diaper dimension Crib Row (Chapter 7 Updated Nov. 24th)

[SGTbaby]

Read great to me! Glad this is back! Can’t wait for more!

[Jayme]

This is beautiful, I loved how you split the time between seenit and siri. Hopefully seenit gets treated better and can actually escape to get her freedom.

[ruby03]

On 11/23/2020 at 3:45 AM, kirababy said:

nice to see this returning, seems the writers block and inspiration is fleeting this fall.   Loved this chapter, and can't wait to see the next installments.

Yes, it has been a strange time. I am glad to have found my muse again. Thank you so much, please continue to enjoy. 

On 11/23/2020 at 7:17 AM, BabySofia said:

This chapter was worth the wait! Hope to see another soon!

Thank you so much. Chapter 7 and 8 are in the works as we speak. 

On 11/23/2020 at 7:50 AM, Sarah Penguin said:

?

18 hours ago, SGTbaby said:

Read great to me! Glad this is back! Can’t wait for more!

Glad to hear it. I think after so long not writing I have begun to feel a little less confident. Writers block also made this chapter feel like a mountain to climb over. But if people like it, then I am pleased. More is on the way. 

9 hours ago, Jayme said:

This is beautiful, I loved how you split the time between seenit and siri. Hopefully seenit gets treated better and can actually escape to get her freedom.

Thank you, that is very kind of you to say. Maybe Seenit will get away, or maybe she will get caught. Time will only tell. 

 

Please excuse me for taking a moment to chatter. There was actually a story I started writing maybe a year ago. I would write it on my phone, usually if I was having diaper time but not in the AB space yet. I had so many words on it. I believe it was up to 30k. It was not this story, but it was an ABDL one. I damaged that phone and it broke in a way that bent the card thing. The SIM card? I don't know what it's called. But long story short. I could not get my story back. I do not have the heart to start it over from scratch. But some small elements of it live on in Crib Row. Stealing does not count if you are only stealing from yourself -- besides, no one had read even a word of it besides me. 

I am just rambling heheh. 

Another chapter will likely come later today. Please continue to enjoy.

[Guilend]

After reading this, it has my brain going. Thinking beyond Crib Row, mostly in DD stories in general.  

 

If there's a Crib Row for Littles, I image there's a version for Amazons and some InBetweeners. Of course I imagine it wouldn't be as robotic, like no one would want to build the machines to fit an Amazon. So they'd probably either wait till a Guard to change them or beg one to change them. It would definitely be even more of a nightmare with lots of abuse. It would be used for certain crimes. At the end they'd just be released after time served, or after going through a rehabilitation program for potty training. The reason I put it on here is because as princesspottypants put in her creation of this universe, everything Alice read and imagined was put into the universe so now that it's written here on the world wide web, it is now within this universe somewhere lol. 

 

I just love this story. I am enjoying this take on DD. Good job.

[ruby03]

2 hours ago, Guilend said:

After reading this, it has my brain going. Thinking beyond Crib Row, mostly in DD stories in general.  

 

If there's a Crib Row for Littles, I image there's a version for Amazons and some InBetweeners. Of course I imagine it wouldn't be as robotic, like no one would want to build the machines to fit an Amazon. So they'd probably either wait till a Guard to change them or beg one to change them. It would definitely be even more of a nightmare with lots of abuse. It would be used for certain crimes. At the end they'd just be released after time served, or after going through a rehabilitation program for potty training. The reason I put it on here is because as princesspottypants put in her creation of this universe, everything Alice read and imagined was put into the universe so now that it's written here on the world wide web, it is now within this universe somewhere lol. 

 

I just love this story. I am enjoying this take on DD. Good job.

Thank you so much, that means a lot to hear. 

I have considered that. I briefly mentioned a connected women's prison (that Deb the salonist came from) but did not intend for that one to be a prison that babies the inmates too. However, I do not see why that couldn't be a possibility. Amazons seem to have extremely high standards, so to put them back at the bottom would seem like a very high form of punishment. They have to start at the bottom and get back to their proper status. I think there are already stories about people being 'rehabilitated' for a crime by getting the baby treatment. But, I think it would be interesting with Amazons. Like, one has to be in a daycare alongside the littles they used to do the same things to. Karma. 

[ruby03]

Hello. I am back with more of this. There is a brief sexual reference in this, but it is just Seenit making a crude hyperbole.

 

Chapter 7: Twitchy Greg 

Those mother fuckers stole my tramp stamp. 

Okay, fine, backing up: yes, I had a prison tattoo, yes it was a tramp stamp, don’t give me shit for this one. Even in a prison that diapers and cribs you, you still bump into people who might request from their resident Person Who Gets Things (namely me-- ah, I was missing that life already) for a needle pilfered from one of the sewing machines that the prison industrial complex uses to make fine cotton pillowcases, and ink taken out of a permanent marker that you got from a girl who got something from a guard, and a few other bits and bobs, in order to make the time honored tradition of prison tattoos stay alive. There was a chick there named Jessica, but given that there were about eight Jessicas there we called this one Inky Jay, who knew how to do stick and pokes. 

Now, I wasn’t a tattoo person myself. I love seeing them on other people, but could never think of something I wanted permanently emblazoned on my body for the rest of time, and though I did support Inky Jay’s efforts of putting middle fingers on people’s butts when they were about to be sent To The Front so that whoever adopted them would be asked to sit on it and spin when they first changed or bathed them, I wasn’t in line for that same kind of retribution. 

However, and this isn’t the first time I’ve said this and it won’t be the last: prison is a cruel place. You’ll find that you’re playing cards with someone because they’re the only idiot there who has a deck of cards and you’re bored out of your Pampers, and a few other girls are getting in on it. Betting is everything in prison, because it’s the best way to get stuff unless you went through me, but it’s also a way to get tasty, served hot revenge on someone. Unfortunately for me, Laurie Pierce -- we always called her by her full name, couldn’t tell ya why -- had this grudge on me because I may have stolen some socks out of her crib in my earlier days. May have. Nothing you can prove. 

But she never forgot it, and hated me every day she was made to be in my presence. She’d sneer at me and go “Ew, did you shit yourself?” Yes, babe, it has come to my attention that I have indeed defecated in my pantaloons, and so did you this morning, and so does every chick in this side of the prison, get a grip. It was just her sophomoric way to act like her own brand didn’t smell like satanic corn chips. Maybe she was insecure about it. Or the socks thing that you can’t prove, whichever. She was thin and blonde and probably looking like someone’s pretty princess in pink frills right about now, since she got sent to the Front about five months before me and I didn’t see her in the nursery. 

Anyway, I’d been plugging away at this game of prison-rules poker for maybe an hour and a half, having fun, cracking jokes with my usual variety of Seenit Wit, when enough people folded that, as decided by the karmic rules of justice in the universe, it was down to Laurie Pierce and myself. 

Now, Laurie Pierce didn’t have anyone on the outside, so she didn’t get much in way of shit to barter with, and because she didn’t like me and I am guessing didn’t have much in way of her own hookup because she was a bitch, she was down to betting chewy banana cookies, some junk she’d stolen from someone else, a juicebox, $6.35, and anything else she’d won in previous rounds. The cash was where my eyes had gone. But Laurie Pierce had bigger ideas. 

“This is all stuff I’m sure you could get yourself, Seenit,” she’d said, “cause you can get anything, right?” 

“I know my limitations,” I replied, peering over my terrible hand. 

“Whatever. I think I want to make this more interesting. If I win, I want you to get a tattoo.” 

Damn me, I was too curious about this prospect to not at least pry for more info. “That seems like a high risk low reward situation for me and mine. What do I get if I win?” 

“If you win, you get everything I have here,” she gestured to her pile, “plus, I won’t tell a guard you helped Jackie G. make a shank.” 

“Ah-ah!” I held up a finger, “I have no idea what she was planning to make with those popsicle sticks, plausible deniability. And, what, does that mean if I lose, I have to get a tattoo and you’ll snitch? You know what happens to snitches around here.” 

“I dunno. Maybe the tattoo will be enough to make me reconsider. Your only guarantee is winning. If you try to back out now, I’ll definitely tell.” 

Yes, that was a sort of illogical and unfair deal, but I also had Coco and Double Chin cheering me on, along with a mess of other ladies, and dinner was in fifteen minutes and if you miss it you miss it. So I took the bet. 

And, of course, I subsequently lost the hand. 

I should have cheated, but I must admit that I’m also not very good at card games and am not entirely sure how one even cheats at poker. Sure, I’m great at having a poker face, great at bluffing, but what was I supposed to do? Have Coco sleight of hand me another ace? So, yeah, my shitty hand lost and got a tattoo right above my asscrack. 

The tattoo, for the curious, says Chicken Nugget. I had to lay down, diaper pulled to my thighs, while Inky Jay put the words Chicken Nugget on my lower back in what I was told was rather nicely done script font, given the limitations of stick and poke. It hurt like fuck, took like two hours, I peed partway through it and Inky Jay, true professional, with her face right down in the danger zone, said “Are you peeing?” and I had to say that yes, I was, and it was the first time since my first months there that I’d felt openly embarrassed about being an adult in a diaper. She asked me to please not poop and I wanted to sink into the floor. 

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to look at your own ass, in or out of a diaper, but unless you’ve got a previously unseen neck and spine situation that I’d love to hear about, it’s pretty damn hard to look at your own tramp stamp. But, you know, I’d always known it was there because two hours with someone stabbing a needle into your flesh while being asked to please control your bowels kind of sears the memory in. I think Laurie Pierce chose the words Chicken Nugget because she was hoping it’d replace Seenit as my nickname, which, first of all that’s way too long to be a nickname, and second of all I’d been called Seenit since before she got arrested for shoplifting. 

Tangent: I kinda wish we’d been friends, I would have liked to have congratulated her on how she did it. Apparently she went with an Amazon who was in on it and had her in slightly too large diaper, and she’d act regressed to the two-or-three range. When she thought no one was looking, she’d slip expensive colognes, makeup palettes, and small clothing items into her diaper, so at best the padding hid it and at worst it looked like she’d had a massive load in there. So the Amazon would go “Oh, Laurie, I think someone poopa-pants!” and she’d cry and fuss in the way Amazon’s like, put up a good act while getting dragged to the changing rooms, where the Amazon would remove security tags and RFID’s under the guise of a diaper change, shove the goods in her purse, and walk out so they could resell the stolen merch for cash. If someone saw her shoving things in her diaper they’d pass it off as her being a stupid baby, tee hee! Man, that’s a good fucking hustle- at least it was until they got caught. What can I say, I admire a quality thief. 

Unfortunately, Laurie Pierce was a bitch and from that night on I had Chicken Nugget on my lower back. Never stuck as a nickname, never stuck as anything, no one even saw it. If they did, I’m sure they would have commented on it. 

And that, my friends, is how I know that at some point, likely when they were doing surgery to me to regress me, those motherfuckers stole my Chicken Nugget tattoo. 

At present, I was up to my stolen boobs in warm water, buck naked, back supported, as Joan dumped a pitcher over my head and said “Weeee! There’s Rini!” She had a special baby bath all lined up for me, but it looked old fashioned in a way that made me think this was a leftover from her Amazon kid. Or maybe she just liked vintage things, which would track with some of the decor in her house. I hadn’t been hanging out with this lady for even an entire day at this point, we were just having a pre-dinner bath because she cooed that I ‘smelled like jail’ which I took only mild offense to, and she wanted me to be ‘so pretty’ for Gregory, but I knew one thing about her: she liked to talk, and she liked to point out the obvious to me. Yes, I am aware that she picked up my hands and said “look at your teeny fingers, you have five little fingers!” because from her perspective this was brand new information to me, but even alone, she enjoyed narrating. 

And I am positive she would have said something about my Chicken Nugget tattoo, had it been there. I didn’t think about it when she changed me earlier, because I was too busy in The Baby Zone, but now that she was taking a soapy washcloth to my body, I was certain she would have made mention of the stupid thing, or at least laughed at it. Right? Am I crazy? I would have. 

The thing is, I didn’t even like that damn tattoo, and often forgot I had it, but something about them removing it felt like they’d taken a story from me, an experience. Another part of Seenit, dissolved in Rini’s suckling maw. They’d taken my teeth, my body shape, and from what I could tell, some of my own personality, but I’d sort of had it in my head that I could at least keep something of my prison days, something to mark me as not your average run-of-the-mill ‘regressed’ little. Maybe I was hungry, or worn out from the day of constantly putting on an act, maybe it was Rini, but I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Equal parts angry and exhausted, I slapped the surface of the water a few good times because it was the only way I felt I could get my anger out that wouldn’t also give away my unbabified state as much as shouting choice expletives would. 

“Watch out, woah!” Joan laughed, retracting to avoid the carnage. I kept splashing, glaring down at the water. They took my fucking tattoo, a tattoo I didn’t even like, and when Joan reached back into the tub I shrugged away from her, pissed off enough to not want to deal with this. I wanted her to be a terrible captive mother and dump me in my crib for the rest of the night so I could finally stop pretending to be a baby, but it seemed like she was really pulling out the stops to earn a “World’s Best Mom” novelty mug, because she shushed me and held my arm firmly, without enough pressure to evoke pain. 

“I know mama, you’re hungry and tired, I’ll get you your baba in a few minutes,” fuck off, I missed cups so bad I could scream, “you’re cranky because you’ve had such a big day and your tummy’s empty.” Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night. 

I made the bath hard for her, and maybe later I’d feel bad for that, pushing and whining and kicking, but she took it like a champ, to her credit. It was not nearly as cathartic as it sounds, believe me; I wasn’t up for faking an entire tantrum, but this would have to do, even if it made me feel a degree worse because I was still pretending to be six months old. Whatever. I couldn’t wait until bedtime. 

I heard the garage door open around the time she was lifting me out of the tub, and Joan called “I’m in here!” to what I assumed was The Alleged Greg while fastening a diaper on me. 

The diaper, by the way, could kick the ass of the leak-prone prison diapers I’d been wearing. It was thicker, softer, cloth backed, pink on the sides and decorated with cutesy pastel animals everywhere else. Clearly she’d stocked up on diapers for a newborn-aged little, because they were thick to the point of absurdism. No way could anyone even crawl too effectively in this beast of a garment. I wish I could say this was another pin on my massive board of grievances, along with the tattoo thing, but diapers had been my norm for years; I’d kind of stopped caring. 

I met Gregory while held aloft in Joan’s arms, clad only in the beastly diaper and one of those towels with a hood, complete with bear ears. 

Gregory, as he stood in the kitchen opening takeout bags, nodded our way and smiled like he was kind of uncomfortable. Average looking, very pale, with short, thin, sandy-colored hair and a pair of glasses. He was shorter than Joan, I could tell from here, and he locked eyes with me only for a moment. 

“So, erm,” woah, an accent, “is this it, then?” 

“It?” Joan spoke with trepidation. “Greg, we--” 

“I know, I know, sorry,” he held up a hand and glanced back down to twitchily open a container of rice, “I was thinking ‘it’ as in ‘the Little’, the-- that  ‘it’, her species is the ‘it’.” 

“I know, I know,” she bounced me. I wasn’t into Greg’s vibe, but I was willing to give him time. He seemed like he’d fall to pieces if I knocked into him hard enough despite me being a fifth of his height, so I had no fucking clue how the man might have managed to handle himself in a court of law. Bastard. “She-- she? You wanted a girl, right.” 

“Yes, she!” Joan smiled and took my thumb from my mouth, which I hadn’t realized was there and yet immediately missed, as she filled the gap between us and brought me close enough to catch the fine wafts of Greg’s cologne. “Her name is Rini. Say hi, Rini, say hi to daddy!” 

I had no interest in doing any such thing, but she took my hand and made it wave to him. 

He, clearly a man of etiquette, winced. “Rini?” 

“I knooow,” Joan chuckled, and I used the time she’d brushed her hair out of her face to resume my oral fixation, trying to nurse it loud enough to annoy Greg as a form of hazing him. Baby Brain did not have the same reaction to this piece of work that she did to Joan, whose arms I felt, yes, notably content and dreamily happy to be in, but I wasn’t going to count him out just yet. Suck suck suck, my man. Your move. 

“I’m not really happy with her name right now, but I’m not sure of what to change it to-- oh mama you’re so hungry, let’s get you your formula.” And on that I was being handed, whether either of us liked it or not, to Twitchy Greg. He fumbled only lightly in the exchange, and I yelped, and Baby Brain made me whine and whimper at the loss of Joan’s warmth, so I played it up and tried to reach back for her while Gregory held me with the tree branches he was attempting to pass off as arms. It was an awkward cradling position, he held me too high on his body and about a solid centimeter away. 

“Is she-- eh-- hi,” he looked down at me and I continued wriggling and sucking my thumb, not even looking at him. “So she’s..." twitching, noncommittal hand gestures that interfered with his hold on me, "regressed?” 

“Yes,” she said, “but she’s bigger than the rest of them! I think she’s about six months.” 

“Okay.” 

Joan was opening a container of formula, brand new from the way she pulled the plastic off. “You said that a newborn was something you weren’t really looking forward to, so, this way our compromise stretches a little further; I still get my baby, but you get one you can play with more, I think she can almost crawl, too!” 

“Sure.” 

Joan worked, I shoved my foot against Gregory’s tit in hopes it would make him hold me properly (it did not) and Gregory stood there like the world’s worst tree, until finally Joan had a moment to pause. “Greg, I really appreciate you being open minded about this. I know you’re not a littles-person, but she’s just a baby, and she’s so so sweet.” 

“She’s kicking me.” 

“Lyric gave you a fat lip when she was a baby! You bring that up to her all the time!” 

“Well,” that was the first time I saw him smile, so I toned down the intentionally-loud-nursing bit, “yeah, but she was an actual baby.” 

“So is she! Does she look like anything but a baby to you? Look at that cutie face!” 

Glad to hear she thought I was cute, though I would have preferred Rougishly Handsome. Gregory did look down at me while I pretended to play with part of the towel and watch Joan. 

“She’s an adult,” he spoke on a shaky foundation, like he knew the wrong words would get him into hot water with the wife, I guess, “who has been mentally altered to act like a baby. I am holding an incontinent, brain-damaged grown woman in a diaper in my arms, a complete stranger-- who was a convict, might I add. I’m sorry, but you know littles kind of creep me out like that.” 

"Honey," Joan turned away from the baby bottle she’d been filling and sighed with the weight of what I assumed must have been a hundred prior discussions.  “I know you've got your anxieties. We’ve talked about this. This is just what littles are, and I…,” she looked at me, I locked eyes on her and reached my hand her way just to butter her up and indicate that I thought this guy had douchebag tendencies, “I miss being a mommy, Greg.” 

The matter-of-fact tone he spoke with made me wish I really was brain-damaged. “Technically,” he spoke like Joan was a fucking idiot, “you still are a mother. Lyric moving out on her own and getting engaged doesn’t mean she’s not our child anymore.” 

“Oh sure,” her smile was back, “I’ll just go to her apartment and feed her this bottle instead. I know she’ll always be my daughter, I’ll always be her mother, but we have an adult mother-daugter relationship now! I love Lyric to the moon and back three times over, but I miss having a cuddly baby who smiles up at me, I miss feedings, I miss bath times, I miss that calm after the storm when you settle a baby down from crying and you can finally think straight....” 

“Or Chrysta talked you into thinking you wanted one. You have empty nest syndrome.” 

“I do!” Joan returned with the bottle and put one arm around Greg so she could kiss his cheek. “Come on, tiger,” ew, come on, not in front of what you think is a baby, “can we make this a happy day for our family?” This was the voice of a woman who is attempting to use her feminine wiles to tug at her man’s heartstrings. “I think you’ll learn to like our new treasure once you get to know her. My daddy didn’t like cats until we got Stella, and by the time I was moving out, that old cat and that old man were inseparable. I think her passing away hit him harder than it hit me! You think you could try that? You were already a great daddy to Lyric.” 

“Let’s--” he shifted uncomfortably and made a move to hand me back after what seemed like a spell of contemplation. “I don’t want the food to get cold.” 

Being back in the security of Joan’s company was like laying down in your own bed after weeks of being away, I made sure to coo all cutesy just for her despite my growing mental exhaustion. My eyes closed on their own as she carried me over to the table, settling into a wooden chair with me cradled in her arms. When we were seated I was nearly ready to let Rini drive again when I smelled that damn food. My stomach growled audibly, I hadn’t smelled food that good in six years, and I opened up my eyes again to lock them right on the goods. From my angle I could only see the eco-friendly biodegradable cardboard boxes the food had been picked up in, but the savory scent of meats tickled my nostrils in a way that was damn near arousing. The side of the lacquered box wept with condensation, as if begging me to dive into its contents like a pig in slop. 

I didn’t pay attention to what Joan had changed the subject to with Gregory, I was too transfixed by her hand squeezing a lime over what lied inside the box (pad thai noodles, maybe?) I was peeing my diaper at that moment but I honest to god felt like I could have come, the scent of cool citrus dancing over to me like cartoon stinkwaves. 

Fuck it. Babies don’t have table manners. 

My arm shot out and grasped at the side of the box, scrabbled my fingers to try to gain purchase on it. Yes, I was consciously risking a bunch of hot noodles spilling all over my small body, but honestly that’s the way I want to go out. All I could get ahold of was a nearby napkin, so I made sure to chuck it away and go back for the gold, but by then my window of opportunity had long since been shuttered. 

“Ohh no,” Joan squeezed me closer, so that I was turned more her way, the way I’d imagine I’d be if she were going to breastfeed me. All I could see was her shirt, “my poor cranky baby, you’re so hungry, huh?” 

A baby bottle nipple entered my mouth and on trained instinct, I nursed it. I was mad about my inability to be given even one delicious noodle, but the problems were just beginning. The formula that flowed from my suckling was insanely, overpoweringly rich. It was like drinking straight cream compared to what I’d been used to. The flavors were too much, the texture too heavy and immediately filling, and my body’s knee-jerk reaction to the stuff was to gag and cough, sending it sputtering out of the corners of my mouth. 

“Sshhh slow down, there you go,” my mouth was wiped and I was blamed entirely for the ordeal, but I did cope with the advice and tried to slow down. Being absolutely punishingly hungry did make it harder to obtain such an ideal, but knowing that this was the best I was going to get put the concept into my head. Ugh. It was like drinking directly from the cow’s udder, I was hyper aware of its presence in my gut as I consumed more of it. Joan held it for me, which made Rini happily knead my hands into her shirt. 

In fact, Baby Brain was a bit too happy, so much so that I’d stopped paying attention to what was around me and just to the joy of being fed by Joan. I coughed and choked several more times, and she was always right there to help clean up despite what I knew was a growing spot on her shirt. Nothing was real, right then, it was all her and I alone in the entire universe. She provided for me, I needed nothing else but Joan, Joan’s hands, the bottle she fed me, the warm aggressively flavorful formula that was like drinking milk-flavored bricks. My stomach hurt, I felt like I needed to poop but upon trying, nothing came. 

I pulled away from the bottle and pinched my face up, squirming away from its reentry, and Joan seemed to know what I was trying to say. “Poor thing,” she cooed, rocking me as I felt ready to yartz, “was that a little too much?” 

“I mean,” Greg said grumpily, “she’s been eating prison food.” He emphasized my former diet like it was some sort of derogatory term. “Do we even know what she was arrested for?” 

God, of all the demeaning things, I was lifted onto a burp cloth I hadn’t noticed and patted somewhat ruthlessly. “I do not know, they said I could find out if I looked in her profile, but I’m choosing not to.” 

“So, we could have a serial killer in our house, and you’re calling her ‘poor thing’ for spitting up formula--” 

“Greg!” There was that stern voice again, the one she used on Chrysta the other day, and it made my stomach feel worse. “Babe, come on! It’s not like us getting a prison little was a surprise. Look at her, I have to help her burp. Do you think she’s capable of hurting anyone?” 

“No,” Greg’s tone was annoyed right back, I really didn’t want to be in the process of being burped while a lover’s quarrel was bubbling up right along with the turmoil in my gut, “but what I do know is that people don’t change just because they’ve been lobotomized, she still has the tendencies of a criminal--” 

“Oh my god,” Joan stopped patting me but held me in place, which worked out in my favor because I couldn’t help but smile at how right Greg was with the whole tendencies thing, “did the entire, I don’t know, fourth months of conversations we’ve had about this just not exist? Is there a statute of limitations on those, babe? Were you just not listening when we spent three hours looking at stories from that Prison Littles Adopters forum?” 

I finally burped, and seconds later barfed. We're not talking a bit of spitup, this was a floodgate. It did not feel better at all, which is the least vomiting could do for the little body. 

“Ohh, poor baby, oh no--” 

“Joan, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Greg stood up with paper towels, because apparently I’d gotten some on the floor. He went to work cleaning it up and I watched him with vindication, or as much as the body can muster when it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. “It’s a lot for me to get used to, I know you’re happy about her and,” he seemed focused on cleaning up before glancing up at Joan, who turned me away from the abhorrent sight so she could watch Greg, I was left with a premium view of the living room, “I’m happy too, this is just an adjustment period for me.” 

“I know,” she rubbed my back but her gentle tone was for Greg, “I know, honey, but I really think it’d be best if you stopped thinking of her as a little, and went to thinking of her as a baby. That's what she is. Our baby.” 

“Yeah,” Twitchy Greg said. “Our--our baby.” 

I heard a sigh, felt his presence get close, and then caught the smak of a kiss. Then another, and then a long kiss in which Greg put his hand on my back too, and I wish I could tell you I felt a sense of familiar togetherness and unity from this gorgeous family portrait, but I didn’t and that’s the end of that. 

Joan brought me into the nursery before she was finished eating and dressed me in a full footed sleeper, black with white stars, a pattern I couldn’t even disagree with. It was kind of hard to let someone dress me without instinctually helping, knowing that she needs my legs to go here or there and putting them that direction for her benefit, so to play it up I just went completely limp, nursed my pacifier and pretended to clumsily rub my eyes. My stomach really did hurt like a bitch, I knew whatever movement my bowels were looking forward to making was not going to be the most pleasant of my life, and I think if I was ever going to choose a time to attempt to cry and wail, it might have to be when I need out of that mess. For the moment, I laid lazily on the plush changing table and let her button the sleeper up. 

I’d be lying if I told you it wasn’t extremely cozy. 

Joan settled into a rocking chair I’d missed earlier and that was it. I couldn’t fight the needy little jackass any longer: I let Rini win again as, in the dim light of my new quarters, I let Joan rock me to sleep. 

 

-- 

I will not do this for a while, but I am thinking of perhaps doing an in and out of character Q&A later in the story, or perhaps once it's over. You can ask a question to me, Ruby, that I will answer, or you can ask Seenit about anything that I will answer "in character" as if you have asked her yourself. She likes to talk about herself and has a lot of stories to tell. I do not know if that is a thing authors do here. But I think it would be fun. 

[Guilend]

36 minutes ago, ruby03 said:

Thank you so much, that means a lot to hear. 

I have considered that. I briefly mentioned a connected women's prison (that Deb the salonist came from) but did not intend for that one to be a prison that babies the inmates too. However, I do not see why that couldn't be a possibility. Amazons seem to have extremely high standards, so to put them back at the bottom would seem like a very high form of punishment. They have to start at the bottom and get back to their proper status. I think there are already stories about people being 'rehabilitated' for a crime by getting the baby treatment. But, I think it would be interesting with Amazons. Like, one has to be in a daycare alongside the littles they used to do the same things to. Karma. 

Exactly. Yes there's been a few mentioned of Amazons being sent to rehabilitation centers and that they were in diapers,  like in Exchanged, but just very small mentions. 

 

Sometimes when I read Diaper Dimension stories I try to think of how the world is that the author has created beyond what is written or even put more thought into something mentioned. Sometimes I even take an idea that a word or phrase in a story, like one character saying something offhandedly or a small detail on like a soda can and run with it in my mind. Sometimes I'll post my ideas, not in the Hope's that it gets put in the story, but in the Hope's that it might give other readers something to think about and explore in their minds, or to help the author to give them something to think about and hopefully spark other ideas that might be helpful in their endeavors in their writings. 

24 minutes ago, ruby03 said:

was consciously risking a bunch of hot noodles spilling all over my small body, but honestly that’s the way I want to go out.

I'm still reading, but damn that was funny. Mostly because I'm right there with her on that.

[Guilend]

30 minutes ago, ruby03 said:

will not do this for a while, but I am thinking of perhaps doing an in and out of character Q&A later in the story, or perhaps once it's over. You can ask a question to me, Ruby, that I will answer, or you can ask Seenit about anything that I will answer "in character" as if you have asked her yourself. She likes to talk about herself and has a lot of stories to tell. I do not know if that is a thing authors do here. But I think it would be fun. 

I don't remember anyone else doing that, but I think that'd be great, probably best to wait till the end, so no spoilers or anything could be given away and everyone can ask anything. 

[Veggeto]

Great chapter! Love the world building in your story!

I am curious how the bonding with Greg will go (if they both want to)

[Sarah Penguin]

[SGTbaby]

Love the update and way it flows.  Greg is having a hard time but that fits as the female amazons always have more instincts than the males or that is how the stories seem to go. I like how it is an added dynamic to the overall story and dimension as a whole. Looking forward to more!

[Cya]

I'm loving the journey you're taking us on. It honestly impresses how Seenit thinks she can escape when she can't even walk anymore. Then again, she did survive six years of prison, maybe waiting a year to learn how to walk again won't be a big deal for her.

 

Great job!

[Cya]

I really miss this story. Hope you're doing well. 

[Jayme]

I also am missing seenit...