do, lay around in a wet diaper until..." you look at the clock on your bedside: Seven AM. "Okay, still, three hours in a wet diaper? How was I supposed to go back to sleep?" He frowns, then shrugs. "I'll give you this one. But going forward, your job is to do what you have to do to get used to it, and my job is to help you along, whether you like the help I give you or not. Are we clear?" "Yes, we're clear," you grumble. Meanwhile, Artis applies powder a bit quicker, a bit more gruffly than last night, and seals you back up into a clean diaper, then sits you up and hands you your bra and blouse. As soon as you're finished dressing, he says, "Alright then, young lady. Get dressed and let's get breakfast; we've got a busy day ahead of us." "What busy day?" you ask, following him into the kitchen and watching him pour two bowls of cereal. "We need to go clothes shopping today." "Wait a minute," you protest as he hoists you up onto the pile of books on your chair. "You said we were going to ease into this!" He plunks a bowl and spoon in front of you and says, "You wore that shirt all day yesterday and you're going to be wearing it again this morning. I'm not having you wear it three or four days in a row, and you have no other clothes to wear." "I'm not ready to go out in public like this!" you whine, panic welling up inside you. "Can't you just measure me or something?!" "Remember what I said yesterday, Rosie. Argue, fuss, whine, whatever you want out in public, but when we're alone, respect my judgment, because I'm doing what needs to get done." "But... The pharmacy was bad enough, now you want to cart me around a clothing store in this stupid getup?!" you protest. "Do I need to remind you of the alternative here?!" he replies, his volume level rising right along with yours. "You just want to humiliate me again like yesterday!" you shout, the panic boiling over into anger. "You're enjoying this, you fucking sicko!" He rises, leaning right in until he's mere inches from your face, taking on a low, menacing tone. "I'm going to put this real simple, Rosalita. The fact that you are here at all is a testament to my kindness; otherwise you'd be strapped to a guerney right now about to get a needle full of poison in your arm. I'm trying to be kind and gentle to you, because you've been through a lot, and you're gonna have to go through a lot more if you want to make it out of that courtroom alive in a few weeks. "But you'd better hear me right now, and hear me well, kiddo. You keep talking like that to me, and I promise you, kind and gentle goes right out the window, and so does easing in. And if that's not enough to smarten your sassy ass up, hey, it's your funeral, you know? I don't put up with my own FAMILY speaking to me in that fashion, I'm damned sure not going to put up with it from someone I barely KNOW! Are we clear?" "We're clear," you nearly whisper. What the hell else are you going to say to that, especially when he's that much into your personal space, looking for all the world like a spawn of hell with the stormclouds on his face? "I'm glad we have an understanding. Now finish your cereal quietly while I go calm down." Before you can respond, he storms down the hall, slamming a door behind him. Your head is spinning now; you can scarcely believe that you've managed to already piss him off enough to start making threats. Still, better to do as your told, at least, so you grab your spoon and commence eating while you try to sort out this bizarre Jeckyl-and-Hyde presentation over the last day. You finish, but he's still in the bedroom. Rather than risk more anger, though, you decide to just sit there and wait, as much as you'd like to get away from that pile of books. You're almost looking forward to a highchair, as uncomfortable as this seating arrangement is. Finally he surfaces again, his face having returned to the calm gentleness you've seen most of the time you've been around him. "I wanted to wait on this, but between your flashback last night and the difficulty you've been having with both panic attacks and angry outbursts, I feel like it's better we start on it right away." "Start on wha...?" you start to ask, but are cut off by his hand suddenly covering your mouth and something very, very familiar protruding from it. He's holding it there, and it feels suspiciously like a nipple. "Suck," he instructs. You try to spit it out and twist away, but he's much stronger than you and holds it fast. "I said suck," he repeats. He's obviously not backing down on this, so you take the nipple and begin to slowly nurse at it. He moves his hand away once he's satisfied that you're not going to spit it out and says, "Trust me, you'll feel better in a few minutes." At first you just glower at him, humiliation burning in your cheeks. He stands there silently, watching as you continue to suckle on the infantile accessory. "What's in that nipple is a fast-acting anti-anxiety medication," he finally says as he attaches a ribbon to it and clips it to your blouse. "It's a tightly controlled dosage system, but nonetheless you should take it out once you start to feel the effect. Trust me, you'll know when it happens." "You couldn' jush gi' me a fill?" you grumble, still incredulous at this new development but loathe to cross him again this soon. "First of all," he says, hoisting you up onto his hip, "one of the things you need to be ready for come Observation is nursing on a nipple. Second, how do you think it'd look if I was handing you pills every time you turned around while we were out in public? And finally, when you're in that Observation room, I'm not going to be there to give you a pill anyway. This way, when you need to calm yourself down, you have what you need right there, and it's in a form that will slip under the radar when you're gonna need it most. Make sense now?" "Yesh," you mumble halfheartedly. It's strange, this wave of calm washing over you, stifling you instincts toward the indignation you know you should be feeling right now. "Yes what?" he asks expectantly as he walks toward the door. "Yesh i' make shensh?" He stops still. "I told you last night, you have a new name, and I have a new name. What is my new name?" "Oh come on," you whine. "You need to get used to it, Rosalita," he scolds, adding emphasis to the false name he's given you. "I'm willing to be patient if you're willing to try. Otherwise, I'll just have to start ignoring you when you don't include 'Daddy' when you address me. Is that what you want?" "No... Daddy." You want to rebel, but for some strange reason it just doesn't matter enough to bother. "Better. Ready to get some new clothes now?" "Yesh... Daddy." No, not really. But... you're actually starting to feel a little sleepy, and you definitely aren't giving a shit about any of this anymore. "Then let's go," he says. "But first, let's take a break from this." He pops the pacifier out of your mouth with a grin. "You definitely missed the cues that it was kicking in, but I'm betting you'll remember them next time you need it." He carries you to the car and buckles you in before settling into the driver's seat. He gives you a quick glance in the rearview mirror, then puts it into gear and takes off. Houses and trees whip by, and whatever dread you had over your impending humiliation dissipates into the blur of the scenery flying by. You've no idea how much time has passed when you arrive at what you presume is the intended destination, a strip mall on a much busier street than the one you started out on, with one very large store on the end. "Couture Le Bebe" the sign announces, and Artis heads directly towards it when he enters the parking lot. You may not know any French, but it's not hard to figure out what "Bebe" means, and even in the comfortable little fog that surrounds you presently, you still aren't all that happy about the implications. "Here we are!" he declares, cutting off your train of thought as he opens your door. As he carries you toward the entrance, you pass several sets of giant and Little, some with store employees in tow with packages, the Littles rarely looking particularly happy. Some are walking alongside their "parents", but one hapless thing is on his "mother's" chest in a harness while she carries bags in both hands, his arms and legs flopping in rhythm with her steps, and his face blushing beet red at his predicament. A few comments come your direction, mostly right in line with that jerk at the pharmacy, offering approval for Artis' obvious "decision" to put you in your "proper place", no doubt a side effect of you still having the very adult-looking blouse on along with what you're stuck wearing below the waist. Maybe a new wardrobe will actually be an improvement, considering how much extra, unwanted, derisive attention you're getting right now. Most disturbing, however, is the scene that unfolds as you near the building's entrance, where a car door opens and you hear the desperate howling of a male Little, screaming, "I'm sorry Mommy! Please! I'll be a good boy! I promise!" "You had six weeks to be a good boy!" the woman spits as she reaches into the car. "Now we'll see if you can be a good girl instead!" She produces a squirming, sobbing mess, naked save for his obviously wet and sagging diaper. "Keep making a spectacle of yourself, and while we're at the clinic making it permanent, we'll look into having your teeth out too!" she barks directly in his face. That quiets his wailing down, at least to whimpering and sniffling. You shudder as the two of you pass by. You're starting to wonder if this anti-anxiety drug wears off as fast as it takes effect, because you're really not feeling very calm anymore. Then again, who knows how long you were driving? You wonder if Artis would say something if you... No, you don't need that crap! "I'm sorry you had to see that," Artis says, loud enough to be audible. "So many of them just go too far, I swear." You don't even know how to respond to that one. Doesn't he already think kidnapping an adult and forcing him or her to be a baby is going too far? Isn't he supposed to be part of an advocacy group whose purpose is to stop this sort of thing? Your stress level rises even higher as you enter the building. It's not like you can fight him; he holds your life in his hands at this point. But your suspicion of his motives is even stronger now, especially when you realize he never actually denied your accusation in the earlier spat... 12 To your surprise, there are no checkout lanes when you enter. Instead, you're immediately greeted by an oddly short woman in a well-tailored blue blazer and matching pencil skirt, white blouse, and seven-inch heels, with a tailor's tape draped on her shoulders. Even with the heels, she barely reaches Artis' broad chest. Scanning the store, as much of it as you can see, you notice the other salespeople here are roughly equal in stature to this one, or at least they stand significantly shorter than the customers they're helping. Obviously a marketing tactic, but why? Are they trying to empower the customer to take command of their purchases? Or is it just a way of subtly reinforcing the idea of servitude from their sales staff? Either way, her opening doesn't endear her to you at all. "Oh my goodness, aren't we just adorable in our big grown-up looking blouse! Was it Daddy-daughter day at work today?" Artis, cool as a cucumber, manages to embarrass you even more. "Actually, Rosie here just joined our little family day before yesterday, and she thought she was a grown-up, but we figured out differently, didn't we?" Saving you the ignominy of a response, the Middle pipes right back up, "And let me guess, none of her big-girl clothes would fit over her new underwear, huh?" "Even if they did, she clearly doesn't belong in them, after our little show at the pharmacy." "Uh-oh, did we have a temper tantrum?" the lady coos, dropping her hands onto her thighs and leaning over to leer at you. A subtle urge to take a swipe at her rises, but you fight it off. "Indeed, I was just trying to pick up a potty chair and some pull-ups for her, just to keep her safe, you know, and she wasn't having any of it." "So now she doesn't have to, isn't that wonderful?" She rears back up and claps her hands. You're quite certain now you'd like to at least punch her in the face. "Of course, she was far less pleased with this arrangement. I'm thinking the prospect of graduating back to a potty chair will keep her motivated to behave better for the next few months." Artis continues to converse with the Middle as you continue searching for a hole in the floor to crawl into. Suddenly Artis deposits you on your feet, and quick as lightning the tape is off the saleslady's shoulders and around your waist, your thickly padded hips, your meager chest, up your back, and down your leg, making sure to give you a solid and rather loud pat on the bottom after she takes your inseam. She quickly scribbles notes, then announces, "Her legs are long enough for a two-tee, but she'll fit in our nine to 12-month sizes just fine on the chest. You may also want to consider leaving a bit of room for weight gain, though." "Ah, yes, getting her on a regular feeding schedule might change things in that department." "Of course, the poor things have to scratch and claw just to get a bite on their own, from what I hear," the lady offers sympathetically. "Isn't it wonderful having a Daddy to make sure your little tummy doesn't go hungry anymore?" she coos at you, reaching a finger out toward your chin. Reflexively, you slap it away. "Don't you dare touch me!" you snap. The lady recoils a bit, then stiffens up and says, "Well, I see we still have a big-girl mouth on us!" "Indeed we do," Artis says with more than a hint of malice in her voice. "I think someone needs Mister Binky right about now." He picks the pacifier up from where it dangles on your chest and offers it to you. "What, it's not bad enough I have to be your dress-up doll, now you want to let EVERYONE play with me?" you growl. "Oh my, she is a feisty one!" the saleslady says, feigning shock. "She's right on the verge of getting her first spanking, if she doesn't take her binky right now," Artis says, staring straight at you and bringing the nipple in close, right in front of your face. He told you to put up a fight in public, but suddenly you're wondering if the "show" includes following through on a threat like that. Reluctantly you accept the rubber nipple and suckle it a bit. "Good girl," Artis says. "Shall we get started? I'm thinking we split the difference and go 12 to 18 months. That should account for any baby fat, don't you think?" "Absolutely, though that size pants would be awfully short on her." "Proper little girls wear dresses, so their daddies can keep track of the state of their diapers." "Indeed," the saleslady says, smiling wickedly down at you. "Right this way." Much to your chagrin, the behemoth store is divided first by infants and toddlers, then by girls and boys, meaning. Whatever hope you had at even a scant few outfits that might have looked somewhat dignified dissipates as the saleslady grabs a rolling hanger rack and leads you away straight into a sea of ruffles and crinoline and soft pastels in the infant area. Just when whatever Artis put in that pacifier starts to work again, your intense suckling is interrupted when the saleslady removes your blouse, taking the attached ribbon and the pacifier with it, leaving you naked and blushing save for the... well, you may as well concede it's now your diaper, bra, and flats. Even worse, your bladder betrays you and you begin peeing, right there on the spot. "Isn't that adorable?" the saleslady gasps. "What great big pads we have in our little training bra, trying to look all grown-up while we're peeing in our little pants!" "I'm pretty sure I told you to leave that at home, little girl," Artis says sternly, popping the strap loose in the back and stripping it off, the pads the insipid Middle mentioned flopping to the floor in the process. "No matter, we won't be dressing ourselves anymore, will we?" he says. "Do we have a trashcan somewhere?" You're pretty sure, if it weren't for whatever that drug he's giving you was, that you'd be pitching a fit right now. Even with the vague calming sensation, all the cheap shots the saleslady is taking are starting to get to you, not to mention the state of your diaper and the fact that you're now standing there showing it off to anyone who cares to look. The saleslady says, "I'll take care of that," gathering the pads up, taking the bra from Artis, and tossing this last proof of your womanhood into a nearby wastebasket. If either of them noticed the condition of your diaper, neither one of them acknowledged it. "Artis!" you whisper harshly. "I'm sorry, what's my name?" he replies, that stern look back on his face. "I mean, Daddy!" you grump back. "Better. Did you need something?" "I..." The humiliation of what you have to ask takes the spit out of you, and you nearly mumble, "I need my diaper changed." He looks down at your middle, then back up. "You'll be fine until we're done, Rosie." With that, he turns you entirely over to the saleslady, who dives into the dresses with gusto, pulling one after the other over your head, to be celebrated by both of them and removed, after which they find their way onto the rack next to you. The fact that none of the hemlines even make it halfway down your thighs is not lost on you; they'll be little better than the damned blouse you were wearing at covering your underwear, especially. As you watch the outfits accumulate on that infernal rack, standing there alternately naked and dressed in idiotically babyish clothes, the fires of indignance are burning brightly inside of you. Artis' rebuff of your request for a change is gnawing at you, the warm density between your legs a perpetual reminder of it. Being treated like a dress-up doll is mere icing on that cake. Worse, you find yourself longing for the calm of that pacifier in your mouth, which angers you even more. The stoic face you've been struggling to maintain begins to devolve into a scowl, which elicits nothing but teasing from both the Middle and Artis. By the time you're dragged into sleepwear, you're practically trembling with rage as the snotty bitch makes suggestions and Artis accepts and dismisses them for various reasons. Then the Middle crosses the line. She raises up what looks for all the world like a pink flannel bag with mittened sleeves and a cutout for a head and suggests, "These are great for when they just won't stay in bed. I hear they're perfect for timeouts, too!" "Well that's certainly sensible, especially for little girls who won't keep their diapers on in bed," Artis says, staring down at you. You scowl back at him, gritting your teeth as your rage begins to boil over. "I think we'll take one," he says. Before you can stop yourself, you shout, "No goddamned way, Artis! I'm not wearing that fucking thing!" Silence. Not just in your group, but immediately nearby as well. You feel eyes on you from every direction, and your ears burn with the embarrassment of it, especially as you remember you're standing there naked in a slightly drooping, yellow-tinged diaper. The saleslady looks at Artis expectantly while you suddenly find the scuffs on the top of your flats very, very interesting. "Where are your restrooms?" Artis asks stiffly. You feel your knees getting rubbery as the Middle points toward the back of the store. Artis' head follows her finger and nods. "Thank you." Panic fills you as he turns toward you, a storm of barely-contained anger in his face. "I'm sorry?" you whimper just as he snatches you up by your middle, grabs the diaper bag, and storms off in the direction the saleslady pointed. "Sorry is in the rear view, little girl," he barks at well more than a speaking volume. "You're not nearly as sorry as you're about to be..." 13 "But I thought..." you start to beg, in absolute terror at what's about to happen. "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THOUGHT!" he shouts as the two of you enter a hallway and make a quick left into the men's room. You squirm helplessly while he pops open the changing station, straps you down to it snugly, then turns toward the sink. You try to crane your neck, but to no avail; the wall this table is attached to completely blocks your view. You hear the zip of the bag he carried with him, then some other rummaging sort of noises. Suddenly and swiftly, he turns back toward you, bearing down toward your head as you cower. One hand reaches behind your head, tilting it forward. The other contains a toothbrush coated in a substance bearing no resemblance to any toothpaste you've ever seen. He brings it toward your mouth and commands, "OPEN!" Almost reflexively, you close your lips tight and try to turn your head. His fingers dig into your jawline, causing a sharp pain to run across it from end to end, and you yelp, "OW... MMMPH!" as the toothbrush finds its way into your mouth and begins to vigorously scrub your teeth with... hand soap?! "I warned you about your foul mouth, little girl, and now we're going to clean it up the hard way!" he says stiffly as he works it around first your bottom teeth then the top. You recoil your tongue at the horrid taste of the stuff, helpless against his iron grip and the bounds of the strap across your chest, incoherently wailing in protest between gagging and coughing. After what seems an eternity he stands back, slapping the toothbrush down onto the sink with a sharp plastic crack. "You tol' me to pu' up a figh' in pub'ic!" you sob, desperately trying to keep your tongue away from your teeth as he looses the strap and turns you face down, allowing you to at least drool and spit out onto the floor. "And you just walked right over the line AGAIN. These people EXPECT me to treat you harshly!" "You coul' have col' me!" "Told you what?" he says, moving you over next to the sink, "that I expected you to fight me in public but that I also would have to punish you if you lost it? What would you have done?" "I woul' have wai'e' un'ew we were in da car." "And you would have pitched a fit there instead, right?" "Yesh..." you have to admit. "Which is exactly the opposite of the goal here. You need to learn how to control your temper in the moment, not just save it for later." "Sho I'm shupposh' 'o keep arguing wid you sho you can corchur me 'ike dish?!" "No, you're supposed to fuss, whine, and cry, but keep control of yourself. I've told you where the line is, and now I've shown you where the line is. It's your job to stay on the right side of the line, and it's my job to reinforce that line by whatever means necessary, because it's the difference between life and death for you! Got it?" "Yesh." "Yes what?" "Yesh I gah i'." "Who am I?" "Daddy." "Good. Now we can rinse your mouth out and go finish our shopping trip." "Wha' abou' my diaper?!" you ask incredulously as he fills a cup with water and hands it to you. You immediately begin rinsing the horrible soap taste out of your mouth as fast as possible. "I told you it didn't need changing. Did you think that little stunt out there was going to change my mind?" "No..." you mumble between spits. "So," he says, "we're going to go back and finish shopping. And you are going to apologize for being such a bad baby and yelling such dirty words to everyone I get close enough to talk to until we find our saleslady again..." "B...but..." you protest, horrified at the instruction. He continues, talking straight over you as he plunks you onto the floor. "and you will also apologize to her for being so disrespectful to her the entire time she's been helping us, understand?" Your legs begin to move almost of their own accord as he leads you out of the bathroom, and you find yourself sniffling through a defeated, "Yes Daddy." Almost immediately out the bathroom door you meet a giantess with two male Littles in a double stroller. The faint smell of a dirty diaper greets you as Artis says, "Oh hello!" as you drop your head once again. "Oh my, this must be the loud one we heard earlier!" the lady says curtly. "Why yes it is, and she has something to say to you, doesn't she?" Artis prompts. Not looking up, you mutter, "I'm sorry..." "Sorry for what? And speak up, please." "I'm sorry I was a..." the words hang on your lips, and you struggle to continue, "a... bad... baby... and I'm sorry I said all those bad words." The second half comes easier, but it doesn't stop fresh tears from rushing down your cheeks. "Well you should be glad to have a Daddy who cares enough to teach you how to be a good little girl," the lady responds stiffly. "Because you clearly have much to learn." "I... I am..." you mumble. "Anyway, it smells like you have some business to attend to," Artis says with a chuckle. "Say bye-bye to the nice lady," he prompts again. "Bye-bye." And so it goes, at least another four or five times before you finally make it back to the infants section and find your attendant. Of course, Artis makes you apologize to her as well while he retrieves the pacifier from where it dangles on your blouse. "I believe we were about to have a fitting for that lovely little sleeper," he announces. You let out a whine, but Artis pops the pacifier back into your mouth before you get a chance to speak. "Wonderful!" the Middle declares. "Now, the 12 to 18 will probaly be too short on her, but the two-tee should do just fine." "By all means, let's try the bigger one," Artis says, and before you know it, his hands are under your arms and you're being deposited into this fuzzy bag and seated on the floor, despite your whimpering. Your arms are shoved into the holes, and the saleslady slides the zipper up the back. "And it locks in place just like this!" she says as you hear a click at the back of your neck. "Now go ahead and stand up, sweetie," she coos. You ignore her, your mittened arms crossed, pouting behind your pacifier. "The nice lady asked you to stand up, baby," Artis says. "Or are you just so comfy you'd rather wear that the rest of the day?" That spurs you into action. You plant your feet and try to stand, but the bag isn't big enough for you to straighten your legs, and you lose your balance as it jerks you back down, dropping to all fours with a squeak. "Isn't it perfect?" the Middle says, clapping her hands. "Guaranteed to keep her in bed until Daddy decides it's time to get up!" "Indeed, it's perfect. We'll definitely take one." You start to complain, but you're still stuck in this thing, and you want out. "Excellent!" the Middle declares as she unzips you out of the horrible trap. "I think that should just about do it," Artis says, much to your relief. Just when you think the nightmare is finally over, though, the sales-bitch pipes up one more time. "Oh I notice you've got her in Comfeez Overnights. Are you fairly stocked up on those?" she asks. "Actually no, I just picked up the one bag last night," he replies. Great. More diapers. Except... "You know, those are made for normal babies, not Littles. Let me show you something." 14 So much for it being over. She leads the two of you into an aisle full of a huge array of diapers along with all the associated supplies; lotions, powder, wipes, the full monty. "We carry Comfeez, but only because we do have occasional clients with normal babies come here to shop." The emphasis on the word "normal" and the derisive tone she uses sends a surge of anger through you, but it quickly fades back behind the anxiety of what horrible thing she's about to reveal and whether Artis is going to be game for it. Even with the fog closing in, this is nothing short of horrifying. "About two years ago, a company called 'Forever Baby' launched a line of products specifically for parents of Littles, with lots of features especially for babies who are built like tiny adults. They are, very simply, the finest diapers for Littles on the market, with a heavy five-mil plastic shell that will make sure she'll never sneak up on you, but with a specially formulated matte finish to keep her from chafing, and several super-heavy soaker layers in the middle to handle her floods while she gets used to not using a toilet. Of course, the extra padding between the legs along with the stiffer plastic is absolutely guaranteed to produce the maximum waddle effect. A lot of parents have told me that their babies would drop and crawl once the diaper was wet because it was just too much bulk for them to keep their balance on two feet!" Artis nods thoughtfully, and you cringe as she continues her spiel. "Now, are we planning on taking her back to baby food and formula right away, or is she going to stay on table food for the time being?" "Oh, she'll be eating table food. I'm not especially impressed with the nutritional content of the baby food out there marketed for Littles," Artis says firmly. "Well then you'll definitely want her in one of the 'Big Kid' models, which both have a section in the rear with substantially less padding and a softer, more elastic outer shell back there, so the diaper isn't pushing back on her when she has her bowel movements, since her stools will obviously be more formed. Makes for easier cleanup too, if you catch it before she sits down anyway. You wouldn't believe how many of these poor things wind up with impactions not only because they're trying to hold it, but because those regular baby diapers are helping them do so! And we wouldn't want this little cutie to be all backed up, now, would we?" She leans down and reaches toward your face, but you stumble backward, fighting the urge to take a swipe at her with every ounce of self-control you can muster in spite of your growing lack of coordination. Clearly whatever's in the pacifier has done all it can do short of knocking you out, though at this point you're beginning to think unconsciousness would be preferable. Either way, Artis must have noticed as well, because his lightning fingers snatch it out of your mouth and drop it back to its dangling position in front of you. "So what's the difference between the 'Big Kid' models?" he asks. "Well, their classic model, the one they came out with when they first launched, is unisex, with just the extra room for BM's in the back. Their latest version, which is substantially more expensive by the way, comes in boys' and girls' versions, both of which give the baby a little reward for going pee." She reaches into a drawer on an endcap and produces a pale blue diaper, unfolding it on the highest shelf. Now you can't even see what she's doing, the damned thing is so tall, and you're left to wonder what horrors are coming. "Now this is the boys' model, which is a little less involved, because everyone knows that little boys are just waiting for a little tickle to get themselves going. So this one simply has a nice little pocket right here up front where we'd put a little penis, and as soon as he starts peeing, the pocket closes right up on him, so he gets his little tickles every time he wiggles!" She folds it back up and slips it back into the drawer. "I guess I don't quite understand why sexual stimulation is so important in a diaper," Artis says, raising his eyebrow. "Oh you haven't heard?" she asks, reaching into another drawer and pulling out a similarly pale pink diaper. "Forever Baby actually did some substantial research about sexuality, and they found that Littles who get regular chances to, you know, blow off some steam are much more calm and compliant than the poor things that don't." She suddenly reaches out for you, looking up at Artis to ask, "May I?" "Of course, of course," he replies, much to your chagrin. "No!" you squeak as she grabs you under your armpits. "You wanted your diaper changed, didn't you?" Artis asks. "Now's your opportunity." She hoists you up onto the shelf, which you now realize isn't a shelf at all, but a padded changing table top, complete with a strap that she secures across your middle in spite of your squirming. "Now this one," she says as she tears the tapes loose on your diaper and strips it away, pausing to clean you thoroughly with a wet wipe, "is the girls' model, and it has this special ridge through the middle that just hugs right up against her sensitive little parts, which gently stimulates her bladder when it's dry," she says, pointing it out to Artis while he nods. "And it has a bit more stiffness to the padding through there in order to keep it put once it's wet." She draws the diaper up and cinches each side, and you're immediately aware of said ridge, which feels nearly like getting a wedgie from a bikini bottom. She looses the strap, sits you up, and continues, "When she goes tinkle, that little ridge swells right up and stays just a little bit damp, so it's right up against her little sensitive spots, and it even has a little sensor built in that triggers a short-action vibrator. It'll give her an extra little buzz right along the ridge, so she can get herself all worked up just rocking back and forth in her playpen, or her highchair, or her crib, or anywhere else! Isn't it wonderful?" Even dry, this horrible thing is lightly stimulating, but you're repulsed at the sensation as much as anything else, and you're absolutely terrified of the idea of peeing in it. "The internal battery is only designed to run about ten minutes, which is usually more than enough to take care of her little urges." "Very interesting," Artis says. "I'm not entirely certain I want her having orgasms in public, though I can see the training advantages, teaching her to appreciate her diapers instead of loathing them." "Daddy I already hate it!" you whimper, trying to at least vent some without crossing the line again. "Oh don't worry, baby," the saleslady coos, ruffling your hair and patting your bottom. "I'm sure your daddy won't make you wear them all the time. In fact," she turns back to Artis, "Forever Baby recommends no more than one of these a day, or desensitization can start to set in. Right after lunch is your ideal time; it'll wear her out so she'll take a nap for you." "Obviously we'll want to load her up on fluids ahead of time, to make sure it works," he replies. "Absolutely," she agrees. "So what do we think?" "Daddy please no!" you beg, but you already know the answer. "I'm sold," he says. "We'll take a case of those and two cases of the classics." "Excellent. Can I interest you in some stimulating rash cream to go with that?" Your eyes bulge; is there no end to the torture devices in this place?! "No, no, I think this will do fine, unless Rosie would like some?" You shake your head fiercely, fighting back the temptation to scream at him. She laughs at your gyrations. "Alright, then let me just call for a bellhop and we'll get you rung up and on your way!" 15 Finally, the saleslady leads you and Artis toward the nearest register, out comes Artis's black credit card, and you are marched out the front door, a male similar in size to your saleslady in tow with all the hideous clothes you're going to be wearing for the next 28 days along with several huge boxes of these ridiculous diapers. Of course, you're laser-focused now on your own diaper, as it strokes away at your nether regions with each step. The sensation is still more of an irritation than a stimulation; there is no pleasure, and thankfully the saleslady's promise of it triggering your bladder doesn't seem to have come true. Perhaps the bitch was just a huckster after all, going so far out of her way to tease, degrade, and humiliate you every chance she got. Or maybe you're just so completely in shock at what you've just experienced that you've gone numb. Once back in the truck, your mind reeling from the entire experience, you finally find your voice again, though it is certainly trembling. "I... I don't... understand... uh... Daddy..." "What do you not understand, Rosie?" he asks calmly. "Why? Why did you do those things to me?" Despite your best efforts, tears begin to flow once more. "Why did you let her do those things to me? Why?!" You hear him unlatch his seatbelt, and he turns around in his seat. "If you think I enjoyed any of that in there, you're very much mistaken. That Middle in there, considering the kind of treatment they experience in Amazon society, I'm appalled at how smugly cruel she was, how much pleasure she took in tormenting you. But first of all, when we're in public, I have to behave in a way that draws as little attention to us as possible. And believe it or not, what happened in there is considered to be completely normal in this society. People's eyebrows would start raising if I treated you like an adult, respected your feelings and desires, talked to you instead of at you. "You don't seem to understand, Rosie," he continues, climbing into the back and sitting next to you, "that this is what people do to Littles every single day. They strip you of your station, babify you, and if you resist, they punish you until you give in. The few free Littles out there live in constant fear that the next Amazon they pass on the street will decide that they're adorable and in need of a new home, because just that quickly, they can be in the same or even worse situation than you were with Miranda." You're weeping now, confused, terrified, and utterly overwhelmed by the picture he paints. "But... Why?!" "Because," he sighs, "that's just the way Amazon society has viewed Littles for a thousand years or more, since their first contact. Someone decided that people your size make wonderful substitutes for actual babies, because you never grow up. And people caught on to the idea. And no one in government was all that bothered by it, because it kept the population down, and it made people happy. Well, it made Amazons happy, and that's all that mattered to them. It's only been in the last fifty or sixty years that Littles were even allowed to walk freely among us. Before that point, if someone your size showed up in a city without an Amazon "parent", the police would immediately take you to an orphanage to be adopted out. It's wrong, it's horrid, but it's just how things happened. "More importantly, though, I hope you're starting to understand why I had you undergo that cosmetic surgery. If you look and act like a normal Amazon child, then you and I can behave like a normal Amazon family. Amazons don't do things like that to their children. They love and care for and nurture their children, because they're trying to raise them up to be productive members of society. Littles are treated differently because any show of independence on the part of a Little is viewed as rebellion, and it is viewed as perfectly normal, even expected, that parents discipline rebellious Littles, that they keep them under control. The Littles you saw in that store? Notice none of them spoke? They're terrified to speak unless spoken to, because that's what is expected of a well-behaved Little. I didn't want that for you, not while you were under my care. So I remade you as an Amazon child, so at least when I wasn't specifically training you for Observation, I could give you a little bit of space to relax and enjoy a carefree life as a little girl who is spoiled rotten with pretty clothes and fine food and sightseeing with her Daddy. "But I can't do that if you open your mouth and give yourself away like that every time we go somewhere. The second you start speaking like an adult, everyone knows what's up, because no Amazon your size knows those kinds of words, nor can she put them together in perfect context like that." There's logic in what he says, reason, sense. Maybe even a little bit of warmth. But still every fiber of your being screams against it. "So you're saying if I act like a proper toddler, then everyone is nice to me, but if I try to be myself, my life is hell. How is that different from all those other Littles?" "Because like I said, Amazon children aren't expected to keep silent and always behave exactly as their parents instruct. A Little, if they're allowed solid food at all, certainly doesn't get to choose what they eat at a restaurant. They're not allowed to say 'no' to their caretakers. They're not allowed to fuss or talk back or misbehave or show any sign of rebellion. "On the other hand, no one is surprised when a toddler misbehaves a little, fusses, gets headstrong, or even throws a little tantrum. There are limits, of course, but if parents treated their actual children the same as people treat Littles, they'd be in front of a judge facing child abuse charges. So yes, you'll be able to vent a little, blow off steam, give in a little bit to the very fierce independence within you. That's something I can't let you do as a Little, but I can if you can learn how to stay in character, to act the way you look. Does that make sense?" Yes, actually, it makes perfect sense. But it doesn't make you feel any better about it. "Okay, I get it. Can we just go home now?" "Yes, we can. In fact, we probably need to get moving, to make sure you have a little privacy whenever nature decides to come calling." With that, he moves back up to the front, buckles his belt, and starts the truck. Nature... "Oh come on, Ar... I mean Daddy! You're not really going to make me..." "Yes, I am, because I'm already aware of the studies she referenced, and to the extent that it will be very helpful to you to not be full of sexual frustration a month from now, she was exactly right." "But..." you're incredulous at this thought, horrified that he actually intends to go through with it. "No buts, Rosie. Furthermore, if I have any suspicion whatsoever that you are actively trying to resist your body's urge to void, you will wear those diapers every minute you're awake until you stop, and if that means out in public, that means out in public." He pulls the truck back out onto the road and continues, "One thing that is probably helping now and will continue to help you is that the anxiety medication in your pacifier has a numbing effect on your entire body, meaning you'll be less susceptible to the physical stimulation that diaper is designed to give you." You're pretty sure you've never in your life shoved something into your mouth so quickly, and you suckle it as hard and as fast as your mouth muscles will allow you. Humiliating, degrading, none of that matters now, all you want is to find that fog again and stay there for as long as humanly possible. It doesn't take long, as hard as you're drawing on that thing, for the world to begin speeding up around you, Artis' voice from the front seat drifting further and further away. "Rosie... please take that out now. Rosie?" It comes out, but not because you actively chose to respond to him, but because you're slipping more completely into the fog now. Your head wobbles, and the pacifier falls away from your face, bouncing on its little ribbon a bit before coming to rest on your tummy. Your eyelids are so heavy now, too heavy to keep open. "Rosie?" you hear Artis call from somewhere off in the distance before the clouds come to carry you off. When next your eyes open, you're cradled in Artis' arms, your body moving in rhythm with his gait, your head buried in his chest. "Where are we?" you murmur, squirming a bit, your diaper rustling in response. "Home, sleepyhead," he chuckles. "You're certainly good at taking naps in the car like a little girl. You were asleep for a good hour and a half." He shuffles you a bit as he opens the front door and carries you in. "I... where was that clothing store?" you ask, confused. "In the capital, down in the shopping district by the shore. Meanwhile, I think we should get Rosie laid down for a while, so Daddy can bring her new wardrobe in and get it all put away, okay?" "Okay... Daddy..." you offer. He carries you into the guest bedroom and lays you on the bed, lifting up the bed railing. You feel his hand at your neck, and you sleepily watch as he removes the ribbon, taking the pacifier with it, lifting it up in the air to examine the nipple. "Time to refill this, apparently. That was supposed to be a full fourteen hours' worth of doses," he chuckles. "Oh well, have a nice nap, Rosie." With that, he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Still drowsy, you roll over onto your side, and your diaper gently tickles up and down your clitoris in response. The urge to pee is upon you quickly, too quickly for you to stop it, and it's mere seconds between when the flow starts and you are awakened fully, suddenly, and violently by the powerful vibrations, the damp padding forcing itself fully against your entire groin, expanding inside your labia, sending shockwaves surging through your body. You flop onto your back involuntarily, arching your neck in response to the incredible intensity. You whimper, writhing as pee continues to spurt out of you, swelling the padding further, which just presses it tighter against you, every slight movement rubbing it up and down. Before long you're bucking, your hands grabbing hold of the plastic between your legs, trying in vain to pull it away, to stop what's about to happen, but all it does is rustle loudly, teasing you with the noise. You moan involuntarily, but the horror of what's happening fills your eyes with tears as fast as the juices begin to escape your vagina. "Nnn...nnnn...NO!" you scream over and over again, but you're helpless to stop it. The first orgasm comes like lightning, overriding your dignity with a rush of endorphins so powerful your mind goes blank and your hands move of their own accord, slamming the plastic against your groin, pressing it with all your might. You're sobbing, wailing, whining, begging it to stop, but the orgasms keep coming in wave after wave, the diaper swelling larger and larger between your legs, pressing them farther apart as you come and pee simultaneously, amplifying the humiliation and the pleasure all at once. It seems like hours have passed before the horrible thing finally stops buzzing, but the cycle continues even longer, the momentum of your physical responses to orgasm after orgasm keep the now-sodden mass of pulp pressing, rubbing against you. You try to reach for the tapes, pull them apart, but your hands seem to have a mind of their own now, grasping and stroking whatever they come in contact with. "DADDY PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!" you finally scream out in desperation, sobbing helplessly as your body twitches and writhes. "PLEASE!" Artis rushes in. "Alright sweetie, alright," he says softly as he rips the tapes loose and pulls the front of the diaper down. You collapse, still sobbing, feeling dirty, degraded, humiliated, but grateful for the cool air between your legs. "Please, Daddy, don't make me do that again!" you blubber. "Just relax, Rosie, relax. Daddy's going to get you cleaned up and changed now, he's just got to get your supplies, okay?" "Please let me take a bath Daddy!" you cry. "Please?!" "Alright, alright, we can have a bath. Lay still and I'll get the water running." He leaves and returns shortly after, quickly taking your shirt off and swaddling you in a towel, carrying your still-twitching form into the bathroom and gently placing you into the tub, tucking the pacifier into your mouth, which you nurse gratefully, but much more slowly than before. "Daddy get you all cleaned up now, Rosie. All cleaned up now," he says, his voice soft, soothing, as rhythmic as the soapy washcloth he pushes across your chest while he supports your back with his other hand. He is gentle and thorough, despite your whole body twitching when he touches your private areas, despite your periodic hiccups, and between the warm water and the drugs, you somehow manage to find a way to relax, both mind and body. By the time he has you dried off and dressed, the fresh, clean diaper around your middle is like a warm, welcome hug, and the ruffly, powder-pink dress with the smocking across the chest and white lace trim that looked so garish on its hanger actually seems sort of cute. You even find yourself giggling softly at the silliness of this new outfit while he rocks you gently in his lap. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you're wondering if this is what going insane feels like... 15 It's a short time... or maybe a long time, you're not sure which, that you find yourself sitting back on the couch, Artis sitting next to you, the sounds of some sort of New-Age music playing through the television with scenes of majestic fog-covered mountains and soft, sandy beaches cascading by. Emotionally, you're pretty well spent at this point, grateful to have your own fog drifting in and out as you intermittently feed yourself from the pacifier, grateful for its serene little waves washing over your mind, in and out like the tide. "I have some bad news," Artis finally speaks up. Whatever it is, you don't want to hear it, and you offer him a look that says the same. He's determined to give it to you, though. "The cupboards weren't particularly well-stocked when we got here. Meaning we need to get some groceries and, considering neither of us have eaten since this morning, I'm thinking we should probably get dinner out." Nope, you definitely didn't want to hear that. "I... can't handle any more today, Art... Daddy. Please..." "You don't have to handle any more today, Rosie." "So, you're gonna go shopping and I'll wait here?" you ask hopefully. "No, but you have an opportunity to do like I suggested earlier," he says. "I don't even remember..." "Like I said, right now you look like my daughter, not a Little I adopted. For all anyone knows, you're just small for your age. Relax. Use simple words, or don't even talk at all if you don't want. Make silly noises. Play. Have fun. Be shy. Be coy. Be cute. Be a little girl for a while. Think I didn't hear you giggle earlier when you looked at yourself? Find that place." You're not sure if it's the drugs or the music or just being completely exhausted from all the stress this morning, but what he's saying almost makes sense. It certainly beats the alternative, being humiliated at every turn because you outed yourself as a Little. Still yet, you're not exactly excited about the idea, and you're still pretty suspicious of Artis' wildly unpredictable attitude. "How do I know you're not gonna just suddenly change your mind while we're out somewhere and start encouraging everyone within earshot to humiliate me again like this morning?" you ask as calmly as you can. "I told you this earlier, Rosalita. I don't enjoy making you suffer. As long as you don't give yourself away, as far as I'm concerned you're my niece come to visit while her parents are on a cruise. There are going to be certain situations we will be in over the next month where yes, I'm going to be treating you like a Little, and everyone is going to know that you're a Little, and you'll be under pressure to behave like a perfect little angel, but I promise you, if I tell you in advance that you can play the cute kid role while we're out somewhere, then the only way that changes is if you don't stay in character." "I don't guess there's an option 'C' here, is there?" you offer glumly. "If for no other reason than our tracking devices, no, there isn't." You begin to concentrate. What were you like when you were tiny? You reach out for memories, but there are only wisps; so many things have happened, it's like you never even had a past before that fateful day you defied Papa. "I... don't even remember being that young." "Did you have siblings?" he asks. Well, that you certainly did. Armida was only three years your junior, though. You close your eyes and try to picture her. She was the penultimate yang to your yin; quiet, deferential, one might even say introverted. She was always sweet, though, even when she was little. You remember her looking up to you despite your boisterous, fiercely independent nature. "She used to call me Paw-Paw," you chuckle. "Who?" he asks smiling. You didn't even realize you'd said it out loud. "My little sister, Armida. She followed me everywhere, whether I wanted her to or not. But she was never in the way, more like having a mascot. She called me Paw-Paw because when she was little, 'Pauletta' was too much to pronounce." "Think about how she used to talk. Say something in her voice," he encourages. "Come pay tea wif me, Paw-Paw!" you lisp. It's almost shocking how much like her you sound, what with your newly high-pitched voice. "Good, good!" he laughs. "And what would little Rosie like for dinner tonight?" His words are broad and exaggerated, and you giggle in spite of yourself. "Chicken an' fwies!" you squeak, offering a toothy grin. "Chicken and French fries?! But you always have chicken and French fries!" he says, continuing the silly lilt to his speech. "Nuh-uh! I had wohnees last night!" "Oh that's right you did have macaroni, didn't you? Well I guess maybe you can have chicken and fries tonight, then, but only if you get TICKLES FIRST!" His fingers are up under your armpits before you can react, and now you're squirming and squealing and giggling helplessly. "Daddy! Stop!" you shriek, gasping for breath in between peals of laughter as he continues, "No more!" Your bladder announces it's about to give up its accumulation, but you're helpless to do anything about it. "Daddy! Pee-pee!!!" you squeal. This finally seems to slow him down. "Well good, now you can have a nice clean diaper before we leave, and there won't be much chance of needing a change while we're out." He smiles as you pant, a warm bulge expanding between your legs. So he had an ulterior motive. And, all told, you can't very well complain about it. The last thing you need is having to ask him for a diaper change in public. The scariest part, though, is how easily you were able to fall into that speech pattern, into... that mindset... Was this some sort of manipulation on his part? Was it part of his "preparation" plan? "You're brooding again," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts as he lays you down on the carpet and proceeds with the now-familiar changing ritual. "Is this part of it?" you ask. "Trying to get me into thinking like a little kid?" "No, actually," he says as he lifts your legs effortlessly, wiping and powdering you with a gloved hand. "This has nothing to do with the Observation. It's exactly what I said it is; making it easier for you when we're out in public." "Then why does it feel like you're in my head again?" "Probably because you know what I'm trying to do here, but you don't know exactly how I'm doing it, so you're questioning everything I do. Which is exactly the opposite of what you need to be doing, because you being on edge all the time is just going to make the process more difficult." He tapes you up and strips his gloves off, tossing them onto the wet diaper before pulling you into his lap. "So in a way, I guess you could say this is part of the process, because anything I can do to help you relax will make it all much easier, even the parts that we both know will stress you out." He starts to rock you gently, rubbing your back, which feels amazing, as bizarre as it is to be cradled in the lap of a man you only met a day ago. "So can Rosie find her way back to that happy little girl place again?" A sigh escapes your lips, a product of the warmth, the relaxation you feel as you nuzzle his chest. "Binky, Daddy," you mumble. Of course it's dangling from your collar and you know it, but that doesn't mean you want to move. "Of course little Rosie can have her binky," he says, reaching down and teasing your lips with it. You accept it gratefully, but instead of suckling, you just let it rest on your tongue. "Shank you, Daddy" you lisp. "So we ready to go grocery shopping?" he asks quietly. "Uh-uh. Cuddle, Daddy." "Okay, we can cuddle a while first." Simple words. Simple thoughts. Simple feelings. It's not hard, really. At least, not when you're like this, a puddle in Daddy's lap. You wonder how long it'll last when others are watching, when self-consciousness creeps back into your thought process. No, no, no, that's a big person thought. Butterflies. Fairies. Chicken and "fwies". Your "binky". Those are the happy places. Let's just stay there for a while. 16 "So, has little Rosie decided she's hungry enough to go out?" he finally asks. Truth be told, your stomach is growling a little. You wonder if he felt the rumble too. You look up and offer a big grin and an exaggerated nod. "Well then let's go get some chicken and fries for that empty little tum-tum!" he chuckles. He starts to slide you off his lap, but you latch onto his arms. "Oh, so we want a ride, do we?" "Uh HUH!" you chirp, offering the silliest, toothiest smile you can muster to drive home the point. It's too damned comfortable in his huge arms, and besides, as much of that medicine as you've taken today, you don't even want to know how wobbly your legs are. "Well how can I say no to an adorable little face like that?" he says as he gathers you up, stands, and settles you on his hip. Your bottom rustles noisily against his arm as he walks, slightly bouncing you in rhythm with his stride as he carries you out the door and to the car, buckling you in gently as you let out a contented sigh. This new head space you've discovered, or he helped you discover, is soothing all on its own; there's no anxiety here, and you find yourself noticing things about the world around you that you hadn't paid attention to for a very long time: the vibrant colors of the sky as the sun begins to set, brilliant red with dark purple wisps of clouds dancing through it, the feel of cool wind rushing across your face as Artis opens the windows in the truck, the smell of that fresh air coming out of the groves of trees as though they were exhaling it just for you. There's not even any dread as you arrive at the grocery store. You rest your head on Artis' shoulders as he carries you in, and instead of derision like at that horrible Littles store, the people that pass by offer smiles and waves and "Isn't she adorable?" And you play coy with them, hiding your face, then poking it back out with a wide grin, which just brings more delighted responses. When you giggle, the whole world around you revels in it. They ask how old you are, and Artis tells them over and over that you just turned three. And they believe him, and you get little tickles on your leg and scratches under your chin, and you just keep right on playing it up. Now your legs are dangling in the baby seat of the grocery cart as Artis pushes it through the store, your dress all bunched up around your waist. You're too busy pointing and laughing as Artis asks you to pick out food items and plays guessing games as to what exactly you want. It's too much fun to just thrust your arm out in a vague direction and giggle, then shake your head over and over again, your ringlets flying every which way until he gets it right. You're the biggest star in the grocery store right now, everyone in line of sight mesmerized by your little performance. By the time Artis starts toward the checkout line, basket filled with staple foods, but with plenty of little treats that you got by batting your eyes at Artis until he gave in, you've fallen completely into the role, bouncing and squeaking and playing peek-a-boo with anyone who'll join by covering your face with your hands. Another cart is parallel to you in the next checkout line, this one with what is clearly a Little, and a rather unhappy one at that, in the baby seat, her "mommy" scolding her while she snivels. Your heart goes out to her; you've been in that place before. No! You can't let this break the spell! Happy thoughts! Simple thoughts! You point to her and look up at Artis. "Bebe?" "Yes, baby." "Bebe cry?" "Yes, baby is crying." "Bebe go pee-pee?" "I don't know, maybe." "Bebe diaper change!" The mommy takes notice of the exchange. "Baby is being fussy because she wouldn't take a nap today," she answers. "She's a cranky baby, and she's going to get her supper and bath and straight to bed as soon as she gets home." "Ohhhh," you reply. Keep fighting it. Simple words. Simple thoughts. You grab your binky and tuck it into your mouth, determined to stay in the happy place. "Wozie went nap nap today!" Artis laughs. "Yes, Rosie took a good nap today, that's why she's so bouncy and happy now!" "See that, baby Kimmy?" The lady stares down at the little, who looks for all the world like she's trying to sink through the crossbars of the seat and into the floor, though her eyes are locked on you from behind her own pacifier. "Little girls who do what their mommies and daddies tell them are much happier than ones who fuss and whine and throw fits. See how happy she is? I bet her daddy doesn't ever have to spank her." "Oh, Rosie gets fussy sometimes, doesn't she?" Artis smiles. You shake your head hard, to bounce your curls around some more. "Nuh uh. Wozie good girl! Wozie not fussy baby! Kimmy fussy baby!" You point at the little, and she looks away. "Yes, that's right. Kimmy's a very fussy baby!" the lady agrees. "Your daughter is positively adorable! How old?" "She just turned three." The woman's face changes a bit. "And not potty trained yet? Tsk tsk." Damn her. Your turn to do the head drop. You blush in spite of yourself. "She will when she's ready, won't you, Rosie?" Artis smiles as he lifts your chin up. "We don't have to be in a big hurry to grow up, do we?" "Wozie not big girl?" You're trying to stay in character, but it's getting tougher, now that the focus is on the underwear you don't even need. Why'd he have to pick 3? If he'd said 2, no one would have cared. "Sweetie, you can be a little girl for as long as you need, and when you're ready, you can be a big girl too. Daddy loves you, no matter how big or little you are." He kisses your forehead, and suddenly that huffy lady with the adopted Little doesn't matter so much. You reach your arms up to him as the line shifts, and he chuckles as he hoists you up onto his hip. "Lub you Daddy!" you whisper, resting your head back on his shoulder. "Lub you too Rosie," he whispers back. The line moves forward, and a Tweener man appears, putting a divider behind the groceries on the conveyer belt and hurriedly emptying your cart behind it as the belt rolls forward. It's the first time you notice, all the front-end workers, baggers and cashiers alike, are all Tweeners, and they scurry around at maximum speed, occasionally glancing down to the end of the row. A huge Amazon, taller than Artis even, stands there, arms folded, scanning up and down the checkout lines. These people fear him, much more profoundly than someone just worried about keeping their jobs, and you can't help but wonder why. They're nothing like that horrible Tweener salesperson from the Littles baby store. They offer polite greetings, to each of the customers, but never make eye contact, constantly focusing on the next task, emptying a cart, filling a bag, loading bags into the cart, following the customers to their cars and loading the bags for them, then scurrying back to the store to return the empty one and find another job to do. Once Artis buckles you in, you can't help but ask. "Why were they all so scared, Daddy?" The toddler show is over, and your voice returns to normal, even though you remember your manners as you address him. "Who was scared, Rosie?" "Come on, Daddy, all the grocery clerks, they were terrified of that one Amazon watching them." "Tweeners who work unskilled jobs like that are usually on their last chance, Rosie. Some of them have been in jail, others have been fired from more prestigious positions for various reasons, be it slacking on the job, mouthing off to their bosses, or just general incompetence." "So... what happens if they get fired from there?" In your gut, you already know the answer. "As far as Amazons are concerned, if a Tweener can't be a productive member of society, then they're just like a Little, and they are sent off to become Littles and be adopted." "Wait, 'become' Littles?" "Yep. We have shrink rays and aging reversal nanites for that purpose, though their use is tightly regulated by Parliament. They're also used on Amazons who get in trouble with the law one too many times. I'd be willing to bet at least one of those Tweeners used to be an Amazon, and they're getting one last chance to behave themselves before they get sentenced to Etiquette School." "You mean, some of the Littles we saw could have been Tweeners or Amazons once?" "It's actually quite likely here in Candohar, considering the rules we have in place about importing Free Littles." "Free Littles... like I used to be..." "Yes, any Free Little adoption has to be registered with the national child welfare office, which must include paperwork signed by the Little or that Little's legal guardian at the time of the adoption. Which is why the scant few Free Little adoptions are typically cases like yours, where the parent, seeing the child as incorrigible, signs over the child's rights before they turn 20. Only on very rare occasions does an adult Little willingly sign that paperwork, and usually it's because they're in some other sort of trouble, and adoption is their only way out. They're in debt over their heads, or they're on the run because they committed a crime on their home island. Lots of different reasons, but none of them are ever good." You don't answer. No wonder adopted Littles are viewed so dimly here. Most of them earned their fate. All you did was refuse to marry someone you didn't even like, never mind love. 17 You're brooding now, staring out the open window. All the little feelings that made you so happy are background noise. The wind whips across your ear loudly, involuntarily tearing up your eyes if you turn your head too much. The sun on the horizon is blistering bright, forcing you to look away. And here in what looks like the downtown area of this little village, the air isn't fresh and clean, just a confusion of smells that remind you of your empty stomach. And at the center of it all is your frustrated, despondent, angry helplessness. How is this fair? How am I supposed to believe that Po is good and fair and just when he lets me suffer like this? I would have been better off jumping into the volcano and letting Pele decide my fate. The thoughts swirl through your mind. Mama, why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you protect me? I was your firstborn! Didn't you love me? I always knew Papa hated me, he clearly loved Armida more than me, but you were my shield, whenever he favored her over me, you were there to restore the balance... Why did you abandon me? Your tightly clenched fists tremble, and tears of rage fill your eyes. Damn you, Papa! I hope Armida gets taken too! I hope she has all her teeth taken out and gets her ankles cut, and I hope you're there to see it, you traitorous dog! See your golden child have her future stolen too, be humiliated and debased like I have been! I hope the whole of the village shames you into exile for being such a terrible father, and the image of Armida the helpless baby haunting you every minute until you draw your last lonely, miserable breath! DAMN you! The hate surges through you, and it feels good. It feels like being alive again. Like that little window of time you had, standing over Miranda's body, naked and covered in her blood, before the police came and took you off to prison. You hate Papa with every fiber of your being. What you did to that Amazon bitch, you'd do to him if you ever got the opportunity. In fact, you lust after that thought. Just one chance. After this miserable Observation is done, maybe you'll get that chance. Once you convince these giant monsters that you're no danger to them, you can be free again, free to return to the island and give Papa what he deserves for his treachery. And Mama too, for being such a coward, for not protecting you when you needed it most. You promise yourself in this moment to hang on to that thought, no matter what happens. One day, you'll see justice done to both of them for this, even if you have to get that justice yourself. If the police want to kill you after that, so be it. You'll see that day first, you swear. But first back to the present. Artis is still driving, and he's looking at you like he said something. Wait, he expects you to act like a child, else there'll be more misery at the restaurant. You try and muster up that cutesy voice you had at the grocery store. "What Daddy?" you ask. "I said that was an awfully grumpy little face you had on, Rosie! What's wrong?" You stuff the pacifier in your mouth. "Nuffin' Daddy!" "Are you sure? You seemed awfully upset after I told you about the Middles at the grocery." "It made me sad that there are lots of big people that can't take care of themselves and need to be babied." You're choosing your words carefully here, trying to at least perpetrate whatever mindset you had before the grocery store trip. "Why didn't that lady just adopt one of them instead of me?" "Supply and demand, Rosie. There are more Amazons who want Littles than the penal system can possibly supply, because most Amazons obey the law. Also, some people just want wild Littles, because they're nervous about adopting former criminals, even though they are put through rigorous etiquette training and whatever modifications deemed necessary for them to be safe to adopt. Of course, as widely publicized as your situation was, the demand for wild Littles will probably slack off for a while." Lot of good that does me. You suck on the pacifier a little bit. You know you have to get out of this mindset before you get to the restaurant. Simple thoughts. Simple feelings, you remind yourself. "Well I'm glad you're my Daddy now! You're much nicer that that mean lady." Maybe a complement will satisfy him enough to let you alone. "I'm glad you're my little girl now too." Something about his voice sounded off when he said that, but the medication is kicking in now, and it's hard to hold on to complicated thoughts. You let it drop from your mouth and stare out the window, watching all the blobs fly by. True to his word, Artis let you pick out your dinner from a children's menu at the restaurant. The waitress finds you adorable, and Artis weaves a little side-story to her about how your Em Oh Em Em Why passing away delayed your emotional development, which only increases her affection toward you. You play it up effortlessly, enjoying all the attention you're getting for acting like a silly toddler, making cute noises and playing with your food. After Artis pays the tab and you wave exaggerated bye-byes to the waitress, who kisses your cheek in return and tells you once more how adorable you are, he carries you back to the car and buckles you in. He gets in as well, and once the door is closed, he speaks up. "You were very, very good in there, Rosie. I'm proud of you!" "Fank you, Daddy!" You're in full character momentum now, no need to stop. "See how easy it is to make them believe that you're an Amazon girl, not a Little?" "Wosie a Am-ee-zon girl, Daddy!" He chuckles. "Of course you are, silly goose! And when we get home, a certain Am-ee-zon girl needs a bath and her jammies on, doesn't she?" "Aw but I don' wanna go night-night, Daddy!" "I didn't say you had to go night-night right away, silly. If you're a good girl for Daddy, once we get your jammies on, we can watch a movie, before sleepy-time, okay?" "Yay!" You thoughtlessly pee in your diaper and feel it swell ever so slightly. You barely noticed that you had to go before it started, but between the lingering anxiety medication and the warm glow of being doted on all throughout dinner, the thought hardly stays with you but a few seconds. It'll be a month before I can do anything about it anyway, why should I care now? It's "Daddy's" problem, right? When you get home, Artis draws you a luxuriously hot bath with sweet-smelling bath bubbles. He dons a much longer pair of latex gloves than the ones he uses for diaper changes, then takes off your clothes and settles you into the tub. It's so soothing, so relaxing, you can feel your arms and legs just turning to jelly in the heat. Artis reaches for a loofa and some soap, and you quickly realize why the long gloves as he begins to wash you, dipping his hand into the water halfway up his forearm, but stopping short of the edge of the glove. "We'll have to see about getting some bath toys tomorrow, maybe some other things for little Rosie to play with too! How's that sound?" "Mhmm." You're so relaxed, you can't even bother putting on a facade of caring. He probably could tell you he's taking you anywhere short of back to prison and it wouldn't blip on your radar right now. Once Artis is content with your current state of cleanliness and the water has just started to cool, he lifts you out gently and wraps you in a soft, fluffy towel. He carries you into the bedroom, lays you on an open diaper on the bed, then proceeds to rub lotion into your arms and legs and chest. The whole experience is heavenly, and by the time he's done your limbs feel like they're made of lead. Gods, if she had treated me like this, I could have been perfectly happy being her baby the rest of my life. "Fank you Daddy." The fake lisp aside, it's a genuine sentiment. He tapes your diaper up and slips a nightie on you. "You're welcome, Rosie. Feel good?" "Uh huh." "Good, let's go watch that movie." You don't last five minutes in his lap before sleep claims you.
  7. Hey everyone. This is meant to be a very quick start to an idea I had. I'm currently on my phone so like I said, its short. I've been wanting to do something Fallout related for some time, as I was a fan of another story in that universe. This is intended to be a long story. An epic if you will. There's going to be violence and dark subject matter. If that's ok, then I hope you enjoy. I intend to release what I can when I can in an almost episodic manner.
  8. So I got this idea today while reading one of @BabySofia stories and couldn't get it out of my head. Here's the first chapter and I didn't take much time to edit it, so I apologize in advance for any errors. I'm not sure when I'll finish this because I'd kinda like to lay "The Portal in the Basement" to rest before jumping head into something new. Anyways, without further ado, here's what I did instead of studying for my Thermodynamics final exam! The Age of the Amazons By: Little Tomás Chapter 1 “Please state your name and position for the record” “Dr. Ava Armstead, Director of Recourse Allocation at the National Institute for Scientific Progress,” I said calmly. “Dr. Armstead, this hearing is on the record and I’m required to inform you that if you lie while testifying here today you will be charged with perjury, which is a felony. You do have the right to remain silent. I would also like to remind you that this is a legislative body, not a judicial one, but we will turn over everything we find today to the Attorney General’s office. Regardless, you do have the right to have an attorney present and if you cannot afford one the state will provide one. Each member of the committee will have 20 minutes to question you and time will be kept by myself. Order shall be determined by seniority. Do you have any further questions about these proceedings before we begin?” “No, I understand my rights and Mr. Alvi and Ms. Kahn, seated to my left and right, are my legal counsel.” “Very well then. The chair recognizes the senior member of this honerable committee. Senator Anthony, you have 20 minutes.” “I thank the chair. My first question for you is when was it first brought to your attention that there was a fertility disorder in our genome?” Senator Anthony’s green eyes were stone cold as he stared down from his seat at Dr. Armstead who was sitting at a small table, her lawyers seated on each side like bodyguards facing an army in the middle of the arc of 12 senators who composed the Sadayas Senate Oversight Committee. There was the faint, but ever present click of the reporters’ cameras, and the low electric hum of the TV cameras and audio recorders: the hunting call of a pack of wolves. There were few spectators in the packed chamber due to the overwhelming number of reports. There was even a tiny camera in the gallery of room being operated by little from the BBC. This was interdimensional news now. Fuck this being a legislative proceeding. This was a court of public opinion. There was going to be no due process. The people wanted to blame someone and the President had more or less managed to side-step the whole crisis leveraging populist policies and the “mob mentality” of their supporters to become the leader of the witch hunt, instead of the first one on the gallows. Who to blame? That was simple. The same people they’d been blaming since they first set foot on the campaign trail: the corrupt politicians, technocrats, bureaucracy, scientists, academics, etc. Truth was the President also had their own special interests, everyone in politics does (heavens knows the salaries on paper aren’t why anyone runs for office), just different ones than most politicians. The President had started a fucking war because of what they’d made me do, but what choice did I have? The President had the power to ruin my life if I didn’t keep my head down and mouth shut. All those nice weekends on the tropical beaches of their private islands as well as the checks each month to my musician brother in addition to introductions to all the heavy-hitters in the industry were not signs of friendship, but payment for doing their dirty work. “It’s just money, this is what the people want,” they’d say. I knew it was bullshit, but hey, the money was nice and the sex was fantastic. Yeah, I was that ladder-climbing hore, but you can’t get ahead in a male-dominated industry in this conservative country any other way. And emigration is strictly limited to the filthy rich, so that wasn’t an option. I did what I had to do and my brother is now a fucking billionaire because of it. I’m also rich, but I won’t be by the close of business. I know I won’t be the only head to roll, but I’ll be the first. The President and their inner circle set a nuclear time bomb on this ship and rode away on a fucking helicopter. Leaving behind me, and everyone else in their administration, to die. But hey, they got what they wanted and so did I. I wanted to be the top scientist in the world and I was. Regardless of what was about to happen, I’d make the same decision a thousand times over because I had something that no one else—not even my lawyers—knew about. The metaphorical anti-aircraft gun. Yeah, I was going to die in the nuclear bomb on this ship I’d been abandoned on, but not before I shot down the President and their inner circle from their fucking helicopter. “Over 30 years ago. I was working as a research assistant at the University of Sadayas City and was a doctoral candidate in Organic Chemistry,” I said calmly. Remember: look them in the eye, show no weakness, answer succinctly and directly. Never give them any reason to think you’re telling them anything, but the whole truth. Never consult your lawyers in the chamber and answer every question yourself. Breathe easy. “And what did you do with that information?” “I published it in the National Journal of Organic Chemistry. It was the cover story in the Winter ’85 edition, DOI: 10.1021 if you care to read it.” “I’ll pass on reading it Dr. Armstead, science has never been my subject of choice. I’ll trust the editors that your research was solid, correct?” “Let me tell you something about the scientific community of this country. A woman’s work doesn’t get published if it’s solid, it only gets published if it’s pristine, groundbreaking, and worth winning a Nobel Prize. So yes, my research was solid and indisputable.” “Did it ever cross you mind to make this research known more widely? Say tell the media or give public presentations on it? You know, explaining things in a way that people can, actually understand?” His condescending tone-of-voice was aggravating and I wanted nothing more than to cut out his slimy tong, but I kept my cool. “I did. I had about two-dozen Newspaper, TV, and radio interviews in the first month after the research had been published and I presented my findings at the National Organic Chemistry Convention in January of ’86. So yes, I did share my research widely. What I found was no secret and was made know widely.” “Did you ever even once, think that finding a solution to this problem might be a good idea? I mean it seems like common sense that a talented scientist like you would want nothing more than to solve the problem you discovered.” “It did cross my mind, but my dissertation was on changes in DNA structures in response to electrical signals from nano transmitters bonded to enzymes, and upon graduation I was hired by the Biotech firm Preminta. I knew that solving that problem would be something to investigate, but opportunity took me in a different direction and all my research was public information, so anyone who wanted to solve this problem and pick up where I left off had every resource they needed to do so.” “You have 5 minutes remaining in your time Senator Anthony.” “I thank the chair for that reminder. I guess it’s time I cut right to the chase then and ask you the one question that we all want to know. As Director of Recourse Allocation at the National Institute for Scientific Progress did you refuse to fund projects related to solving the birthrate problem?” “Yes, I did. I rejected every single one of those applications that ever landed on my desk, but not very many of them ever made it to my desk because they were rejected by people working bellow me.” “So, you’re admitting, under oath, to signing the extinction warrant of our species? Why, what kind of evil person would do such a thing?” “Me, I am the evil person who did such a thing. I was under orders from the President to keep littles moving into Sadayas at all costs. A solution to the birthrate would mean the end of the trillion-dollar little industry, an industry that the President was heavily invested in. They paid me and everyone at the National Institute for Scientific Progress fat fees for doing so. I was given monetary and non-monetary benefits for doing so. All the proof of this has been entered into evidence.” “So, you are admitting to these crimes? You know that these crimes could land you in prison for the rest of your life?” “I know that, but I’m not the real bad guy here. All the opposition party members here are after the President, and you’re after the prime minister because you what his job. I’m just a pawn in your game, but let me tell you something you don’t know. Right about now a bullet is going to go through the President’s head. They’ll be shot by a little from a special force strike team that’s been laying low in our dimension for roughly three months. As I’m telling you this every major tech company, top secret military weapons lab, and the National Institute for Scientific Progress is being raided in a joint operation of special force strike teams from various nations in the other dimension. Within a minute we should also be hearing that the Prime Minister was assassinated, so I’d like to congratulate you, Senator Anthony, on the promotion. I suggest we break for an extended recess right about now because I can see your staff members are running in to report the news to the committee members and the reporters are also hearing reports. But, one last thing before well I still have everyone’s attention: If I could go back in time and do it all over again, I’d make the same set of decisions a thousand times. I yield my time to the committee and thank them for their cooperation.” The room erupted into chaos with media members giving live reports and inadvertently blocking the exits. The senators rushed to get out of the room to anywhere where they could talk on the phone in peace. I had no problem exiting the room with 8 security guards escorting me. Ah, the perks of being one of the most hated people in the nation. I’d created this shitstorm and was loving every moment of it. The protesters outside were infuriated at the news of the President’s assassination and a lovely riot was about to break out. I was going to be escorted to an armored SUV, but passed up the opportunity and forced my security team to drive me back home in my own car. The federal vehicles were so nice they were uncomfortable. The back seats were like sitting on an antique couch: looks nice, but makes your back hurt like a bitch for two hours after you sit up. After I’d piled into my car with 6 security guards, we drove away protesters screaming, waiving signs, and beginning to throw rocks. After I’d made it away from the capital building, I requested that we stop at a café so I could get a cup of coffee. My security detail groaned silently, but they work for me, so if I want to get a cup of nice coffee, it’s their job to secure the perimeter. Three of them stayed with the car parked outside and the other three followed me into the café. I have to admit, I was kinda sad about what was about to happen. My security detail had been good sports and put up with my shit—like insisting I get an espresso and a croissant myself from a café every morning and eat my breakfast at an outdoor table at that same café—but this was about my future. People were gonna die so that I could survive, but that’s the way the universe works. I sat down at a table outside with my espresso and croissant taking in the nice weather. I was gonna miss this place, but they said the weather in a place called San Diego is even better. Still what you know is always better. I checked my watch, downed my espresso, and then “accidentally” dropped the ceramic espresso cup on the cobblestone street as it shattered. That’s all it took. One glance down from one of my bodyguards and then an armored SUV came flying down the street and 4 gunshots rang out simultaneously. The 3 guards who were at my car dropped dead on the spot as did the one who’d looked down. I was then thrown to the ground behind a table by two remaining bodyguard had flipped over as they returned fire. “We’re outnumbered, give me a gun!” I shouted. One of them passed be their sidearm and I immediately put a bullet through each of my remaining two bodyguard’s heads. “Get your ass in the car!” One of the littles inside the SUV shouted at me. I ran over to my car, grabbing my go-bag, my sidearm, and an assault rifle from my trunk before hopping into the SUV as the driver floored it to get away from the café where the patrons were trying to make sense of what had just happened. “Hello Captain,” I said as I buckled my seatbelt, “I guess you can fit 2 whole squads of folks your size into one of our cars.” “Quit the ‘small’ talk before I put a bullet in you. You’re only alive right now because we need you in our dimension to train our scientists. Also, well done at that hearing this morning. Your big mouth was truly a revelation. You did a great job making a lot of people in our world hate you, so congrats: you’re headed to a place where 7 billion of us want to kill you.” “Captain Octavia, you may want to watch your mouth before I diaper you and make you my little.” “Soldiers, load your guns, take your positions and prepare for forced portal entry,” Captain Octavia such a strong voice that I was even a little scared. “Yes Captain!” The 20 little soldiers shouted in unison. “Soldiers, what do we fight for?” “For the dignity and respect of our species Captain!” “And where are we headed soldiers! Where are we going?” Captain Octavia yelled in an even louder voice. “To glory or the grave Captain! We fight together and die together!” I was impressed by their antics and I have to admit that for the first time in my life, I took a group of littles seriously. These littles were prepared to die together and incredibly well-disciplined. Discipline that would have made any big want that in their little. Only problem was they were loyal to the wrong cause, but that was a small matter. This was about their survival and my survival, so for the time being our interests aligned. My brother Brian was driving the car and I was surprised he agreed to this. Unlike me he had a future in this dimension. Even if Sadayas fell to the littles he had the money and global popularity to move to a different country. Yet he was here. Risking his life to protect me and help these littles. I knew I deserved to rot in a jail cell for the rest of my life, but something about the prospect of freedom was so tantalizing. I guess my brother owed me a favor after I set up his life for success, but he probably just loved me more than I loved him. However, I was ok exploiting this relationship because he made that choice, so I’m gonna take that and run with it. “Ava, load your fucking assault rifle and make yourself useful. You’re covering the left side with Peirce, Franklin, and Leo. Take out anyone who has an angle on Brian. Your job is to protect your brother. If he goes down, we need you to drive. You’re the only other person here who can drive this car.” Captain Octavia said. Caught up in the moment and still with some fear of these littles in my gut from their shouting moments before I responded with a strong, “Yes Captain!” “Good to know you’re on my side, now protect your friend Ava. We either all make it out alive, or none of us do.” Captain Octavia said. As I loaded my gun and took my position with the muzzle of my rifle poking out through the opening at the top of the partly rolled down bullet-proof window, the heavily guarded portal entrance became visible in the distance. The portal itself was already secured by little soldiers, but there were five squads of Sadayas soldiers fighting to take back the portal and standing between us and safety. As Captain Octavia looked through her binoculars and saw what I could already see I heard her say under her breath, “To glory or the grave.”
  9. I've just been informed that my story "Wrong is Wrong" is being searched for, or was being searched for a while back. It was part of the diaper dimension, but I quit the project about 5 years ago. I've recently gotten the bug again and have planned to start it again. I believe I have it on my external hard drive and will upload it if I find it.
  10. Preamble My name now is Samantha Smith; could you think of a less inspired name to give someone living in the suburbs? I mean seriously, what were they thinking? It was not the name I was born with, but it was the name I was given when I came to this country in 1996. Prior to that I was Biserka Kasun. Now, I am Sam. I don’t like to remember my life prior to living here, it makes me sad; and I remember bad things. I choose not to remember as often as I can, but sometimes the memories are like water in a cup, they runneth over and I can’t help but remember, and that makes me sad. My Mum is very good at helping me with my memories, we have all sorts of techniques to drive them and the ghosts they summon away. We use a method called memory substitution, which means that when I begin to remember the bad times, I actively steer my brain into remembering something else. My doctor says that it is like driving a car; and swerving to avoid a hazard in the road. It works okay, but sometimes I can’t, and I remember. Maybe someday, I will be able to remember with out being sad, but now it is easier to avoid it. What I am about to write today is as much for me as it is for you, I am going to tell you about myself as much as I feel comfortable doing. Hopefully it will tell you about what I am able to do, and what I am able to overcome. I came to this country in 1996, I was a broken creature, I didn’t speak English, and I was scared. I was adopted by my Mum, Doreen Smith. She moved Heaven and earth to bring me here, and although I was not grateful then, I am more than grateful now. I was adopted out of a Red Cross orphanage when I was 14 years old. It was 1996 and the war had just ended. It was awful, my world as I had known it was shattered. I woke up in hospital, I didn’t know what happened to my family, I didn’t know where my village was, I didn’t know where I was. All I did know is that I was lost, and I was alone. Chapter 1 I awoke to babble, complete and total nonsensical babble, later I was to learn this babble, but for now it was babble. There were people walking around, people shouting, people crying, it looked like utter chaos. After what seemed like an eternity, a woman walked up to my bed and spoke to me in a language I understood. “Како се осећаш?" How are you feeling? In fairness I hadn’t been giving that any attention, now that I thought about it, I hurt. It was an everything all-over hurt. The kind you get when you combine years of living rough, not enough food, and an explosion. There was kindness in her eyes, but I had seen kind eyes turn to razors before, I did not trust her. “Добро...” Okay… (For ease of writing I am now going to switch over entirely to English) She appeared surprised by my calm answer, she pressed on. “Do you hurt anywhere? You very hurt when you were brought in to us, we had to fight to keep you alive.” “What…what happened?” “There was an explosion, you were caught in the blast and you must’ve hit your head, you have been in and out of consciousness for a week, we had to do emergency surgery when you were brought in, you had severe internal injuries, and have several broken bones.” I remember the explosion, or rather I remember the moment of the explosion, we were celebrating a victory. “Where am I?” She was speaking, but not like a native, like someone who learned how to speak, as an adult, her phrasing was clumsy, although her words were correct, they were wrong at the same time. “You are at the Red Cross hospital in Sarajevo” Sarajevo!? This was the land of the enemy, of the hated Bosnian. I guess I was starting to look agitated, because the woman was telling me to calm down. I decided to obey, I needed to plan my escape back, to continue the fight. I needed to heal, and make good my escape, playing a docile patient seemed like a good way. “Okay” I said as meek as you please, “I’ll calm down”. “Good, now I have some questions for you, if you feel up to it.” I didn’t, but playing along would help me build trust. “Okay” She started out simple, name (I lied), place of birth (I lied) age… “I am 13” “Your family?” “They are all gone” “Oh… everyone?” “Yes” I turned on the waterworks a bit here to sink the point home. She stopped her questioning at my tears, and looked at me. I looked back, she was looking at me like she knew something, something about me. We held this standoff until she finally broke the stillness. “We are well aware of who you are Biserka, we know where you came from, and we know what you have done.” It was at this point I realised that I must have hit my head harder than I thought, because we were not speaking Serbian my native tounge, we were speaking Bosnian. I must have had a stunned look on my bruised face, I mean I followed the steps I was trained to follow, I told them the lies I recited, I followed my training exactly! It was not enough. I moved my right arm, and noticed that I was attached to the bed, I was in handcuffs, the game was over. My name is Biserka Kasun, I am 13 years old and I am a war criminal. Prior to this, I was a successful soldier, my doe eyes, small figure, and skills with language made me a skilled infiltrator. I spoke Bosnian, I spoke Croation, and of course I spoke Serbian. I would walk around, and look at stuff. Sometime I would leave them a grenade. It depended on the day. That was when I was a child. Now that I am older, I am given more responsibility. I was given training on how to shoot, and shoot I did. But not the UN men at first, first it was just the dirty Bosnians. They were not people, they were less. I had been taught this, and I was a very good student. So, I shoot. Men mostly, sometimes women, sometimes children. It doesn’t matter, what does matter is that I am doing a good job, and that my Papa is proud of me. Then it all changed. The UN men were advancing, the Bosians were advancing, we Serbs, we proud Serbs were retreating. We made them pay for the ground with blood. They payed us back, with mortars. Sometime during our long retreat I became famous, my name was known and spoken of with equal parts fear and disgust. I was able to stay, stay behind and hold ground to cover the retreat of my Papa and his men. I fired upon the column of UN men. Their blue hats sure are easy to spot. Some of them fall by my hand. Then warmth a warmth blossomed in front of me and blackness surrounds. I awoke to babble. Chapter Two After a positive identity had been made of me, things started to move rather quickly. I was going to be in recovery for some time. The extent of my internal damage was not yet totally known. They knew that they had stopped the haemorrhaging, but they were unsure of any long-term prognosis. What was known for certain, is that I was going to remain in custody. I was wanted by the Hague, and they are not an organization that hold or releases people on a whim. It takes some serious doing to get any traction with them. So, that is that. I am in custody, and I am still recovering. The Red Cross doctors and nurses, will have my undying gratitude. Yes, I was a war criminal, but to their credit, I was like any of the scores of wounded people around me. Just a person needing care. I am not going to bore you with the details of my care under the Red Cross. Suffice to say, that they took care of me and helped me heal. What I will talk about is what happened after I was discharged from hospital and taken for questioning. Once again the U.N. forces are to be commended on my treatment, I was not abused, even though as a de-facto terrorist, I had no legitimate legal standing under the Geneva convention. I was well treated, my ongoing medical needs were met promptly, I had access to facilities to bathe, I had (for the first time in many, many years) a bed. It was like Heaven. I am not trying to make it sound like it was all sunshine and rainbows, I was still a detainee after all. I was handcuffed for transports, I was supervised at all times, but it was a very comfy detainment. During this time, I was healing, I was being (as I would later learn) deprogrammed from the doctrine of hate. Hate that had been drilled into me by my Father and all his cronies. I learned that I was the monster, I was the subhuman, not because of my race or my religion, but because of my actions. It was a terrifying conclusion to reach about myself. It was the true beginning of my mental healing. Several months after being wounded, I am left with several grim reminders of the war and the explosion that ended my war. I have some scarring on my ribs from shrapnel, a milky weal of a burn on my upper arm, some lash marks between my shoulder blades (my Father gave me those), and a bullet scar under my right collar bone (I don’t know where that came from, but it is there). Not to mention the scars from the surgeries -which are extensive- but not as fun to talk about. The only lingering side-effects from being blown up are all minor, all save one. I have post concussion disorder, means I get wicked bad headaches from time to time. They can be triggered by bright lights, or sustained high Hz noises. I have some minor nerve damage which causes me to have a pronounced limp. The big one, the one that is not at all a gentle minor reminder of my dance with an exothermic reaction is that I am incontinent. For those of you who are not aware of that incontinence is let me explain. Incontinence is the inability of one to control the flow of urine or faeces. Put in the crudest terms I can think of: I piss and shit myself on the regular. It sucks. I mean, I am not missing a limb (which is more debilitating in my mind), but needing to wear diapers again carries with it a stigma, a shame. I am unable to feel myself urinating, it just happens. The only hint I get that I have peed is I feel the blossoming of warmth in my diaper. Messing is a bit different, I can’t control it, but I at least know that it is coming. It is unpleasant, but it is a reality that I have learned to cope with. But back to the story: I was a detainee, it sucked learning about my conditions, and the limitations that they imposed on me, but I was alive. I was questioned, frequently, over and over, again and again. One day the interviewer said something that will forever stick in my mind. “What are you doing still playing defence for your Father, if he truly cared about you and your well-being, he would never had subjected you to such rigorous indoctrination. Your Father is a monster, he took his daughter, and created a weapon in her place.” Maybe I was worn down after all the interviews, maybe I was being manipulated yet again, what ever it was his statement struck a chord in me. He was right, after all of the deprogramming, I had to come to grips with the fact that I was alone, and I was a prisoner. He had left me there, left me there to hold the line so he could make good his escape. It was at that moment I decided to tell all. No more stonewalling, no more deflecting, no more bullshit. I told. The results from my tell-all were revolutionary to the interviewer. I told them everything, from tactics (which they knew anyway), to weapons caches, to what I new of future plans. Suffice to say it was earth shattering for the intelligence people to have such knowledge come from a broken damaged little girl. When the time for my tribunal was upon me, I was nervous. Here I am, a 13 year-old girl in diapers, on trial for war crimes. My defence counsel was on my side the whole way, I cooperated with authorities, and the information I had given up led to seizures, arrests and a reduction in harm to all concerned parties. A deal was struck, and I was released. Now released is a bit of a misnomer in this case, I was still a minor, what to do with me? There was talk of repatriation, but that was swiftly shut down. I had informed. If my Father or any of his ilk were to gain knowledge of my whereabouts, I was dead. It was decided that I would be adopted out to a Western family. That was a hard sell, I am damaged goods, plus I wanted to stay. My opinion was to let me go and be done with me, but as a minor my words on my future were given very little weight. Then my rescuer appeared, she was a Red Cross nurse who had worked in the refugee camps. She spoke my language, and she spoke English. A story was concocted that I was an orphan from said camps, and the she took pity on me and decided to take me home with her. Blah blah, emotional tripe. Summed up, she adopted me and brought me with her back to Canada. A country I had no heard of before, to a town I had not heard of, speaking a language I did not know. At the time I hated her, I wanted to go home. Many years later, I now feel gratitude and appreciation for what she did. Chapter 3 I arrived in what was to be my new country feeling a feeling that I had long thought lost to me; fear. I was not alone, my new mother Doreen was with me. In the orphanage, I had turned 14. Although I was now a teenager good and proper, I felt like a scared little girl. The flight was my first experience on a plane, my first airport, my first time going anywhere outside of my country (at least while conscious). I had been practicing my English, and although I was not fluent, I was able to make my needs known. Thankfully Doreen spoke Serbian, and we mainly conversed in my mother tongue. Deplaning, we made our way out into the concourse, while walking Doreen asked me in English. “How are you doing?” I, misunderstanding her question answered in a flurry of Serbian. “How should I be doing?? I have been taken from my home into a country that is not my own, with a person who is no kin to me, authored by an organization that I do not trust? Really you dare ask me that!?” Her eyes got sad, and she answered in English. “That is not what I was talking about.” Switching to Serbian “I was trying to be discreet, but how is your diaper? Do you need to change?” I am sure I blushed a million shades of red at that point. Truth be known, I was not sure how my diaper was, being unaware of when I go does not make me a good arbiter of the state of my diapers. I gave my crotch a cup, in a very unladylike fashion I must say. “I am pretty wet, I think. I should change.” The method I used to check my diaper was not at all subtle and had people been looking at me I am sure would have caused a scene. But Doreen to her credit did not chide me for my obvious diaper check, she just nodded and led me by the hand to the lady’s washroom. “Do you need a hand, or do you think you can manage it on your own?” The words slipped from her mouth, and I am very glad that they were not said in English, all the same I am sure I blushed beetroot. “I can manage it, I think.” I walked into the open stall and closed the door behind me. Lowering my pants, I assessed the extent of the damage. My diaper was swollen, and after unsnapping the onesie I wore, it sagged pretty much down to my knees. I looked at my diaper, and I was saddened that this had become my life. But, this was no time to reflect on my situation, I got down to the business of changing. There are certain noises that wearing and changing a diaper makes, rustling, etc. The worst sound, the sound that announces to the entire world what I am doing is the sound of tapes being removed, and replaced. Any women who has changed a diaper can recognize that sound from a mile off. I removed my sodden diaper, grateful that it was only wet. That will change soon enough I guess, but as it is a public change, I am just glad that I didn’t stink. Having done that I wiped myself down, and got my new underwear ready to go. A few well-placed Serbian curses later, I was changed, and feeling dry. I balled up the old diaper, and replaced my pants. Exiting the stall, I saw a woman about the same age as Doreen give me a funny look. I just looked back at her, hard. It is none of her business what I was doing, and she should not concern herself with it. It is an attitude I cultivated in the orphanage, and it is the attitude I practice to this day. Yes, I was changing my diaper, and no I am not ashamed by that. It keeps me as positive as I can be about the whole situation. Leaving the bathroom, I spot Doreen and I rejoin her, we make our way out of the terminal, and get into a taxi. Soon we are on our way to Doreen’s (and now my) house. Arriving at a rural road crossing we get out of the cab at Doreen’s suggestion to walk the rest of the way. I acquiesce, after all this sitting it will be nice to stretch my legs.
  11. Warning: This story contains blood, gore, death, violence, and Witches. I am not going to put a trigger warning for every bit of violence in the story, but I'll still give out trigger warnings for really heinous things. This whole story has a violence/blood/gore trigger warning. It's not my usual sweet, kind, loving, romantic fare. It's a dystopia. Chapter One The moon hung full and bloated above the city skyline. It was late August and the silvery light was washed out in the thick haze and noise and steady burn of the citylights, but Rachel didn't need blackness or moonlight to finish her job. She was a consummate professional in that regard - get in, get it done, get out without a trace. She was a mystery, the boogeyman for monsters, and in her world the best way to banish monsters was to be a worse one. There. Finally, movement in the window. Rachel shifted slightly, one eye pressed to her scope and chewed her lower lip in quiet contemplation. Sarah Trippoli had a schedule, a routine - stupid for a mob boss, but Sarah had grown decadent and lazy in her old age - one that Rachel had full intentions of taking advantage of. She'd drop her keys in the bowl by the door, kick off the Manolo Blahniks, shimmy out of her bra, and let her hair down. Literally. Her white hair would cascade over her shoulders, she'd breathe a visible sigh of relief, and the White Witch of Winchester would cross her penthouse to turn on her gas fireplace, flip on some jazz, and pour herself the first glass of sherry before ordering her nightly meal. Rachel tensed all her muscles and then released them in order as Sarah moved through her routine. She slowed her heartbeat, relaxed as deeply as she could, and blinked slowly through her scope. When her finger squeezed the trigger it was as it always was - Rachel wasn't Rachel anymore, she was the infamous Witchhunter, and her job was nearly done. When Sarah toppled, Rachel should have been up and out - breaking down her rifle and escaping. Strip off the mottled black clothing, stuff it into the garbage bag with her hat and shoes, ready to dump in the donation bin at the end of the alley. Beneath, she had a much more unassuming outfit, something a human who wasn’t part of the Resistance would wear - a slinky silver shirt and a red skirt that was currently rolled up around her waist above the skintight black pants like a belt. She'd drop it, slip on the sandals she had laying beside her on the tarpaper roof, and shake out her own red hair. She'd stash her gun at the drop point and vanish into the crowd. She’d walk casually, blending in with all the others who lived under the thumb of the Witches. Like any other job. Like every other job. Except she hesitated for a bare second longer than normal, her eye pressed to the scope. The Witch dropped. Fine. Dandy. Normal. But then a flash, a light turning on. Two windows over. Sarah had the penthouse and she lived alone. Oh shit, is there someone there?! A maid? Fuck! Witches broke apart about two hours after death. All that was ever left was ash and grease. Rachel was always extremely careful about timing her jobs so that the Witch in question was alone and would be for the rest of the night. Otherwise everyone and their Familiar would be scrambling over the body, trying to figure out what was going on, who did it, etc. Messy, in other words. "Fuck," Rachel breathed, holding a hand to her forehead as she watched. Oh god, I fucked up bad. Bad-bad-super-bad. Faye was confused by the sound in the other room - it was a bang and a thump. Something in the back of her mind, what was left of her mind, told her that it was a bad sound, a scary sound, that she should run... but the thought was fuzzy and distant. The red glow that held her leash to the wall had disappeared, letting the thin chain drop to the ground the same way it did when she was released. She waddled over to the door, the crinkle of every step destroying the silence of the empty room as she pushed the switch up the same way the white-haired woman did. The lights came on with the same magic they always did, filling the room with the brightness of daylight even though the sun had long set. Faye remembered the sun vaguely, that it made her skin feel warm just by being in its light, not the same as the magic light of this place. Her leash made a soft scratching sound as it dragged on the floor, the rings on her cuffs tinkling as she pushed the door open. "Owner?" she called softly. "Mommy?" She wasn't sure which word she was supposed to use here, the rules were all so confusing. There was a draft in the room, a chill, and the hairs on her arms stood up as her nipples grew pointy and hard. It was uncomfortable but she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do about it. The woman whose face occupied nearly every memory she had lay lifeless on the ground, blood seeping from a hole in her forehead. That wasn't supposed to be there, she was sure of it. Faye felt her bladder release into the waiting padding taped around her. Her Owner liked that, praised her for it. Faye hoped that it would help her get up. The Whisper thrilled at her lack of control and she felt a wave of pleasure rush through her body as the diaper grew warm around her. She walked as best she could to her Mommy, falling to her knees beside her, nudging her gently. This woman, her Owner, her Mommy, was her entire life. Every moment was either spent in the box, or the cage, or the dark room... except when she was with her Owner. Learning. Feeling. "I exist only to serve you," she said quietly, gently shaking her Owner. "How may I serve you?" Why was she asleep now? She stuck to her allowed words, she had learned quickly that her Owner did not appreciate deviation. As she watched the blood creep across the floor, licking at her knees, she felt some of the woman's magic let go... the muddled and murky memory of meeting her Owner for the first time came to her. She had been a servant of some kind, offering food... she had been wearing clothes then, so it was different than now, but she had apparently always been a servant. How she had come home with her Owner, though she couldn't remember why, she just remembered that she had always been unable to refuse the woman. She remembered the knife cutting away her clothes. Remembered her own blood being spilled as the magic took hold and hollowed out a place inside her soul, a place where the Whisper now lived, a part of her. Nothing existed before serving Mommy that night, and the memories that followed were a mix of intense, mind-bending pleasure and terrifying, agonizing pain. Pleasure when she pleased her Mommy, pain when she angered her Owner. She knew she was stupid, her Owner had told her that so many times. But she knew that she was sweet, her Mommy had told her that just as many. The Whisper loved both the pleasure and the pain. Even in the agony, she felt its joy... but nothing made it - and thus her - feel as good as serving, following her Owner's wishes, being her Owner's toy. "Owner," she whispered to the rapidly cooling corpse, not understanding why she didn't respond the way she always did, "I want to please you. How may I please you?" Rachel looked around the scope, just to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her before looking through it again, watching the small blonde girl. She moved tentatively, timidly, but she walked straight for the White Witch’s corpse. It didn’t make sense. Sarah had never had a familiar. Not in seventy years of torturing and killing, of kidnapping and abusing. But there she was, sure enough. A tiny blonde thing, wearing a collar and leash, cuffs, a diaper and nothing else. Brand new, or she wouldn't need the leash. How did I fuck up this job so bad, she moaned inwardly. Of course, it wasn't entirely her fault - the Winchester Witch-bitch had been vocally disdainful of Familiars for decades. Any Witch who needed a Familiar was a lesser Witch - Sarah's opinion had been well known. This, of course, ignored the fact that many Witches kidnapped or purchased Familiars for reasons other than power, but so far as the vicious mob boss had been concerned, power was the end-all, be-all. Problem was... Familiars were helpless. Most of the time they were enslaved humans magically turned Little - it made them easier to control and abuse and hollow out. Others were natural born Littles - nobody was sure when Littles had first started appearing in the human population - they were mostly human, just smaller, more naturally docile. They had big eyes and big hearts and they rarely grew above four feet. A Little being born to a family was a bittersweet event - they almost never remained free through adulthood… more often than not they were sold to the Witches by the family. It could be seen as a blessing. Though Rachel didn’t see it that way. On very rare occasion, Rachel had seen a Familiar from the Other Place - the incubi, the succubi, the cherubs and ishim - but they were expensive and difficult to control, few Witches could deal with it. They were powerful, sure - Rachel had a scar on her left leg from a fight with a succubus - but challenging for any but the most experienced of Mages. If the Familiar Rachel spied through her scope had been one of those she could've happily packed up and left, not giving the Familiar a second thought. A powerful Familiar would eventually figure out a way out of its own bondage without a Witch constantly checking in and keeping them in line. A Little, however... Groaning, Rachel rose to her knees and began breaking down her rifle. She'd have to figure out a way to sneak into the highest security building in the fucking city, get up to the penthouse without a key, somehow break open undoubtedly warded door, and then... steal the Familiar? Rescue her? And then what? Deliver her to Oliver and his crew - or someone else who could take care of her, Rachel supposed. There was hope for a rescued Familiar, depending on how bad the damage was. They could live normal-ish lives… in hiding. If this girl had been fully human once, there was no hope of undoing the transformation, but as long as she was still new... The Familiar was kneeling over the dead body, a heartbreakingly confused expression on her face. Yep. Definitely new. Still new enough that she had some sense of self left, at least. A better Familiar - one who'd been ground into unthinking obedience already - wouldn't have left their room. Wouldn’t have turned on a light. Wouldn't have moved without the Witch's say-so. Would've died of dehydration before shifting an iota. What the Witches did to those poor souls was unforgivable. "Damn it all to hell," Rachel cursed and shimmied her skirt down, dropping her “street” clothes into the donation bag rather than her stealth outfit. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. If she had any fucking sense she'd let the girl starve. Why in the fuck was she risking her neck to rescue... No. She knew why. "I'm an idiot," Rachel sighed and finished changing. Oh well, if I get caught I had a good run, right? All I have to do is get past two dozen lesser Witches, goons, and assembled assholes and then figure out a way to kidnap a Familiar who may or may not be suicidal. Sure. No problem. Easy peasy.
  12. So, I wrote a thing and it started as one thing but then became something else and then became another thing, anyway, long story short, this story has a lot of things going on so.... Seriously, this is gonna be rough and I don't want tears and complaints from some of you thin skinned folks that you weren't warned and couldn't cum because of the graphic content in this story or whatever reason you'd complain. I warned and you didn't heed, QQ elsewhere my sweet Summer child, Winter is here. On The Rocks By: RambleLamb He scooped up a small handful of ice and dropped them into the short tumbler glass, the pleasant clink of each cube striking the interior giving him a small amount of joy amid the sea of terrible emotion he found himself lost in. "Twelve years." he muttered, his large hand cupping over his mouth, his thumb and fingertips stroking the stubble on his unkempt chin as he stared at the glass and the ice within. He knew what was missing and he knew what adding that ingredient would mean, and he sat in silent contemplation weighing his options and wondering whether it would actually matter at this point. The bottle of Scotch sat less than a foot from him on the bar and he played out the scene of pouring the brown liquid into the glass, the ice shifting at the introduction of the room temperature liquid, the smell of it filling his nose and causing him to get that familiar itch in the back of his throat in anticipation for the long forgone meeting between lips and liquor. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the battered pack of cigarettes from the pocket inside, the last one rattling around in its paper prison as he jerked his wrist to bring it out far enough to wrap his lips around the filter before tossing the empty pack onto the bar. Grabbing the matchbook on the bar and flipping it open snapped the last match from inside and swiped it across the strike strip on the outside, the smell of sulfur and heat dancing around him as he brought the small flame to the end of his cigarette and drew in deeply. "What a fucking mess." he thought as he turned on the barstool and looked out at the living room behind him. His wife, well, ex wife now, lay slumped over the frame of the large glass coffee table in the center of the room. The once white shag carpet beneath was wet with crimson and sparkled with broken glass from his wife going through it. Her arms stretched out in front of her in the sticky pool, her head hanging downward with her chestnut locks stringy with blood fanned out lazily from her head as she stared blankly at him. She looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut in the middle of an elegant performance, her pale skin weeping from the multitude of small cuts all over her body, her insides piled up on the floor beneath the jagged piece of glass that had ended her life by slicing through her toned stomach. He took another long drag from the cigarette and looked at her slumped over the table, his eyes drawn to the only article of clothing she was wearing, wondering suddenly whether or not the source of the smell in the room could be found within that garment. He pushed that thought from his mind, remembering the heavy metallic smell of blood permeating every molecule of air in the room, dismissing his notion of piss and shit aroma's as just phantom scents brought on by the assumption he'd formed seeing the garment. Rising from the barstool, he walked around the far side of the couch, shaking his head to dispel the thoughts he was having about his wife's pert breasts, enticing even upside down and attached to a very dead woman. He chided himself for becoming hard thinking about his dead wife's tits, thinking back to the bottle on the bar for a moment but continuing his walk. The man in the hallway leading into the living room and from the bedroom was dressed the same as his wife and lay on the floor on his stomach allowing the sight of the deeply discolored seat of his garment to bring the debate of phantom versus actual smell back to the forefront of his mind. The dead man couldn't have been much older than twenty, though given the state of his head, that was probably up for discussion. The back of the young man's head was caved in, his blonde hair matted with blood and brain, the strands sticking together in clumps over the gully that his head now was making it look like some kind of monstrous flytrap kind of creature in the middle of digesting what could be a fetal pig with severe birth defects, brains were not attractive to look at. He sidestepped the pool of gore and put his cigarette out in the ashtray on the small table at edge of the living room and continued down the hall. The light above flickered dimly and allowed him just enough light to make out the words written in blood and possibly shit on the walls. "Whore", "Cunt", and "Mommy" were scrawled across the olive wallpaper, the last one scratched through with a streak of reddish brown like the writer had just run their hand across the wall on the way to or from their next victim. The smell in the first bedroom when he opened the door tickled his uvula, bringing a strong need to vomit to the top of his list of things to do, but he swallowed repeatedly and choked back the hot acidic bile that crept so close to the surface he didn't think he'd manage to keep it down. The couple on the bed had been in the middle of some kind of feeding, the woman seated with her back against the headboard, her swollen breasts hanging pendulously down just above the face of the woman laying across her lap. The nipple and areola of the seated woman's right breast were gone, the area now just a weeping sore of exposed muscle tissue, the removed bits of skin hung between the teeth of the woman laying down beneath her breasts. The seated woman had been screaming when she died, her mouth open and her face contorted in permanent anguish and torment. The large gash along her throat looked like her neck was yawning after eating too many strawberries, her chest and stomach drenched in now dry blood as was the majority of the body of the woman laying down, making her look like a sweet that had been dipped into a chocolate fountain filled with something more rusty than chocolate, the milk the seated woman had expelled had separated where it had pooled in the cove between the two women, looking like bacon grease had been poured there. He moved around the side of the bed and found another man, this one laying on his back, his head against the wall at a horrible angle given the flatness of the rest of his body. The front of his garment and the back of the laying girl's garment had holes in them, hers had leaked shit and blood from it onto the sheets below while his allowed the ease of noticing that his cock no longer existed, the severed stump just inside the hole looking like a little groundhog afraid to come out and see his shadow. Leaning forward and looking more closely at the hole in the back of the laying girl's garment allowed for the aha moment of finding the missing member burrowed into the hole and probably into the hole beyond that when he'd lost it. Standing upright, he moved to the bathroom, finding two young girls, maybe freshly eighteen, a blonde and a redhead intertwined in the tub with the blonde's head floating in the water to the right of the pair and the redhead's head staring up at him from the black and white bottlecap tile on the floor, the water mixing with the blood to make the white tiles look pinkish. Both women were naked, though the chunks of padding floating in the bloody water led him to believe they had been dressed just like everyone else he'd seen so far. The wall behind the shower was smeared with blood, "Help them, Daddy" was scrawled in the blood, the letters shining white from the tile behind against the backdrop of dried blood, "Oops, too late." was just below that followed by a crudely drawn frowning face. He sighed as he walked out of the bathroom, back through the bedroom and to the hall where he stopped outside the second bedroom door. This door was pink and had "Lizzy" in bright pastel baby blocks on it. Below the letters was a bloody handprint that streaked down like the person had dragged their hand down the surface to the knob that was caked with blood as well. Pushing lightly on the door opened it slowly, the tinny lullaby coming from the mobile above the crib filled the room and the light from the hall mixed with the little nightlight in the corner to perfectly illuminate the young woman in the middle of the floor. She was on her back, her legs curled up to her chest. Her sweet cocoa colored skin was slick with blood, nearly covering her entirely like an ill conceived prom prank victim. She was gurgling and babbling in her "little" voice, the one she used to keep everyone fawning over her and adoring her as they bounced her on their knee or fed her on their lap. She was sucking on her fist, periodically pulling it from her mouth to let her tongue dance over it, happy and contented noises emanating from her throat as she licked the blood from on and between her fingers. She lolled her head to the side to look at the door as it opened and giggled sweetly when she saw him standing there. Rolling onto her side, she got up on all fours and crawled toward him, the sagging garment secured around her waist rustling and crinkling as she approached, looking up at him with her widest and most innocent eyes. "Lizzy, you've been a very naughty girl." he told her calmly as he looked down at her. She pouted up at him, her little nose crinkling cutely as she shook her head. "No, Daddy, Lizzy was just playing." she said sweetly as she sat up on her knees and looked up at him, her right hand moving down the top of her only article of clothing while her left hand moved up to the puffy little Hershey kiss nipple of her left breast, her breathing becoming a slight pant as her right hand began to noisily work within the crinkling confines of her attire. He shook his head. "No, Lizzy, you were naughty and made a big mess." he told her. She giggled and gently bounced on her butt. "A really big mess." she told him, referring to something else entirely. He removed his coat and dropped it to the floor before rolling up the sleeves of his white collared shirt. "Lizzy is going to apologize to Daddy before her punishment, isn't she?" he asked her as his hands went to his fly and worked it down to allow his cock to spill out. Lizzy's eyes seemed to sparkle in the indirect light coming from behind his broad form and she nodded as she wiggled forward on her knees and stooped to take the head of his cock into her mouth, taking all of it up to the base inside before letting it back out again until only the head was still inside. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring her wet little mouth as it wrapped around his cock, the way her velvety tongue danced around his shaft like a belly dancer made of liquid sex. When he opened his eyes and looked down at her he saw her nursing the head of his manhood softly, like he'd seen her do with her pacifier frequently and frowned and shook his head as he grabbed the back of hers and forced himself into her, making her gag and sputter as drool poured from her mouth and onto the nursery carpet. She looked up apologetically and began to work his girth in and out of her mouth with practiced ease, her hand still working between her thighs as she moaned and panted around his swollen member. "Stop touching yourself, Lizzy, this isn't meant to be pleasurable for you." he commanded firmly but in a hushed tone. She didn't stop though, she kept bucking into her fingers, pushing herself closer and closer to what she wanted. When he pulled himself from her mouth and slapped her across the face it changed the game. Her sweet and innocent little girl act melted away and allowed the vicious and predatory side of her to come out as she growled at him and got up into a squat like a feral jungle girl ready to pounce. He undid his belt and pulled it from the loops of his slacks, letting it hang in his hand like a dead snake, the buckle glinting in the light as it lay on the carpet. "Think about what you're next move is, little one." he warned. She looked at the belt, knowing the kiss of both the strap and buckle intimately and then looked up at him, knowing the strength he had and that she'd be no match for him if she tried to fight him head on. She lowered herself to all fours again and crawled back over to him. "Lizzy is sorry, Daddy." she said sweetly and sincerely as she once more latched onto his cock to dutifully finish the task she'd been given. As she sucked, he patted her head softly. "We're going to have to move again, Lizzy." he told her. Lizzy whined between loud slurps. "I told you that you needed to control yourself and you promised me you would." he chided. "You said, 'Daddy, I'll be on my best behavior and won't hurt anyone unless you give them to me', isn't that right?" he asked. Lizzy again whined, but also made an affirmative noise to let him know she had indeed said something like that. "Daddy trusted you and even made a life here, and then you spoiled it by being naughty, didn't you?" he asked, struggling to get his words out as he neared climax. Lizzy gave another affirmative moan that drowned in his seed as he finished in her mouth, forcing her to swallow what felt like gallons of the thick, salty, glop that gushed from him. She knew from experience that he liked her to not be able to swallow it all, and allowed some to pour from her mouth and dribble down her chin like the pureed food he sometimes fed her as she looked up at him and let his diminishing cock pop from her mouth. "Lizzy was naughty, Daddy, but Mommy was naughtier!" she protested. He smiled down at her, kneeling so he could scoop his seed from her chin with his finger and softly push it into her mouth. "Babies don't get to pass judgment on grownups, Lizzy." he told her. "When Mommy is-was," he corrected, thinking about the dead woman in the living room. "naughty, Daddy would punish her, right?" he asked. Lizzy nodded, remembering one time not long ago when Mommy had been kissed by Daddy's belt and had to sleep in the nursery with her. Lizzy remembered how hard her heart had been beating when she smelled the blood on the whip marks beneath the thick garment Mommy had been made to wear around her waist, she wondered now if Mommy had been afraid of Lizzy that night, knowing that nothing could stop the girl if she'd decided to give in to her more base desires. "Remember what Daddy said to you when he found you?" he asked as he picked her up under the armpits and hoisted her into his arms to cradle her like a real little baby as he gently rocked her, the smell of blood and piss and shit coming from her making him feel nauseous all over again. She remembered. It was Summer, and her real Daddy had taken her camping, showing her different methods for tracking and hunting and while they slept a hunter and his wife had shown up and killed her Daddy and shot her with a tranquilizer that knocked her out for hours. When she woke up they were dismembering the body of her Daddy, throwing the pieces into the fire while she watched in horror and anguish from the small cage they'd locked her in, her ankles and wrists shackled inside to allow next to no movement from her as she recoiled when the man knelt down in front of the cage and told her she was theirs now, and they'd take good care of her. They'd taken her to a vet that they knew in the nearby town and she'd been sedated once more, waking up to be told that she'd been fitted with a device that would kill her if she ever harmed either the hunter or his wife. She'd slashed the wife's throat in one swift motion and felt the thing in her neck twitch and grow hotter by the second, waiting for the merciful release of death, but that never came, she'd overheard that the device hadn't been calibrated fully and was tinkered with and declared to be fully operational before she was stuffed back into her cage and watched with smug satisfaction as the hunter mourned his wife and he and the vet disposed of the body. That night the hunter told her what was going to happen to her, he told her that he knew what she was and what she'd done, and that if she didn't want to end up tortured and left to starve to death she'd behave and submit to her new master, her new Daddy. He'd allowed her out of the cage but kept her shackled with her arms behind her back and educated her on how she was expected to behave. She'd reminded him of his wife, taunting him with malicious words about the joy she'd gotten from slitting the woman's throat. That was the first time she'd tasted his belt, ending with him strangling her with it until she blacked out, face down in the dirt, waking a short time later to him violating her backside while she howled in pain until he choked her again and stifled her protestations. Over the course of the next week he taught her, correcting her with force when she didn't perform her tasks to his satisfaction. She learned how to suck his cock, how to swallow all but a little of his seed, how to submit herself to having any hole he chose penetrated whenever he wanted and learned that when she behaved and did as she was told, she was rewarded with tenderness and something that evolved over the years into love. Sure, he whored her out to hunters that wanted a piece of evil pussy or ass, but if she behaved she was treated to a nice bath and a treat, usually a vagrant that he'd found and she'd be allowed to feed and would fall asleep with a full tummy cradled in her Daddy's arms just like before. When she'd slip and make a mess, they'd move, change cities and names and start over again somewhere else. This last place had been home for a long time, longer than she even knew given her relegation to her nursery outside of the parties. The house had been opened up into a spot where people with a very specific taste could come and indulge, and Lizzy was the star attraction. She'd be carted out to the living room and play with other little ones like her, pleasure Mommy's and Daddy's, submit to punishments of all kinds when the mood struck someone, and generally just be a living plaything for anyone that wanted to take part. Her new Mommy had taken great joy in making her suffer when Daddy wasn't around, refusing to clean her up for hours after being used as a sex toy or a toilet for the guests, slapping the girl and violating her many orifices with objects not suitable for doing so, like a fire poker or a bowling pin. Lizzy's accelerated healing meant that Daddy never saw the scars or the tears, he'd just come home and find Lizzy very clingy as she snuggled into him and cried. "I remember, Daddy." she told him quietly. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, whispering to her that she was a good girl. "I also remembered that the nasty little thing you put in my neck fell out a long time ago when Mommy made me be real small for an extra special customer." she told him quietly before she bit into his throat and ripped out his windpipe, dropping from his arms and landing in a prone position where she lunged at him and brought him down to the ground with a thunderous bang, perching on his chest as she looked down at him, watching the light in his eyes dim. She kissed his lips softly and giggled, "I had fun playing with you Daddy, but not Mommy and not her friends." she confessed. He gurgled and held his throat, bubbles of blood forming and popping between his fingers and in his mouth as he slipped away into death. "You killed my real Daddy, my whole wide world, and I wasn't ever going to let you live long enough to die peacefully." she told him as the last breath escaped him and he expired. Standing up, her skin writhed and morphed as she became the dead man she stood over, stretching her new form and popping her various joints and bones to make everything settle into the right place. She left the nursery and headed to the living room, smiling at the mess she'd made along the way and emptied the water from the glass on the bar and put a few ice cubes in it before pouring herself a drink. Lizzy had been born half a century ago to a Succubus and a Shapeshifter, gaining abilities and traits from both her mother and father. Her mother had died giving birth to her, but her father had raised her to use the abilities she'd been gifted with and had been murdered and butchered like an animal by her captor. As she downed her drink and poured another she thought about where she would go after so long in captivity, but with how much money she knew was hidden in the house, she didn't feel like she'd have any trouble finding a new life somewhere else, maybe somewhere tropical. She downed the second drink and stood up, giggling at the feeling of her new appendage swaying between her legs, taking a second to wiggle her hips and slap the thing against her thighs. "No wonder they love this thing, it's hilarious!" she said with another laugh as she went to the bedroom to get dressed and pack for her big move.
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