[Preston] From Jo to Joella (Ch. 36 added 8/27/20)

[CynthiaCM]

A few years ago, an author posted quite a few installments of a story based in a setting of their own creation and invited others to write stories in that setting as well. It apparently never caught on, but I found it extremely intriguing. So, I figured I'd pen such a tale and post chapters of it here. I tried to recap the gist of the setting itself so readers wouldn't have to hunt down the original story.

I hope you enjoy it. 

 

CHAPTER 1

Today marks the third anniversary of my parents relocating to Preston, Kansas. It was on that day that my life changed forever. How could an almost-eighteen-year-old girl’s life be transformed so completely merely by moving to a new city? Well, that’s kind of a long story. But since you obviously came here to read a story, I’m guessing you won’t mind too much. Settle in and get comfy, because you may be here a while.

So, back to my question of how something so minor could create such an upheaval in one’s life. The answer is both simple and complex. You see, Preston’s not exactly what could be defined as a normal Midwestern city. Far from it! 

I don’t claim to know all the particulars, but here’s what I DO know. Up until about a decade and a half ago, Preston was a town that was circling the drain. It had once been quite a hub of activity, thanks to a major railroad company making it their primary headquarters back in the day. The city picked up even more steam during World War II when its small ammunition plant received a massive government contract and exploded (no pun intended), creating more jobs than ever. But by 2005, the railroad had long since moved their main offices to Texas and the ammunition plant had gone belly-up, leaving behind a city that was a shell of its former self. Jobs were scarce, crime had risen and more citizens abandoned ship with each passing month. Like I said, Preston was circling the drain.

That’s when a mysterious man from the deep south came into the picture. His name was Lucas Budd and he was freaking loaded! More cash than anyone could spend in five lifetimes. The rumor goes that he also had government connections in high places. And by that, I mean that practically all the bigwigs owed him for something or he had incriminating dirt on them. Or both. Who knows? The point is that he was able to use money and influence to gain total control of Preston. Total control. 

Here’s where things start getting crazy, but hang with me, okay? The total control I mentioned went way beyond anything that had been done before. Lucas Budd enacted laws of his own creation that even contradicted the Constitution itself. He must have caught a lot of government folks in the most lurid, illicit affairs imaginable to have pulled this off! He created a Patriarchy-based society that existed solely within the confines of a small city. It was extreme stuff too; not just the way it was in the 1950s. In a nutshell, women had no rights and had to be owned by men. The unowned women were essentially placed in the custody of the city government and, well, it wasn’t pretty. Oh, sure, there were laws that placed limits on what men could do to the women they owned, but that didn’t detract from the sickening fact that women were property.

So, Lucas Budd and his family ruled over Preston. By all accounts, Budd comes off as a real charmer. You know the type. Classic Southern gentleman. But it’s all a facade. He’s one fucked up dude. I mean, that’s pretty plain to see, right? Some even claim that he possesses superhuman abilities of some vague nature. Whatever. His wife, Shyla, is some pillar of the community or some such and everyone just adores her. She organizes events, sets up fundraisers, blah, blah, blah. He has kids and a brother too, but I don’t know much about them.

Can you see where this is all going? If not, you will momentarily. 

Now that the stage is set, let’s meet the cast of the fucked up theatrical play that is my life, starting with yours truly, Joella Myers. I used to go exclusively by “Jo”, but I’m no longer allowed that luxury. I really miss it too. It may not sound like much of a big deal to you, but it was an important part of my identity. I was “Jo”. Jo, the fearless tomboy. Jo, the headbanger chick. Jo, the badass who could handle just about anyone in a fight. Jo, the… well, you get the idea. I was a jeans-and-tee-shirt kind of girl and I was happy with that. I found my niche. My parents didn’t care much for all that, though, and attempted to dissuade me whenever they could. Eventually, they gave up, which made my life a lot easier. What can I say? I’m a rebel.

Since we’re already on the subject, let’s talk a bit about my parents. My father, Kenneth Myers, was raised in Preston, but his parents headed to the east coast when he was twelve years old. That was in 1992 or so, long before Lucas Budd infected the town with his patriarchal rubbish. Dad did okay for himself, though. He went to community college, which is where he met my mother, and then went on to business school. He managed a clothing store for quite a few years, but left that job when he decided to uproot and move back to Preston.

My mother, Lillian Myers, is pretty much the exact opposite of me, in that she’s docile and feminine to the point of it being annoying sometimes. She defers to Dad on almost every matter. Sometimes I think she’d have been better suited to having grown up in the 1950s when women were expected to dote on their husbands and all that nonsense. Still, it’s hard to blame her, as her parents were into gender roles big time. So it was really all she ever knew. She has never worked as far as I’ve ever heard, but she sure keeps one hell of a spotless house. 

Then, there’s my younger sister, Megan, who’s just one month shy of being three years younger than myself. Megan is a bit more complicated than my parents. On one hand, she’s quite girly like my mother, but on the other hand, she has some of my father’s dominant personality traits. She’s not too big on Patriarchy though, which is her one saving grace in my eyes. Like most siblings, our relationship had its ups and downs when we were young, but when she turned thirteen, my parents decided that she would be left in charge when they were away. That changed our relationship for the worse… and that’s an understatement!

Look, I know Megan was the quintessential good girl, always doing “the right thing” (whatever the hell that is) and obeyed every rule my parents instated. And, yeah, I also know that I had gotten into trouble at school prior to their decision, and once even had a cop bring me back home at three o’clock in the morning when a couple of friends and I snuck out of the house after curfew, but come on. She was three years younger than me, for shit’s sake! You can imagine how that rule settled with me. I already had a chip on my shoulder because she was so much taller and more developed than I was. So this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. From then on out, my behavior took a nosedive. In fact, I avoided home as much as possible, especially on weekends. I started hanging out a lot with Byron Kimball, a trans male whose parents were super lax. I went to school with him, though he was in the grade ahead of me. He was super “book smart” and kind of weird. He was into metal and horror flicks too, so we became friends about as soon as he moved to town. My parents didn’t like Byron much. They said his parents should “take a hand” with him and make him live as a girl. I hate that old fashioned mentality so much! 

So that was my life up until two months before we packed up and moved to Hell. I mean Preston. Same thing. I know what you’re thinking. “There has to be SOME catalyst that caused them to pull up stakes so suddenly.” You’d be right in thinking that and I can’t tell you how many times I wished I could rewind time and do things differently. 

Without going into all the particulars, I’ll just say that Byron and I ended up at a party that was raided by the police and, well, we were caught. The fact that we were both heavily intoxicated may have had something to do with why they managed to snag us so easily. All hell broke loose when the officers delivered me to my parents’ doorstep only for me to puke in the foyer. I was sent to bed and told that this would be dealt with in the morning. Pretty much standard issue parent crap. Or so I thought.

My hungover ass was brought downstairs at the buttcrack of dawn by Megan. Mom and Dad were waiting for me in the living room with their “pissed off and disappointed” faces on. I knew I was in for it, but I had no idea just HOW much I was in for it. They explained that they weren’t going to stand by and watch me send my life into the gutter or some overly dramatic drivel like that. I was on a bad path and yadda, yadda, yadda. That’s when they hit me with the whole Preston thing. I was floored. How could a town like that even exist? We live in the 21st century and women have long since obtained our freedom. 

They went on to say that there would be big changes in store for us as a family, but that everything would be much better in the long run. They didn’t go into any detail whatsoever and wouldn’t divulge more no matter how much I pried. They kept everything under wraps for a couple of months. All I knew was that we were going to be moving to a town that strips women of our hard-earned rights. There was never any mention of the rest of their plans.

Even my sister was pissed about the prospect of moving. After all, she wasn’t into patriarchy and had made a lot of friends. Of course, she blamed me more than my parents, but in retrospect, I can kind of understand that. To this day, I have no idea how much information they gave Megan. All I know is that the closer moving day we got, the more terrified I was. Mom and Dad spoke in hushed, conspiratorial voices, often while huddled around their laptop. Something major was happening and not knowing about it just about killed me. 

What kind of awful fate awaited me in the city of Preston, Kansas? The answer to that question was far more intense than I ever could have imagined.
 

[Diaperingdaddy]

I loved the Preston stories! I look forward to read more!

[CynthiaCM]

8 hours ago, Nicole Kolibri said:

Yes, I know the origin of this story!

You have breathed life into history so far, with a exciting cliffhanger.
You can´t do it so much better.

Obviously Megan will have a lot more problems than Jo with the changeover, which should be very exciting to see that.
The wild catch and the dominant girl (maybe a little bit to young), how will be there?

I took up too, this topic 3 years ago, in german languarge.
Only that I made Megan a 10 year old son.
How he learns verry slowly, to be a Patrichard.
For Jo (your protagonist ... Marion is my name for her.
She is 17y and 2 weeks gone, to her 18 birthday, as my story started).
My way was bittersweet and very hard and extreme for her.
It was my hardest story so far, and also the most diabolical.

You can go all in, and to same time you can do many spin offs. (for maybe a other way ... crime story, thriller, horror, hope and fear and much more)
Other Guys have for that The diaperdimension invented ...... I like a littel bit more the light real touch as the complet fantasie ...

WBDaddy once said ....
"That it is easier to write about diapered Cinderella, than about the guy who pulls the skin off the girls.
How right he is can be seen here over and over again, that's why I'm celebrating your start, of this kind of topic.

In this momment, some are again trying to destroy a MinnesotaWriter story because they just don't understand that it's just a story.
But a realy good story, only your background City has he didn´t. (maybe not yet... ?)

I'm really excited to see how your way will be, I'll follow you ...

A big thank you from me, for this kind of story, with the most possibilities in a story what you can have ever.

I can´t wait, to reading more from your stoff.

 

Thank you so much. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. I wish I knew German so I could read your take on Preston. :)

6 hours ago, Diaperingdaddy said:

I loved the Preston stories! I look forward to read more!

I'm a big fan of them as well (obviously), so I'm looking forward to writing more. Thanks for replying.

[Guilend]

I think I read one, I don't know for sure.  I love this so far.

[CynthiaCM]

On 5/17/2020 at 5:48 PM, Guilend said:

I think I read one, I don't know for sure.  I love this so far.

Much appreciated. I'll be adding another chapter soon. 

[Neo Anderson]

I'm very excited for this! I check the original blog every now and then to see if it's been updated, even though it's been years. So usually I just end up reading the last few chapters of the ongoing story that was happening there. So I'm happy to follow another story set in that world. And your writing is great!

[CynthiaCM]

2 hours ago, Neo Anderson said:

I'm very excited for this! I check the original blog every now and then to see if it's been updated, even though it's been years. So usually I just end up reading the last few chapters of the ongoing story that was happening there. So I'm happy to follow another story set in that world. And your writing is great!

The blog is still there? Wow! 

 

At any rate, I'm glad to see some interest in Preston, since no one seems to have ever written more stories in that setting. And thanks for the kind words regarding my writing.

[CynthiaCM]

CHAPTER 2

As we moved closer to moving day, I devised an idea that I thought might very well work. My eighteenth birthday was going to be a bit more than two months away and once I reached that magical age, I would be free to do whatever the hell I wanted. In fact, I wondered if that was the reason my parents were putting a rush on moving in the first place. They knew if they waited until I was an adult, I wouldn’t have to move there with them. If they could get me to Preston before then, however, I would be forever under my father’s thumb. After all, women in Preston have to have an owner, thus effectively making them minors for as long as they live. That’s the simplified version of it anyway.

My plan was simple. Beautifully simple. I would play along and act like I planned on going with them, only to ditch at the last second and go into hiding until my birthday. Then it would be too late for them to make me step foot in Preston. Problem solved. The devil is always in the details, though, so I grasped that some major preparation would have to be done. With time being of the essence, I had to get busy!

The first order of business was to secure a place to hide out for a couple of months or a bit less by that time. I recalled Byron talking about a house that his parents inherited when his grandfather passed away a couple years back. It was way out in the boondocks, ten miles from anything resembling civilization. Best of all, his family never really went out there. It couldn’t have been more perfect. Needless to say, it didn’t take much convincing to get Byron to agree. 

With that taken care of, I turned my attention toward gradually gathering supplies to take with me. This wasn’t as easy as it sounds, especially because Megan was frustratingly observant of everything that went on in the house. Each day after school, I stopped by the store with Byron to purchase canned foods and the like. Actually, I gave him the money and he purchased it, just in case my parents or sister happened to spot us. I was very careful.

The next portion of preparation was the easiest. I simply protested, pouted and grumped about relocating to some backward-ass town that legalizes treating women like shit. They knew me too well and if I didn’t kick up a fuss about it, they would have become suspicious. So I played my role of rebellious teenager being forced to move to a town I hated, all the while smiling wryly inside, secure in the knowledge that I wasn’t going anywhere near Preston fucking Kansas. 

I bided my time until the day of the big move. My parents had already removed me from my school a couple days earlier, so I couldn’t just leave from there and go to my new hideaway. I called Byron and told him to meet me at the tiny, overgrown park (if you could even call it that with a straight face) three blocks from my house. Luckily, he kept all my supplies in the back of his rusty old VW van, so we wouldn’t have to concern ourselves with loading it all up at the last second. My family was busily loading the moving truck, which was my big chance. Distraction was my best friend. I slipped out the seldom-used back door, cut through some yards and found Byron waiting for me at the alleged park, leaning on “Big Corndog”, the junky van he was so proud of. I have no idea why he named it that and was, frankly, a bit afraid to ask.

“Ready for your adventure?” A wide smile adorned his face. Byron loved anything that could be construed as rebellious or against the grain. He was slightly diminutive and stocky, with a twinkle in his eye anytime orneriness was afoot. His hair was short and sometimes looked dark brown, while other times looking as black as coal.  

“Fuck yeah,” I replied, hopping in the passenger seat and lobbing my duffle bag over my shoulder and into the back. Chucking the duffle bag was no easy task for me, given that I was even shorter than Byron and lacked the broadness of his build. I was ridiculously small in stature, a fact that I always hated.

“Buckle up, Puke. We’re getting the fuck outta dodge.” I hated the nickname “Puke” for a while, mainly because of how he arrived at calling me that. When drinking, I have a two beer limit before I start blowing chunks. It’s like clockwork. I’m okay after polishing off two cans, but is I so much as take a sip from a third can, you’d better get me a bucket to hurl into or there’s going to be an epic mess.

The drive was pretty fun and once we exited the city limits, I was able to fully relax. Up until that point, I was still scared that we’d get busted. With Dying Fetus cranked as loud as Byron’s rattly old speakers allowed, we ventured out into the next chapter of my life. I felt relieved and maybe even a little proud of myself for managing to coordinate such an elaborate scheme to ensure my freedom. I had won.  Joella Myers: 1. Kenneth and Lillian Myers: 0.

Byron wasn’t kidding when he said the house was out in the middle of nowhere. It was a ramshackle place, though most of that was due to the encroaching weeds and the paint that the elements had their way with the last couple of years. From what I could tell, it was structurally sound, which was the most important part. An old, dilapidated barn stood toward the back of the property. A few large trees dotted the area, giving a nice bit of shade.

“Here it is,” said Byron, getting out of the van and slamming the creaky door, “Casa de my grandparents.” He seemed mildly proud.

“Cool. This will be the perfect place to hunker down until my B-day.”

He unlocked the side door of the house and entered, with me following right on his heels. Aside from layers of dust, the interior of the structure was much nicer than I could have imagined. Sure, it smacked of “old people” decor (complete with wood panelling), but I wasn’t too concerned with aesthetics. It would be a safe place to hole up for a while. That’s what mattered most.

Byron clicked the light switch and seemed surprised that the electricity was still on. “Huh,” he muttered, “I’m surprised Mom and Pops keep the light bill paid. They’re normally fucking cheapskates. I guess I brought along all those candles for nothing.”

He and I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the place up. By the time we were done, it was totally liveable. Cozy even. 

“Alright, I need to jet back to my house so that no one will be the wiser. If you need anything, text me if you can get any bars. Otherwise, smoke signals are an option.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I owe you big time for this.”

“Yeah, you do,” he quipped, flashing that smartass smile of his. “I’ll slip back out here in a few days to check on you and bring some more reading material.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Byron started to leave, but poked his head back in. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. There’s only one other house around here and it’s just down the road at the end of the mile section. They were friends of my grandparents, but I have no idea if they’re even still alive. They were like super old. Even older than my grandparents. So, y’know, just kind of keep a low profile.”

“No worries. It’s not like I was going to have big, loud parties out here or anything. Shit, who would I even invite?” 

He looked deep in thought. “Make no mistake, the wildlife around here love to party. One might even say they’re… wait for it… party animals.” 

“Ugh, you suck at comedy,” I said, tossing a sponge I used to clean the sink at him.

“Later, Puke.” With that, he left and I was all alone. All alone in an unfamiliar house, in an unfamiliar area and with potentially unreliable means of communication. The gravity of the situation kind of hit me all at once. My parents were going to be terrified that something bad happened to me. I really did hate that thought. But do you know what I hated even more? The thought of being property for the rest of my life. Yeah, that was something I hated far worse.

I would ride out the storm and do all the necessary damage control on my birthday, when I was safe from oppression. 

Or at least that was the plan. Somehow, things never seem to work out the way I want them to. 
 

[CynthiaCM]

I had a bit of extra time to kill this afternoon, so I wrote another chapter.

 

CHAPTER 3

The next few days were lonelier that I anticipated. I had no outside communication and my only entertainment came in the form of novels and listening to my old school boombox. There was an ancient 1970s television in the living room, but it wouldn’t pick up any stations at all. My phone was useless from anywhere in the house and believe me, I mean ANYWHERE. I tried every spot in every room. That’s how desperate I was.

Byron finally showed up four days into my sabbatical, for want of a better word. Man, was he a welcome sight! He could tell I was happy to see him when he walked in because I ran up and gave him a huge hug. 

“Damn, Puke, careful with the spine, okay?”

I eased up on the hug. I knew he was joking, but thought maybe I was getting carried away. “Sorry. I’ve just been deprived of human interaction for so long.”

“It’s only been four days. You sure you’re gonna be able to hack it for a few more weeks?”

“Yeah,” I replied, plunking myself down onto one of the kitchen chairs, “it’s just really boring out here.”

“I’ll bet. I used to come out here for a week or two during summer breaks, so I feel your pain. After a week, I was dying to get back to civilization. And that was when they had cable TV hooked up out here and two people to converse with. Plus, running water. So I can only imagine how sucky it is for you. Just keep your eye on the prize. Before long, you’ll be in the clear.”

“God, running water sounds fucking magnificent right now. I’m so ripe!” To emphasize my point, I raised an arm and sniffed my armpit. “Whew!”

Byron chuckled. “There’s a little creek out past the barn a ways. I used to swim in it when I was young. It has a rock bottom and the water is pretty pretty clear, so you could probably get clean there. Just watch out for snakes.”

“Now I have to weigh the factors. Which do I hate worse: snakes or being stinky as fuck?”

“Come on. We’ll go out there together if that’ll make you feel better. I’m a legendary snake fighter. Those danger noodles don’t stand a chance against me!” He picked up the broom and pantomimed battling a snake with it. He always knew how to put me more at ease.

“Okay, you dork. Let’s go.”

On the walk to the creek, I addressed the elephant in the room or, woods in this case. “So…,” I said, letting it kind of linger in the air.

“You want to know if everyone is out looking for you, right?”

There was a silence before I answered, rather scared to hear his response. “Umm… yeah.”

“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath, “your parents came to my house the next day, asking if me or my parents had seen you. I acted worried and said that you hadn’t contacted me in a while and that I chalked it up to you not being good at saying goodbye and all that shit. They bought it. I even teared up. I should totally be a fucking actor, dude.”

‘And that was that?” The trepidation in my voice was pretty obvious.

“No, that wasn’t that. There was a missing person report filed and your parents have been all over the place looking for you. The cops even stopped by to feel me out. I played it cool and stuck to the story. I made it clear that I was worried too. In fact — and this was a fucking masterful touch, if I do say so myself — I started going around and asking people if they had seen you. I gave the cops a few leads as to where you might have gone. Like remember that Rachel chick you hung with for a while until she moved to Columbus?”

“Dayton,” I interjected.

“Columbus, Dayton, who gives a shit? I sent them off on a wild goose chase to Ohio. That’s the point. I covered our asses, so we should be all good.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, only half meaning it. I was still worried.

The creek was just as Byron described it. Clear, rock-bottomed, well hidden. It was quite serene, actually. 

He pointed to a cluster of three really large rocks hugging the bank and informed me that he used to jump off of those over and over again for hours. To demonstrate, he climbed up onto the smallest one and, from there, onto the largest. All told, he was about ten feet up.

“You’re gonna just jump into the water with your clothes on?”

“Well,” he stated matter of factly, “It’s not like I knew we were going swimming. Besides, I’d have just put on shorts anyway. You know I can’t go bare chested for obvious reasons.”

“Isn’t it too shallow to jump from so high?”

“No, it’s pretty deep over here where it’s wider. Like I said, I’ve done it before.” Without another word, he leapt from the rock and, with a massive splash, hit the water. 

“See? I told you,” he said as he popped up from the deeper-than-it-looked water. “Your turn!”

I had a harder time ascending the rocks than Byron, which prompted no end of playful insults from him. “Laugh it up, dickhead. It’s not my fault that I’m half a foot shorter than you.” We teased each other like that all the time. If someone who didn’t know us was ever nearby, they would probably think we hated each other. That was just our dynamic.

It took me a while, but I finally managed to get to the highest point of the big rock. With my arms raised above my head, I loudly proclaimed, “I’m the queen of the mountain, motherfuckers!” 

And off I went. Well, sort of. My right foot slipped a bit before takeoff, causing me to instinctively reel backward. Huge mistake! My other foot then slid out from under me and I fell back as I “jumped”. The back of my head slammed into the rock on my way down and everything went dark. I only vaguely remember hitting the water and hearing Byron yell out my name. I was out like a light.
 

[ppbenn]

Great chapters. Thank you for picking this story back up. I remember it from a few years ago. The original author had a Tumblr blog that I followed too. I am not entirely sure what happened to them. However; if they stumble across your rendition of their story I think they would be pleased with it. 

 

Keep up the great work, and I hope to read more soon. 

[Diaperingdaddy]

great story!

[Infernum]

@Nicole Kolibri I don't think it's on any of the story forums anymore but with some Google fu I was able to find the authors Tumblr (seems to be inactive) and they have posted the entire thing up until chapter 19 on there.

https://female-punishment-in-preston.tumblr.com/

[CynthiaCM]

17 hours ago, ppbenn said:

Great chapters. Thank you for picking this story back up. I remember it from a few years ago. The original author had a Tumblr blog that I followed too. I am not entirely sure what happened to them. However; if they stumble across your rendition of their story I think they would be pleased with it. 

 

Keep up the great work, and I hope to read more soon. 

Last I knew, she was in a car wreck or something. She survived though.

And thank you for all the kind words. At any rate, I want to clarify that I'm not continuing her story. I'm simply writing my own story in the setting she created.

14 hours ago, Diaperingdaddy said:

great story!

Thank you!

10 hours ago, Nicole Kolibri said:

@CynthiaCM
I like your pace very much, just as you decorate everything, you give us/me, enough information without getting lost in details that are superfluous.

I hope that Jo will not lose her hiding place due to the accident, but will be found differently ...
You know what I mean? a little more fighting, shouting and struggling.
 

However it comes, I love your story so far and can't wait to read more about it.
 

Thanks for the quick update to the 3rd chapter.
I read the 2. last night and was delighted to find a short 3. this morning.
Thank you for your efforts and for sharing it with us.

Ps
I had to laugh like this .... danger noodels .... I've never heard this expression for poisonous snakes before ....
Thank you for this moment

 

I'm glad that you like my pacing and descriptions. All the human imagination needs is an evocative narrative seed and the mind fills in the blanks.

Regarding how/why she is found, all will be revealed soon.

I'm also happy you like the term "danger noodles". I can't lay claim to it though. I remember seeing it online once and thought it fit into the way the character speaks.

[CynthiaCM]

CHAPTER 4

A big blur. That’s how the next span of time felt to me. I only remember bits and pieces of things, like a montage from a movie or something. Here’s the highlight reel. Byron is dragging me out of the water. Darkness. Byron is carrying me through the woods. More darkness. I’m in the kitchen and Byron is trying to get my head to stop bleeding. Darkness again. Byron has me on the couch and is pacing the floors. You guessed it… darkness. 

When I finally regained full consciousness for any length of time, I wasn’t feeling well at all. My breathing was rapid, I was sweaty, I felt weak and, man, did my head hurt! 

“Holy shit, you’re awake,” Byron proclaimed, stating the obvious, as he entered the room. 

It was hard to speak because I was groggy and my lips were dried and cracked. “H-how long h-have I been out?”

“About six hours, give or take. Shit, Jo, I’m scared to fucking death. You’ve lost a lot of blood and I think it’s getting infected. I’m freaking the fuck out here.”

“It-it takes longer th-than that for a cut to get in-infected,” I assured him. 

“Really? Because it looks seriously bad! It’s deep as hell and at least four inches long. I can’t get it to stop bleeding either. It’s slowed down, but it won’t stop. What are we gonna do?”

“Go back to t-town and bring me s-some alcohol.”

“Drinking ain’t gonna help this, Jo,” he said, causing me to etch out a slight smile.

“Not th-that kind of alcohol. Th-the kind to keep infection out.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly feeling silly, “right. I got ya. I’ll come right back out.”

“N-no, I’ll be okay for the n-night. Your parents are probably already w-wondering where you’re a-at. P-play it cool, yeah? I-I’ll be f-fine.”

“And leave you out here like this? I can’t do that. Don’t ask me to do that.” His state of panic was obvious. His voice got quieter all of a sudden. “Maybe, y’know, it’s time to call this off. I mean, I don’t want to, but c’mon, man, this is serious. You could die.”

“I’m NOT b-backing out now,” I said with as much force as I could summon. I wanted to get my point across. “I will not become p-property. Ever.”

Byron put his hands on either side of his head, applying some pressure, as if that was going to help him think more clearly. “Okay, I may have a good idea, so hear me out. Remember my uncle Leroy?”

“The c-creepy army guy who fought in the Middle East b-back in the ‘90s?”

Byron looked a little deflated. “Yeah, him. Look, he was a medic over there and he hates the establishment after how the government screwed him out of his High-36. He hates cops too, so he won’t turn us in or anything. You need stitches. Badly. And I know for a fact he can do that because one time when we were all camping, my cousin cut…”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupted, hoping to avoid one of Byron’s painfully long expositions. “Bring him out or w-whatever.”

Byron looked proud of himself for thinking of a solution. His parents always told him he was stupid, so he started to believe it somewhere along the line. It’s a shame, too, because he’s far from stupid. He just thinks using a unique perspective that most people don’t understand. Here I go with my OWN painfully long exposition. 

He left shortly thereafter, returning in a few hours. It was well after three o’clock in the morning and I had dozed off. I woke up with a start when I heard the side door opening up. I was afraid it was the authorities or my parents. It wasn’t. And I was grateful for that. 

In walked Byron and his uncle. Leroy had, at one time, been fairly muscular. That was a lot of cases of beer ago. You could still see traces of the body he formerly had, but the protruding gut offered a harsh reminder that the buff guy was no longer in the building so to speak. In his place was a shell of a man, really. A guy who took all the awful things he saw in the war and dealt with it all by guzzling beer and taking practically any drug he could get his mitts on. 

“Jo,” started Byron, “Leroy’s here. He thinks he can get you fixed up. He brought some supplies too.” I looked over and saw that he was indeed carrying a worn-out case of some sort.

“Hey,” I said as a greeting.

“How’s it hangin’, kid,” he asked in a voice that had been plagued with one too many cigarettes. Or a thousand.

“I-I’ve b-been better.”

Byron interjected. “I gave him the rundown of what happened and why you’re out here. So he’s in the loop, okay? I couldn’t not tell him.

Leroy gave me a nod and offered me a drink from a silver flask, “Here. This’ll dull some of the pain.”

I begrudgingly accepted the drink, though I didn’t exactly like the thought of drinking after him. He was kind of dental hygienically challenged if you know what I mean.

He rolled me over and made a whistling noise, denoting how bad it was. “You shoulda had stitches hours ago. That’s cut clear to the bone and it’s a wide split too. Gonna be a pain in the ass to stitch it up with what I’ve got, but I’ll do what I can.”

I could hear Leroy pulling things from the bag, though I was facedown and thus unable to see them. It was probably for the best. 

“Hope you can take pain, squirt,” he said as he began applying alcohol to the cut, “‘cause there’s gonna be a lot of it comin’ your way in a sec.” The alcohol burned like a son of a bitch, but the worst was yet to come. 

It took what felt like two hours for him to finish stitching it up, but I’m sure it was much less time than that in reality. I knew he was done when I heard him say, “Sixteen stitches,” with no small amount of pride in his voice. “It’s like ridin’ a bike.” 

He instructed us on how to take care of the wound to keep it from getting infected and left soon after. Byron stayed behind a moment to say goodbye and such. I was in such pain, I barely remember the conversation, let alone what happened next. I assume I fell asleep within minutes.

The days passed by slowly. I kept the wound cleaned out as best I could and Byron did a more thorough job of it when he came around. The wound was looking better and the pain subsided more each day. Thank God for ibuprofen. 

I was just over two weeks into my self-imposed isolation on that fateful Friday afternoon. The sun was out and I was listening to Cattle Decapitation on my boom box, while reading a new magazine Byron had brought for me two days prior. My mood was as bright as the sun, too, as I was feeling a lot better and had long since gotten used to the solitude.  

BAM!

I heard it loudly, even over the music.

BAM! 

There it was again. It was the unmistakable sound of car doors slamming shut.

BAM!

BAM!

I ran to the window and pulled back the curtain as little as possible so as to avoid detection. My worst nightmare had manifested right before my very eyes.

It was the police… and my parents.

And with them was Leroy, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. That motherfucker turned traitor!

Fuck. My. Life.
 

[Diaperingdaddy]

oh boy!

[Sarah Penguin]

I also remembered liking the original preston story and it's cruelties too.  Hope the author got better.

[Shotgun Diplomat]

I also remember the original "Preston" story. I remember liking it. If this is a revision/ revitalisation of that series I am pretty keyed up for it. Thanks for the story there buds, have a gooder. 

[CynthiaCM]

Thanks, everyone! 

 

To Shotgun Diplomat: This isn't a revision of that story. It just takes place in the same setting, which is what the original creator intended folks to do. Sadly, it never caught on the way the Diaper Dimension has. So I figured I'd do my part to bring this setting to life again.

[WBDaddy]

I seem to recall a similar protagonist in a story a few years back that was started and never completed.  Something about the parents of this metal chick dying in a house fire and her subsequently being dragged kicking and screaming to live with her psycho religious uncle who believed a little too much in "the rod", or so to speak.

Was that one yours as well, Cynthia?   

[CynthiaCM]

2 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

I seem to recall a similar protagonist in a story a few years back that was started and never completed.  Something about the parents of this metal chick dying in a house fire and her subsequently being dragged kicking and screaming to live with her psycho religious uncle who believed a little too much in "the rod", or so to speak.

Was that one yours as well, Cynthia?   

That one was mine. I really do need to wrap that up.

[WBDaddy]

1 hour ago, CynthiaCM said:

That one was mine. I really do need to wrap that up.

I thought so, but I didn't want to just assume. 

That was dark af, but I was into it. 

[CynthiaCM]

On 5/22/2020 at 8:04 PM, WBDaddy said:

I thought so, but I didn't want to just assume. 

That was dark af, but I was into it. 

I appreciate that.

On 5/22/2020 at 11:55 PM, Nicole Kolibri said:

 

 

@Infernum
Thank you for providing the link.
I read the story last night and found that it wasn't what I was reading at the time.

@CynthiaCM
WBDaddy knocked on the right bush ... and the story came out that really inspired me, on which I built my story.
The uncle who let the stick dance ... I also thought the story was very good and was fascinated by the idea of letting an entire small town live, as it was not so rare in Germany until about 1970.

Since I didn't even know the original, I was shocked by the mystical tone about the family around Lukas Budd.

@CynthiaCM

If I had to choose between two unfinished works, I would prefer your (Cynthia) to the original.
You inspired me back then and not the original story that I didn't even know until yesterday.

Can I find them here? or did I find them in the ABDL forum at the time?
I just don't remember anymore ...

Thx for chapter 4.
I can´t wait the next chapter to reading, good job.

 

Thank you for all the nice words about my work.

I believe the old story can still be found here on these forums.

 

CHAPTER 5

I felt my heart leap out of my chest and couldn’t breathe. Was this really happening? Were my parents and the police actually there? Perhaps it was some kind of delusion. I stared out the window, hoping that they were a figment of my imagination.

But it wasn’t. They were approaching the side door and I didn’t think they spotted me yet. I had a choice to make. A choice that would determine the course of the rest of my life. 

Choice A, my least favorite by the way, was to simply allow them to take me back without a fuss. Anyone who knew me well could have told you that this option just wasn’t in the books. Not for me. No way.

Choice B was to hide somewhere in the house. However, there’s no way they were going to leave without turning over every stone, as the old saying goes. I would be found and taken away. No good.

Choice C was to climb out the window of the bedroom I was using. It was already opened because I tend to get really hot at night and had no screen on it. But where would I go. I didn’t know the area at all and could end up lost in the woods.

Clearly, none of the options were that great, but “C” was the only one that could have worked. I snatched my duffle bag, threw some food in it and made for the window. I had just climbed out of the window when I heard the side door open. So far, so good. I headed toward the woods, making as little noise as possible while still traveling at a decent speed. 

Once I hit the treeline, I slowed down some, knowing that the thick forest foliage would obscure me from sight. I eventually found the stream and followed it south. I had no idea where it would take me, but at least I knew I wouldn’t be going in circles. The last thing I wanted was to end up back at the house I had been staying in.

I had to have been on the move for a few hours by the time I saw any signs of like. I had just reached an old country road that had been poorly maintained by the county when I saw a cloud of gravel about a mile down. It was a truck by the sounds of it and as it drew closer, I could tell that it was indeed a pick-up truck. I had remained hidden until then, just in case it was the police or — just as bad — my parents. 

I moved onto the road from the weed-ridden ditch and stuck my thumb out. I had seen it in some old movies before.

To my surprise, it worked. The truck came to a stop. The driver was a dark-haired man in his early forties with a denim jacket and a face that told of decades worth of days plowing fields, bailing hay and other farm type shit. He was handsome in a rugged, bumpkin sort of way.

“Needin’ a ride?” he asked with a bit of a country drawl.

“Yes, please,” I replied scrunching my eyes to avoid the gravel dust getting into them.

“Hop on in then.”

I climbed into the truck, which was quite a chore for someone as short as I am. Why do people think these damn things need to be so high off the ground, anyway? He seemed to study me as I got settled into the seat.

“So,” he stated before pausing a second, “where are you headed to?”

Jesus, I hadn’t actually thought about that. “Umm… the nearest town?” I said it more like a question. Lame.

“Alright, but first I need to stop at the house and tell Ma where I’m headin’. Otherwise, she’ll get all worried, seein’ as how I told her I’d only be gone thirty minutes. She’s a real worry wart.”

I nodded, realizing I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. He was my ticket out of there, after all. Who was I to dictate anything?

“Care to tell me what happened with your head?” he asked after we’d been on the road a couple of minutes. Shit. I had to think fast.

“I hit it on a rock while swimming.” Hey, it wasn’t a lie.

“Yep, ya gotta be real careful when you’re out in the woods, ‘specially around water.”

“I guess I learned that lesson the hard way,” I quipped with a smile.

Nothing else was said until we reached his house, which was old as hell, but nicely kept up. The yard had a lot of stuff in it, but fell just shy of being ugly for it. Some bird feeders, a bird bath, an old garden tiller, a yard swing, ceramic lawn decorations. You know, old people stuff.

Then it dawned on me. This was probably the house that Byron told me about being down the mile section from the house I was occupying. Way too close for comfort. The man got out of the truck and said, “I’ll be right back. I just gotta tell Ma and make her a sandwich.”

I slid down in the seat a little, just in case the cops drove by.
He was gone about ten minutes when I heard gravel on the road. I slid down all the way, making myself almost invisible. It sounded like more than one car, making me freak out a little. I expected to hear the cars move off into the distance, slowly fading out as they went, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, the vehicles stopped right in front of the house. I heard car doors and I knew I was screwed! 

Then I heard the man speaking from the direction of his porch. “She’s in the truck, officers.”

I was getting really, really sick of betrayal!

Panicked, I hopped out of the truck and attempted to make a break for it, running as fast as my short legs would take me. Two officers were in pursuit and I almost made it to the woods when I felt myself being scooped up by one of them.

I fought hard, thrashing and flailing the whole way back to the police car. Not that it did any good, mind you, but you have to give me an ‘A’ for effort. Once I was placed in the back of the car, one thing was perfectly clear: the jig was up. There was no way I would be given another opportunity to escape the awful life my parents had planned for me in Preston, Kansas. My fate was sealed and even *I* couldn’t deny it.
 

[Sarah Penguin]

Gah.  Poor girl.

[CynthiaCM]

Inspiration struck, so I cranked out another chapter. Now we're getting to the good stuff.

 

CHAPTER 6

So many things went through my head on the ride back. None of it was good.

Loser.

Idiot.

Pathetic.

Stupid.

No, I didn’t contemplate suicide or anything, but I felt like my life was basically over; like my life had been one road since birth and suddenly that road was coming to a dead end. What was beyond that road? I couldn’t have told you, but nothing positive was going to come from it. That much I knew.

I just stared blankly out the window of the police cruiser as the trees whizzed past. None of the scenery registered. I was in my own world, lost in despair without even the slightest glimpse of a future in front of me. I critically questioned every decision I made. Why did I trust Byron’s alcoholic uncle? Why didn’t I stay hidden when I saw the pickup truck on the road? Why couldn’t I sense that the driver was going to turn me in? 

Time was a blur to me during the drive. I didn’t speak a word to the officers, despite their attempts to talk to me. Their words didn’t really register in my brain, if I’m being honest. Not that I would have spoken anyway. They were the enemy. They were the ones who helped put a grinding halt to the life that I was happy with.

To my surprise, the police brought me not to my old house and not even to the police station, but to the hospital so my head could be checked out. My parents displayed two different emotions: relief that I had been found and anger that I “put them through that”. I could tell they wanted to show the angrier aspect of their feelings, but couldn’t due to being around police officers, nurses and doctors. For my part, I couldn’t care less about what they felt. They were the ones being malicious. They were the ones who wanted to kill the person I am. They were the ones who wanted to own me for the rest of my life. So, no, their feelings mattered not even a tiny bit to me at that point.

The doctor cleaned my head wound and applied new stitches. I barely remembered it. 

As it turned out, after I came up missing, my parents had my aunt, uncle and sister take the moving truck to Preston, while they stayed behind in a motel to help search for me. So after they released me from the hospital, that’s where they brought me. The ride to the motel was tense and silent. I was starting to get scared or at the very least unnerved.

“What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?” My father was never a terribly original guy. 

I said nothing.

“You’d better answer me.”

I looked the other way, refusing to make eye contact with him. Mom just stood back and let him take the lead. Big fucking surprise.

“If you don’t give me an explanation right this minute, so help me, you’ll regret it.”

My pride wouldn’t let me speak. 

“Okay, that’s it,” he said with a level of anger and frustration I had never experienced from him.

He pulled me toward the bed and sat down on the corner of it. Oh, no. This couldn’t be happening! He wouldn’t dare! I’m not a strong person, so I was unable to stop the inevitable. Come to find out, it WAS happening. He DID dare. My eyes bulged as he reached for the top of my torn jeans and pulled them down around my ankles, along with my boxers. I was petrified. I hadn’t ever been spanked before, yet that was exactly what was happening.

Over his lap I went, in spite of my meager struggling. I stared down at the tacky shag carpet as I prepared for what was to come next. Everything was happening in slow motion. His hand crashed down on my bare backside and the pain shot through my entire body. The sound of flesh meeting flesh was like a thunderclap. KRAKOW!! Then another blow came. And another. And another. I fought off the tears, steadfastly depriving him of that small victory. The swats came hard and fast, and they seemed to never end. Just when I thought he was done, another one slammed into my assuredly reddened buttocks.

After about five minutes, all was quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. 

Finally, my father said, “Now go stand in the corner.”

I simply stood there, completely in shock at what had just occurred.

“Unless you want another round, I suggest you do as you’re told.” His voice was stern, but no longer filled with anger. I reached down to pull my pants back up, but he stopped me. “Leave them be. Now GO!”

I reluctantly shuffled over to the nearest corner with my jeans around my ankles, which only added to the surreal nature of the whole ordeal. 

“I want your nose to touch the wall.”

The fight was temporarily taken out of me — spanked out of me, to be precise — so I did exactly what he said. I pressed my nose as far into the corner as it would go.

I didn’t know which was worse, the pain or the humiliation of standing there with my crimson butt on full display for all to see. Sure, no one but my parents could see it, but that wasn’t really the point. It was the sheer embarrassment of being scolded and punished like a child that hit me hard. I fought off the urge to cry once again. It’s weird what one will do to hold onto just a single tiny scrap of dignity in situations like that.

I remained in place for about a half an hour until my father gave me permission to pull my pants up and leave the prison that was the corner. 

“Since you don’t want to say anything, I’ll be the one to do the talking. This is what’s going to happen, Joella. We’re leaving for Preston tomorrow and when we get there, everything changes. For you, for us, for everybody. We told you about the patriarchal laws put in place there, so I won’t rehash all that. But here’s the deal…”

I finally spoke up, interrupting him. It was a small act of defiance that allowed me to regain an ounce of dignity.

“I’m not going to be one of those women who wear dresses and do what men tell them!”

“You’re right about *that*, missy.”

I looked at him stupefied. I felt a bit of relief, but it was to be short lived, for his next sentence was, “You’re NOT going to be one of those women. In fact, you’re not going to be a woman at all. From here on out, you’re going to be a baby girl…” 

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

[Baby Billy]

This is getting soo good now.