Academy B (Complete)

[Mia Moore]

Gosh I feel like it's been months since I finished posting Academy I.  I'm sorry for the delay on starting this one.  I have a few chapters ready to go, but I hope to do a lot more over winter break.  Anyway...

If you haven't read Academy I, I recommend you read that one first.  I don't think it's strictly necessary though?  I'm trying to write these as individual narratives, but it will definitely benefit the reader to have some information from A:I.

Oh and again.  If you want to support me, there's a Patreon link you can go to.  Thanks for reading and leaving comments and stuff.

~Mia~

----------------------------

Academy B
By Mia Moore

"True judgement does not use balanced scales, for the fool’s pockets have been filled with many of the devil’s stones."
                                                     -The Source

Chapter One

Bala Khatri woke up to stark, bright lights. They glared off the shiny walls, ceiling, and floor. The room was big and shadowless, stretching an impossible distance. As Bala's eyes adjusted, she caught sight of something else: a person. But as she approached, she found that she was looking in a mirror. 

Bala was still dressed in scrubs from her night shift at the hospital. She was on her way back to her car when the van pulled up. She had managed to mace one of the suited men, but the other hit her hard across the face. In the mirror, there was swelling along her jawline. Where was she now?

A pit the size of a melon sat in her stomach, sprouting dread, demanding that she shout out at the empty room with the shiny walls. To threaten them. To deny them. To appeal to them. To beg to them. Bala was no stranger to the perils of being a young woman who worked long hours and late nights in the city. She rubbed her fingers up her arms and found herself shivering. Cold? Scared?

Bala quickly realized the room wasn't as big as she thought: the mirror was causing a lot of the distortion. She worked her way around the brightly lit room until she found a handle to a door, though the door blended in so much it was hard to notice. Bala tried the handle, but it didn't turn. 

"Damnit..." She fished through her pockets for her cell phone, but it wasn't there. The ID tag on her waist wasn't there either.

"My family has no money," Bala called out, the echo of her voice eerily flat against the walls of the room. "If it’s a ransom you're hoping for, you might as well kill me now. I’m sure my organs are worth more to you." Always the pragmatist. 

Nobody responded. Maybe they were organ harvesters, though - it would explain why it felt like a refrigerator in there.

Bala kicked at the door, but she wasn't the strongest woman in the world. She wasn't the biggest, either. She knew her way around a can of pepper spray, but that wasn't going to help her in here. Why would someone kidnap her? Was it a sex thing? 

Bala stepped away from the door and paced around the room. She rubbed her bare arms, hugging herself tightly. It felt colder and colder the longer she was awake.

"Sit down," a voice said, filling the room with a soft echo.  It was neither masculine nor feminine, and didn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular.

Bala looked around for the source of the voice, but there was nobody else in the room with her. No cameras. No speakers. Not that she could find with her eyes, anyway. Had she imagined the command? 

"I won’t," she replied, in defiance. The voice didn't repeat itself. And for the next ten minutes, Bala was left to her thoughts and her own preponderances. Gosh it was cold. Colder with every passing moment. 

"Sit down." The voice repeated.

"Tell me why you're doing this!" No response. Bala took a deep breath and saw the air in front of her nose. Was it really that cold in here? She was shivering in place. "Please... I have a family. I have a daughter. She's two years old. She needs her mother!" 

Bala didn't have a family. She didn't have a daughter. She had a mom who visited once a week and a roommate she had known for two years. She had a lot of friends at work, people who would quickly realize she was missing. Bala was never late to work.

There was no response. No amount of impassioned pleas, truthful or not, seemed to impact the disembodied voice. She shivered, rubbed her arms, and paced the room. 

"Sit down." 

It had to be pre-recorded, didn't it?  Bala had been trying to time the intervals between the commands, and they seemed roughly similar.  But they were so far apart that she couldn’t compare the inflections or tones.  Was it a person? Reluctantly, she shouted at the ceiling. 

"If I sit down, will you turn up the heat please? I'm going to get hypothermia, you know?" Not yet. It wasn't cold enough yet. But it was cold enough that she kept clenching her swollen jaw. 

No response. Bala did her best to hold out hope for a crack, an edge, something to grab onto verbally. But if the voice was truly a recording, her shouting would get her nowhere. So when it next repeated: 

"Sit down." 

She sat down. Immediately, the space on the floor where she sat began to glow a soft red.

Bala nervously examined the room, pressing her palms to the floor. It was giving off heat, like a space heater. She wondered if the rest of the room was warming up, or if it was only the glowing spot. And why did they want her to sit down? Was it just a display of power?

"I'm sitting now, what do you want?" There was no reply from the voice. It was American; she had figured that much out. And if she had to guess, it repeated about every ten minutes. Would it give her another command in ten minutes, then? 

Experimentally, she reached as far as she could, in each direction, and found the floor only to be warm on the tile where she was sitting. The room was still cold, but the warmth travelled well up her body and it left her feeling... comfortable. As comfortable as she could be, sitting on a hard floor in a freezing room, ordered around by a disembodied voice after being kidnapped. 

"Put your thumb in your mouth and keep it there." 

What? Bala thought. Why?

"I'm not putting my thumb in my mouth," Bala said to no one in particular. "What is this all about? Are you trying to humiliate me or something? That isn't happening!" 

No response. No anything. So Bala sat quietly with her arms crossed, soaking in the heat of the tile beneath her. Then, ten minutes later, the tile turned off. The heat vanished, and the voice repeated itself. 

"Put your thumb in your mouth and keep it there."

"No, I..." Bala was smart enough to have a preschool understanding of cause and effect. She needed to follow the directions, or the room was going to stay cold. On top of that, there was the faintest breeze of frigid, icy air. They were making the room colder? Because she hadn't obeyed?

The voice repeated itself three more times. Bala found the corner of the room by the mirror and balled herself together as tight as she could, knees to her chest and arms tucked into her shirt. The air in the room was biting; no matter how she tried, she couldn't stop shaking. It was definitely below freezing, and her head was starting to hurt. 

“Put your thumb in your mouth and keep it there." 

What did it matter? It was one stupid thing. It wasn't even that embarrassing, if she thought about it. People suck their thumbs. It wasn't weird. So with a bit of hesitation, she put her thumb in her mouth and kept it there.

The moment that she did, she could feel the spreading warmth beneath her on the floor. It was like slipping under a blanket in the middle of winter. It was like a hug at the end of a twenty-hour double shift at the hospital. Bala shivered, but this time it wasn't because of the cold. She had her thumb in her mouth, sure. But so what?

The whole experience was exhausting for Bala. Every time she tried to fight, it got colder. Then she was sitting in the corner of a room and sucking her thumb. Worse yet, she knew the voice would continue to demand things from her. Whatever their goal was, it wouldn't end with thumbsucking.

"Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep." 

Bala sighed and looked down at the floor as the voice gave her a new command. What was she supposed to do with that? What kind of command was 'go to sleep' when you're a literal kidnapping victim? But she also knew she had little choice in the matter. 

"I need to use the bathroom." 

To her surprise, the voice responded right away with a new command.

"Do not speak unless spoken to." 

It responded to her? Then they could hear her. She took her thumb out of her mouth and tried to get to her feet. 

"Please let me out! I'll do anything you want, just let me out of here!" 

Maybe it was the standing up. Maybe it was taking her thumb out of her mouth. Maybe it was talking without a prompt. Whatever it was, the heat started to vanish from the spot where she was standing. In a fury, Bala went over to the door and tugged at the handle, kicking the tiled walls.

"Let me out! I know you can hear me! Let me out! Whatever you want from me, I don't care, I'll play along, just let me out!" Bala kicked at the door and screamed at the room for nine minutes, until the original command repeated itself. 

"Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep." 

"Fuck you!" The room was getting cold again. Bala could see her breath and her arms were covered in goosebumps. What was she supposed to do? Give up?

"I'm not going to do it! I'm not going to listen! I'll freeze my butt off before I listen to you again, unless you get in here and talk to me. Or… or let me out. I don't care!" 

Bala was short of breath and sucking on icy oxygen that hurt her lungs. She paced the room, trying to keep warm. She tucked her arms back into her shirt and shook her head side to side. Stay moving. Keep active. 

But by the time the voice repeated the command - "Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep." - Bala was struggling to breathe. It felt like the air around her was full of glass. Her heart was hurting and she could read the signs of hypothermia. The temperature in the room was clearly below freezing. If she didn't warm up soon, she could have liver or kidney problems. With an angry whimper, she sat back down on the floor - in the center of the room - and put her thumb in her mouth.

No warmth. No warmth. What was she doing wrong? The words played back in her head so readily. Lay down and rest. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Sleep. Sleep. Lay down. Rest. Sleep. Thumb in mouth.

She shivered, sucking on her thumb to keep from biting it off, and laid down on the floor.  The tile started to glow and warm air radiated from it. Bala had stars in the edges of her vision. 

She continued to tremble on the warm tile for many minutes later, but soon the heat filled her up. The warm spot on the floor was so refreshing, so relaxing... a haven amidst the tundra around her. Her body began to relax, allowing her aching muscles a reprieve. She sucked softly on her thumb and let sleep take her away from that awful, awful place.

[diaper24/7]

This is really good and look forward to more.

[Empress_Emily]

Wonderful to hear from you again, Mia! I loved Academy I, but I guess I was expecting academy 2, or at least Academy II…? What’s the deal with the lettering conventions? Is the B for Bala or something??

In any case, this is really beautifully written as always. Unlike with Ai, there’s a lot less chance to argue when you barely have a person to talk to.

Bala sure loves to kick and scream, even swear, in this chaper! (Not good-girl-behavior, if you ask me…) But I see the Academy is already starting to cure her of that. Is she the fool you mention in the top line- and what do you mean “true judgement doesn’t use balanced scales”? Is that a quote from somewhere? I hate not getting the reference… >.>

 

Sorry for all the questions! I can’t wait to read more ^^

[Eberhardt85]

Very promising start...This strikes me as a bit of an homage to an older story called "The Baby Hotel", which happened to be one of the first abdl stories I read as a younger person when I finally got the courage to do a web search for the first time...It was probably one of the first facility based stories on the web. I have to say I prefer the Academy Series because there is more of a focus on the psychology vs. some of the older stories which tended to have a much heavier focus on extreme punishment/abuse. It will be interesting to see how this new chapter develops...always like stories where the captors are not too mean up front but instead a bit more nurturing/passive aggressive as a way of getting what they want.  

[Mia Moore]

3 hours ago, Empress_Emily said:

I guess I was expecting academy 2, or at least Academy II…? What’s the deal with the lettering conventions? Is the B for Bala or something??

Haha, yeah.  I guess I wasn't sure what to name the stories when I started.  'Academy I' was actually the working title, shortened from 'Academy Works Part 1'. I wanted to change it to something deep like "Genesis Arc" or whatever, but after using 'Academy I' for so long it just kind of grew on me.  There were a lot of other factors, like Ai's name being an abbreviation of 'Academy I' and also sounding like the letter 'I'. That seemed really elegant to me.

Ahh, I'm babbling.  

But I guess change begets change and I didn't want it to just be "Academy 2" so I tried to find a new spin on things.  If not a number, then a letter?  And B is the second letter of the alphabet.  I think 'Academy B' probably stood for 'Academy Bala' at the beginning, but a lot has changed.  I don't think it stands for that anymore.

3 hours ago, Empress_Emily said:

Is she the fool you mention in the top line- and what do you mean “true judgement doesn’t use balanced scales”? Is that a quote from somewhere? I hate not getting the reference… >.>

It's not a reference, don't worry.  If you remember, A:I had a quote like that at the start of the story too.  They are both attributed to 'The Source', which isn't really that important right now.  I want each narrative to stand on its own, and in doing so sometimes I worry that the overarching plot of the series is maybe getting lost?  The epigraphs are a way for me to keep all the stories connected.  If you wanna read into them, they definitely have meaning.  But don't worry if they don't make sense.  I think they are going to be things people come back to later - after finishing the series - and say "ooohhhhhh~"

1 hour ago, Eberhardt85 said:

Very promising start...This strikes me as a bit of an homage to an older story called "The Baby Hotel"

It is, actually!  Wow, I'm so surprised someone got that.  I was a huge fan of those stories growing up. (I know I wasn't supposed to be reading ABDL stuff until I turned 18 and I'm really sorry but I promise I didn't make an account or anything!  It was just incognito tabs on my phone browser..) But yeah, the electric floor was the inspiration for the Cold Room.  I really didn't want to just steal Robert's ideas so blatantly, so I tried to mix it up a little.  Sincerely though, I don't think I would have written any ABDL literature if it wasn't for The Baby Hotel.  I owe a lot to Robert and longrifle tbh. (Or maybe they should pay me damages for giving me these kinks???)

1 hour ago, Eberhardt85 said:

I have to say I prefer the Academy Series because there is more of a focus on the psychology vs. some of the older stories which tended to have a much heavier focus on extreme punishment/abuse.

Okay, first of all.  This is probably the best compliment I'll ever get in my entire life.  And second, I really understand what you mean.  There's a real suspension of disbelief when reading a lot of ABDL literature because a lot of the stuff you find kinda hot is also stuff that is really bad and abusive.  I know that it's a story and all that, so you don't have to feel guilty about it, but I still do sometimes.  I think that's why Academy Works is the way that it is: when your aggressor is a mysterious organization with seemingly infinite power, money, and time, they aren't humanized anymore.  It's not "an evil person hurting a good person", but a good person fighting against an evil system.  It changes things, I guess... I dunno.

But yeah, despite the probably impossible stuff that happens in Academy Works, I do try really hard to make it realistic and relatable.  That's why the characters are the way they are and why psychology is a big part of it.  I've read enough "so and so is a baby now" stories.  I guess I wanted to make something new.  Is this new?  I guess there are a lot of facility stories, like The Baby Hotel and Audrey & Staycee.  And Dante's Infanzia already did the "spiritual successor to a famous work, but also a diaper fantasy" thing, so maybe I'm just spinning my wheels here.  I'm babbling again.

Thank you for reading and commenting.  I really do appreciate it.

~Mia~

[~Brian~]

@Mia Moore

I agree this is a great start! When I started to read this, it kind of reminded me of being a kid. When I was a kid, because I had a disability, they would often send me to a place in the state where they could do “rehab“ to help me with my disability. This meant that I could go and have daily therapy for two hours a day, and I would be living at the facility, so I would go to school, swim, eat, and sleep down there and in someway that was supposed to help me. I remember someone telling me that “you can swim every day“ and that made me think that it would be awesome!

in reality, I had my own struggles just like Bala has in the story. I had to listen to people tell me “what to do“ and if I didn’t do it the way they wanted it done, when they wanted it done, I was punished. When I realized that they were doing things wrong, I ended up doing things that were similar to what she was doing in this introduction.  I had to fight, because I felt that I was being somehow “not listened to” because of this, I had to rebel and tell them that if they did not follow my wishes, which were very simple ones, that I would end up having to call my father to have them straighten themselves out. I also was diapered on a few occasions as well, and had to use it, because no one wanted to let me use the bathroom on my own. Because it was disabled, I think they wanted me to wear diapers while I was in the facility almost 24 seven.

So, I can relate to the young ladies struggles. This is a great start, and I look forward to seeing what happens next. I have a feeling however, this young lady will find that it will get colder in there if she does not do as she is told. I don’t think there is a way that she will be able to rebel without getting a lot of feedback in the negative direction, but we will have to see what happens. Actually, my stay at the rehab center wasn’t as bad after my father spoke to some of these idiots that were causing issues for me. They just had to realize that I had a brain in my head, and when I said that I didn’t like something, or I didn’t want something, I meant it.  Once my father spoke to them and told them that there are certain things that I could not eat, or did not like, and not to serve them to me and give me an alternative, then the time was a lot better, and I didn’t have to threaten them nor worry about my safety. So as I said, I can relate!

Great job keep it up!

Brian

Edited December 6, 2021 by ~Brian~
edited spelling of words

[Sarah_Hillcrest]

Your stories always pull me in and I'm a sucker for continuation and serials.  There are so many unanswered questions.  More than anything I love how easy it is to connect with the protagonist in your stories  I can't wait to find out what Ai finds out?  

[Empress_Emily]

On 12/5/2021 at 4:17 PM, Mia Moore said:

Okay, first of all.  This is probably the best compliment I'll ever get in my entire life.  And second, I really understand what you mean.  There's a real suspension of disbelief when reading a lot of ABDL literature because a lot of the stuff you find kinda hot is also stuff that is really bad and abusive.  I know that it's a story and all that, so you don't have to feel guilty about it, but I still do sometimes.  I think that's why Academy Works is the way that it is: when your aggressor is a mysterious organization with seemingly infinite power, money, and time, they aren't humanized anymore.  It's not "an evil person hurting a good person", but a good person fighting against an evil system.  It changes things, I guess... I dunno.

But yeah, despite the probably impossible stuff that happens in Academy Works, I do try really hard to make it realistic and relatable.  That's why the characters are the way they are and why psychology is a big part of it.  I've read enough "so and so is a baby now" stories.  I guess I wanted to make something new.  Is this new?  I guess there are a lot of facility stories, like The Baby Hotel and Audrey & Staycee.  And Dante's Infanzia already did the "spiritual successor to a famous work, but also a diaper fantasy" thing, so maybe I'm just spinning my wheels here. I’m babbling again

I think myself and lots of others like listening to that babble! Be kind to yourself, Mia. And good luck, since it’s finals season!

I guess you’re right that it’s really different from other facility stories. It was easier to humanize the “evil caregiver” kind of roles when they have a human face, or an expressly stated motivation; the headmistress from Audrey and Staycee comes to mind. And that facility has a known purpose, and the characters have a reason for being there. But we don’t get any of that in Academy! Nana didn’t seem to be the big boss, and now with Bala’s mystery voice it’s even less personal. It makes for a good mystery, but turns up the fear a lot, you’re right; you can’t buy, sell, negotiate or beg a system for mercy.

One more thing- you said that Academy’s also in the “spiritual successor to a famous work” kind of genre- what was your inspiration there, the spiritual… “predecessor”? Of Academy Works?

[Mia Moore]

On 12/5/2021 at 11:49 AM, ~Brian~ said:

So, I can relate to the young ladies struggles.

I'm so sorry to hear you had to go through all that! ? I gotta say "I relate to Bala in Ch.1" is not something I'd wish on someone.

On 12/5/2021 at 7:12 PM, Sarah_Hillcrest said:

More than anything I love how easy it is to connect with the protagonist in your stories

Thank you!   This is very validating as a writer.

20 hours ago, Empress_Emily said:

One more thing- you said that Academy’s also in the “spiritual successor to a famous work” kind of genre- what was your inspiration there, the spiritual… “predecessor”? Of Academy Works?

Okay this is so nerdy but...

When I was like 12 my mom got me a PS2 for a good report card or something.  This was like 2013, so PS2 was really old.  I wasn't really into video games back then.  I liked to read a lot.  But I played a game called Xenosaga Episode 1 and I really loved it.  Probably my favorite game growing up.  (I think MOMO contributed a lot to my littleness???)

Anyway, I forgot about it for a long time until high school.  Then I remembered it and looked it up.  Turns out there were two more games I'd never played (Eps 2 and 3).  I had to play them on the computer because XS3 is really expensive for some reason??? Anyway, they weren't as good as XS1 but I really liked 3.  I'm sad they did away with MOMO's transformations.

Fast forward to college.  I took a philosophy class and we read a book called Man and His Symbols by Carl Jung.  Xenosaga uses a lot of Jung's concepts, so I really gravitated to the book.  I don't think I can talk a lot on this without giving Academy Works spoilers, but I would say this is about the time when I started really thinking about writing it.  My ideas have changed drastically since the inception - basically unrecognizable! - but at heart it is still always going to be a love letter to Xenosaga and Man and His Symbols.

On another note, I know Xenogears is a thing?  I tried playing it but I kept getting lost and having to look up a guide.   Eventually I gave up and read the companion book - Perfect Works, which is incidentally where Academy Works gets its name - instead.  I know Xenoblade is a thing too, but I can't afford a Switch right now and I hear the Wii version isn't as good???  Not that I have the time anyway...

I went on another rant again. ?  Anything to avoid my homework, I guess.  Thanks for taking an interest.

~Mia~

[Mia Moore]

Chapter Two

It was easy for Bala to sleep. It was easy for her to dream.

She dreamed she was in the hospital, on the second half of a double shift. She was wearing her scrubs. She was taking vitals. She was smiling. Exhausted, but happy. Her diaper was dry. And she was talking so clearly despite the pacifier between her lips. Then the hospital was frozen, icy, like a movie set. 

She snapped awake and realized her thumb wasn't in her mouth. It was wet with saliva, imprinted with her teeth; she’d just taken it out, only recently, and the cold had come back. Sleepily, she put it back in. The warmth returned to the floor and Bala returned to her dreams.

An unfamiliar noise woke Bala from her slumber. A weird sliding sound, like a door opening in Star Trek. She sat upright, her thumb still in her mouth, and looked around the bright and quiet room. It took her a moment to notice anything different, but soon she did.

On the wall, by the door, it looked like one of the tile walls had been pushed out, like a drawer. She slowly got to her feet, and the moment she did the heat went away. In a panic and still half-asleep she fell back to the floor. The tile once again began to glow. 

Bala stared at the drawer and tried to piece together the puzzle. There was no prompt, no voice, nothing to guide her. She would have been sore from the hard floor, but the heat had helped to soothe her muscles, and her head was fuzzy with strange faded memories of her dreams. And there was the drawer, perfectly square like a box sitting against the wall. And she was nowhere near it. 

With a moment of hesitation, she leaned forward and scooted her butt toward the box. She wasn't breaking any rules. Stay seated, keep her thumb in her mouth. Surely enough, the heated tile followed her across the room.  The next one glowed red and the one she was on previously turned off.

Hacked it. 

When she finally got to the box, she pulled herself onto her knees and peered inside. At the bottom of the box was just one item: a pacifier. But even before picking it up, Bala knew it wasn't an ordinary pacifier; it seemed a lot bigger.

There was an aching in her stomach when she looked at the pacifier, a strange familiarity that she couldn't identify. But where would she have even seen something like that? A pacifier, large, almost perverse.

Bala tossed it aside and examined the rest of the box. It looked like it slid in and out of the wall, but no matter how she pushed against the back panel, it wouldn't budge. So this was how they delivered things?

After she exhausted all her options with the box, she turned to the pacifier.  It was sitting on the floor a few tiles away. Another part of their game, Bala thought.

"I'm not doing anything with that."

"Do not speak unless spoken to. This is your final warning." 

"Whatever..." Bala waited beside the open compartment, wondering when they would take it back to their side of the wall. If she could get her arm in there or something, maybe there was a switch on the other side? Or she could start a protest. But the box didn't move. Worse yet, she still had to use the bathroom. With a sigh of annoyance, she spoke around her thumb again. 

"I have to use the bathroom." Suddenly, the heat beneath her turned off. A pang of anxiety made her heart skip a beat. Not again…

Ten minutes later - approximated by Bala’s unusually good sense of time - the voice gave no command.  The air was already biting and Bala could see her own breath.  She had curled into a ball beside the drawer, hoping for it to move.  But after another ten minutes without a command, then another ten, her self-preservation was starting to overcome her stubbornness.

In an act of desperation, she scooted away from the box and picked the pacifier up off the ground. Obviously they wanted her to use it, so she put it between her lips. It felt… familiar.  Then she crawled back toward the box and curled up in her shirt.

It took a moment, but the tile beneath her turned on once again. With a sigh of relief, Bala sunk down against the wall; the pacifier stayed comfortably between her lips. For some reason, it didn't even feel out of place. 

She couldn't think out loud, so Bala had to think in her own head. What else could she do? If she disobeyed them, then they would turn off the heat. The room was cold enough that it could give her hypothermia or frostbite, given enough time. Her core body temperature dropped so low last time that she could feel her heart struggling to keep up. But if she kept doing what they said, she would be playing right into their hands. She had to come up with another answer.

After a while, Bala realized that she hadn't been given any new instructions. Sit. Keep your thumb in your mouth. Don't talk. With an ounce of hesitance she took out the pacifier and slid her thumb in her mouth instead. The heater turned off. With a sigh, she switched back to the pacifier and the heater turned on again. It seemed like the rules had changed.

Bala closed her eyes and did some calculations in her head. The first time she refused to listen, the room grew colder. The second time, it she felt a small breeze and she started to get a headache. But this time, it felt like the room was still ice cold when the tile beneath her turned off. It seemed like her disobedience drove the temperature lower, but her obedience never brought it back up again. Which meant each act of disobedience was more dangerous than the last.

Bala was a quick learner, but her bladder ached. What was she supposed to do about that?

An hour passed. Or two. Bala’s internal clock was a little unbalanced as she struggled to focus on anything but her bodily needs. On top of needing to pee, her thirst and hunger were making her feel ill. But if she said another word, if she spoke out of turn, the heater would turn off. She felt trapped. 

Then, unexpectedly, another tile slid out of the wall. This one was across the room, near the mirror. Bala stared at it for a moment, thinking. Whatever they wanted from her, it was in that box. And if she didn't do what they wanted, they wouldn't let her out.

With resignation, she tried to scoot along the floor to the other side. With both hands - now that her thumb wasn't in her mouth - it was a lot easier. She lifted her butt off the floor and tried to shift her weight forward. The heater stayed on. That gave her a thought. Trepidatiously, Bala leaned forward on her hands and knees. She paused, waiting for the warmth to leave her palms. But it didn't. After a moment, after she was sure, she started to crawl across the room.

They had her crawling. It didn't seem weird to her at the time, because she was buzzing on the feeling of victory over another of their puzzles, but she was crawling across the room with a pacifier in her mouth, sucking it as she focused on the task. But when she got to the box, she was crestfallen. 

There was no food inside the box. There was a baby bottle. Her stomach twisted in protest. She didn't want milk! She wanted... rice, or maybe crackers: something simple and sustaining, something that was food! With her bladder hurting like it did, she couldn't stomach drinking something. And yet, with certainty, she knew it was expected.

Bala looked around the room with a pleading expression. From wherever they were watching her, they had to know that this wasn't fair. Was it a new form of torture? Was it to humiliate her? She thought at first maybe this whole thing was a prank, but it had gone too far. She could have died! 

Then she caught a glance of herself in the mirror. She was still wearing her scrubs, her wavy dark hair a bit of a mess. But what stuck out was the purple pacifier between her lips. She looked so... so stupid. 

She reached for the handle of the pacifier, to pull it out of her lips, but she hesitated. Survival instincts kicked in; her body couldn't handle the cold again. She needed someone to get her out of here... and the longer she played their game, the better chances she had.

It's a bottle, Bala, she thought to herself. It's a bottle. Just drink the bottle. This is order of operations: sleep, then drink, then use the bathroom. Right? 

The longer she held out, the worse this was for her. If she hadn't been so stubborn early into it all she might have had more room to play and negotiate now. This was her own fault. 

She stopped and blinked at that thought. What? This place was getting to her. 

She put one hand on the bottle and took it out of the box. Then with trepidation, she took the pacifier out of her mouth... 

The tile turned off.

…and put the bottle in. 

The tile turned on.

Her heart was racing, but Bala was too thirsty to panic. She sucked at the nipple and warm milk splashed on her tongue. She wished it would flow faster, but it satisfied her thirst all the same. She held the bottle up a little higher and continued to drink, doing her best to ignore the mirror beside her. She didn't want to see herself like this.

How long are they going to do this, she wondered. How long are they going to keep me this way? How long before their true motives come out? 

The game wasn't fun for Bala; it was sick and twisted. But midway through the bottle, she noticed the tile turn off beneath her. In a panic, she looked around the room. What had she done wrong? 

Then a sudden surge of heat returned to the tile. She looked down at the warm glow, and then it disappeared again. Another glance around the room and the tile turned back on. But it wasn’t a glance around the room that triggered the tile. Bala realized, with a pit in her stomach, that it was only when she was looking in the mirror. They wanted her to see herself.

Bala looked in the mirror again, at a fully grown adult woman. Sexy, even! But with the baby bottle between her lips, sucking softly like an infant, she felt a fresh embarrassment. All that she worked for felt like it was being stripped away.

She finished the bottle. And without a complaint, she put her binkie back between her lips and held the bottle in her hands. The look in her eyes showed only shame and defeat.

Despite her shame, Bala had at least one bit of reprieve: she wasn't thirsty anymore. She sunk down onto the floor, her head against the wall, and played with the nipple of the bottle. Even as she struggled with the top, it wouldn't twist off. Maybe she could use it as a weapon? The more things she amassed in this room, perhaps the more likely she would be able to find a way of escaping. Or maybe someone would come in and open the door to clean up.

A half an hour later - time spent thinking and scheming with no solutions - the ache in Bala's bladder was getting out of hand. She wiggled side to side, pressing her thighs together, and holding her hands between her legs. They had to let her out soon, right? They had to...

Don’t speak unless spoken to. Follow the directions given. Crawl. Binkie. Drink the bottle. Sleep when they said so. What was next? Breathe on command? Bala was frustrated, exhausted, pained, resigned, and upset. They didn’t let her speak, but gave her no way to use the bathroom. Did they want her to just... just urinate in the corner, like an animal? Or wet herself, like a baby?

Bala shook her head in disbelief. This was crazy! This whole thing was crazy! She climbed up to her feet and instantly the warm tile turned off. The cold began to set in like freezing mountain winds, but Bala tried to ignore it. She kicked the side of the box, forcing all her weight into it. Her shoes and socks had been taken and the hard stone tile hurt her bare feet. If she could break the drawer, she could climb out through the wall. She just had to hit it harder. 

Her heel clipped the corner of the tile and scraped it. Little beads of blood pooled on her skin and dripped onto the floor. It wasn't bad, but damn did it hurt. Without thinking, Bala sucked her pacifier for comfort. The chilled air engulfed her like a blanket made from icy sewing needles, poking her all over. 

"I'm not doing this!" she shouted, although it sounded incomprehensible with the pacifier in her mouth. In for a penny and in for a pound. She took it out of her mouth and repeated herself. 

"I'm not doing this! I'm not going to piss all over myself! I'm not going to suck on a binkie or drink from a baby bottle! I'm going to hurt myself on this sharp edge over and over because I'd rather be dead than be stuck here!" 

"Don't lie," came the response, icy and frigid as the air around her. 

"What? I'm not..." 

"Don't lie." 

"I'm not lying! I'll do it!" 

But her feet felt numb and her lips were going blue. Her heart was pumping cold blood through her body at an alarmingly slow rate. Her organs were stressed, least of all her bladder. And before she knew what she was doing, it was already happening. The front of Bala's scrubs began to darken. She pressed her hands tight between her thighs and tried to force it to stop, but the dark puddle spread across her pants and down the inside of her thighs. Tears dripped down her cheeks. 

"No, no, no..." But despite her protests, the sensation was so... warm. It was the only heat she had, and her skin cherished every moment of it. Then, as the first drops touched the tiles at her feet, it started to heat up and glow. Bala continued to shake her head in denial and cry.

Warmth. She was being rewarded. Bala’s body slumped down onto the warm tile, into the puddle she had made at her feet, almost subconsciously. She laid down on the tile to take all the warmth she could.

They had to come get her now. There was a puddle on the floor and Bala need new pants. They had to clean up. They had to get her changed. Right? But as Bala waited for something to happen, nothing did. 

She slid out of her wet scrubs and looked down at her bare thighs. Her panties had a huge wet spot along the front, where the blue color was a few shades darker. She would have to suffer through the pee-soaked panties for now. With no other option, she crawled to a dry tile and curled up in a ball. But the tile didn’t turn on until Bala put the pacifier back in her mouth. 

Without pants, she could withstand the cold even less than before. Was there truly no hope of defiance anymore? She had to obey... just until someone showed up.

She hadn't been told to sleep, but that felt more and more inevitable as the moments of adrenaline began to flow away - like she was an island and the tide was leaving her. 

She focused on her vitals. The warmth kept her heartbeat steady. Her tears had given way to a pounding headache. But with her tummy full and her bladder empty, at least she'd made progress. Soon the immediate wetness would dry and every part of her brain begged her to close her eyes. Bala reasoned that if she could listen to a disembodied voice, she should listen to her body. 

But what if she missed it? What if she missed the person who would show up? They would, right? 

But not right now, Bala reasoned. A few moments of closed eyes couldn't hurt, could it?

[~Brian~]

@Mia Moore

I have a feeling that the young lady will next receive a diaper, and she will not have any choice but to put it on. I will be interested to see what happens next - whoever that voice is, I think he believes he has a pretty good sense of humor.????

A TWISTED sense of humor but I sense of humor nonetheless!

I look forward to the next chapter!

Brian

[diaper24/7]

This is like a horror movie of some kind but in a fun sick way of fashion.

[Sarah Penguin]

This might just be a dream. Dreamed by a a wall.

[Mia Moore]

On 12/8/2021 at 9:40 PM, diaper24/7 said:

This is like a horror movie of some kind but in a fun sick way of fashion.

 

[Mia Moore]

Chapter Three

Bala had a strange dream. She was crawling up a tall mountain and the winds were freezing cold. Fear began to set in. What if she was a bad girl? But whenever she held tight to her blankie, or whenever she would flood her diapers, she remembered that some things couldn't be taken away. 

Bala woke atop a glowing tile, warm and red. She quickly took in her surroundings, scanning the room to see if anything had changed. Had someone been here? But nothing looked any different. One drawer on the wall remained open, the one that gave her the bottle. Her pants - still soaked - were balled up on the edge of a red tile, beside the puddle she left. 

Bala looked down at her own panties. They were just about dry, though a line of discoloration was proof enough of what she had done. She didn't even notice the pacifier in her mouth, but she noticed the tile beneath her as it quickly flashed off.  The red glow beneath her puddle disappeared as well.

No! Why? She was being good!

The room was biting cold. In only seconds, she was starting to shiver. In a race against the clock, she hurried over to the open panel on the wall - the same one that was open before - and peered inside. But it was empty. 

Her bewilderment was quickly replaced with fear. She thought she had figured it out, but everything she did was wrong. In a panic, she crawled over to the puddle on the floor and picked up her pants. They were still damp, and they didn't smell great. But she didn't have a choice. As she went to slip them on, the voice spoke. 

"Put your clothes in the box."

She certainly didn't need to be told twice! Her teeth would have been chattering if she wasn't sucking fervently on the pacifier, although the rest of her body trembled nonetheless. She scrambled over to the box against the wall and put her pants in the box. Deep breath! No warmth. Desperately, she looked around for a glowing tile, and saw nothing of the sort. What else did they want?!

"Put your clothes in the box," the voice repeated. 

Bala looked around the room in a panic and caught a glance of herself in the mirror. She was still wearing her shirt. She tried to argue with the voice, and noticed - for the first time since waking up - the pacifier between her lips. Welling with embarrassment, she plucked it from her lips. 

"Please, I'll freeze..." Already, the tiles on her bare knees felt like ice, as if she were crawling across a lake in winter. It wouldn't take long for frostbite to set in, maybe hypothermia? She was aware of all of this, and she knew full well that these people likely didn't care if she did. Maybe it was her fault for not cooperating sooner. Stupid, arrogant Bala. 

Her lips shivered, her teeth chattered, and if only for the preservation of her impeccable dental history, she put the pacifier back between her teeth to protect them, and began to undress. Bala had no allusions here: she was going to die.

Bala tossed her shirt in the bin and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to stay warm. Her head was starting to ache from the cold and her bones felt like they were chattering together. But still, no warmth. 

She knew what she was doing wrong. With a sickness in her stomach, she unfastened the clasp of her bra. She dropped it in the bin. Knowing she would regret it sooner or later, she stripped herself of the pee-stained panties and put them in the box as well.

A tile in the center of the room lit up. Bala scrambled towards it on her hands and knees; the thought of standing up didn't even cross her mind. 

When she made it to the tile, she uncurled and laid flat against the floor, touching every part of her naked body to the heated plate. Instantly, she started to feel better. But when she turned back to the wall, the box had slid back into the wall. Her clothes were gone.

Every part of Bala wanted to scream. This was clearly sexual, wasn't it? Torture, sex slavery, something like that? The news always had some missing girl or another, found in some creepo’s basement, or worse. But this... this was so organized. 

The tiles showed no signs of being anything but benign, but each was individually controllable. And the temperature control in general - she was in a freezer, right? Bala had so many questions, and the fact burned into her mind that she shouldn't ask even a single one of them. The warmth felt so soothing, so nice on her aching skin. She craved, for a moment, the blanket she had in the dream. Golly. To be warm...

Bala opened her eyes to the familiar sound of a sliding drawer. She noticed the box on the far side of the room, but this time she didn't move; she waited until she was given an instruction. Obedience was becoming easy for her. 

"Clean up your mess," the voice ordered. The tile beneath the puddle on the floor turned red. The tile beside the box on the wall turned red.

Clean up her mess. Yes, of course. She didn't want to be in a room with pee on the floor anyway; they were basically rewarding her. She noticed for a moment that the pee had frozen into a yellow slate of ice, but the warming tile quickly melted it. 

She crawled - now not only second nature, but perhaps first - to the drawer that had opened, and peered inside. A package of baby wipes. Right. Of course. Bala took the package and awkwardly crawled back over to the puddle. The way she was bent over, on her hands and knees, ass in the air, breasts hanging beneath her… Bala’s cheeks were as red as the tile.

Bala had cleaned floors before. Growing up, her parents were pushy and overattentive. She had to do what was expected of her, and that meant cleaning the house top to bottom. 

The baby wipes were weirdly thick and absorbent, with a bit of dampness and a cucumber smell. She used eight of the ten cleaning up the puddle on the floor, until she was satisfied, and returned the used wipes to the drawer. She sat beside it waiting for it to close, but it didn't. They never seemed to close when she was nearby. A security thing, maybe?

Bala could have gotten herself in a huge loop about when she should be taking initiative and when she should be sitting idle, but logic prevailed and she used the final two wipes to clean her hands, then put everything in the drawer and went back to the center tile. 

Naked. Pacified. Obedient. Waiting. 

The drawer closed. The tile was warm. She felt nice.

It didn't take long for another box to open on the wall. This one was nearby, a few tiles away. The tile beneath it turned red and Bala prepared herself for the short venture through the tundra toward her next task. Her hands and knees were unbearably cold against the tile, and by the time she arrived at her destination, they were numb to the touch. 

Inside the box, Bala found new clothes. But she almost wished she hadn't.

What kind of joke was this? The disquiet in the pit of her stomach was twofold: the items in the drawer were foreign, but felt familiar. Why would they feel familiar? Why would dressing like that feel like something she'd done before? Bala sucked her pacifier in thought. Though she was sitting on a warm tile, the memory of the cold still lingered in her bones.

Just act, Bala. Just do it.

Bala stuck her hand in the box and shifted the items around. A diaper, big enough to fit her. A snap-crotch onesie. A tiny plastic card with instructions on it. Nothing else. No clothes would have been better than this, but the voice made the intention clear: 

"Dress yourself."

‘Dress yourself’ was an easy concept, but with a difficult implementation. Bala had been a nurse for years, and she'd worked with adult diapers before, but she had never put one on herself. Never like this. The diaper was not medical and not exactly practical. It was thicker than it needed to be and made loud noises like wrapping paper when she touched it.

Foreign. Familiar. 

She took the items out of the box and looked back to her square in the center of the room - no longer glowing. Bala sucked her pacifier and began to slowly unfurl the diaper.

[Sarah Penguin]

[diaper24/7]

This like saw but if was not trying kill you but turn into a baby.

[Cya]

Honestly, I'm getting some serious Baby Hotel vibes from this, but you've really built on it. You developed this whole reward system where she cannot refuse to become more babyish or she literally freezes to death. I can only imagine how far down she'll go until she's allowed to join the babies. I'm assuming this isn't going to be another adult toddler centric story. My guess is babies who are so little that crawling is all they can do.

 

 

[Bonsai]

When tested, Ia was always given enough rope to hang herself. Bala instead is strongly discouraged to even think to disobey, and apparently the results are much better!

[Mia Moore]

On 12/14/2021 at 6:14 PM, Sarah Penguin said:

 

On 12/14/2021 at 7:03 PM, diaper24/7 said:

This like saw but if was not trying kill you but turn into a baby.

So, it's like Saw, but better.  

On 12/16/2021 at 6:42 PM, Cya said:

Honestly, I'm getting some serious Baby Hotel vibes from this, but you've really built on it. You developed this whole reward system where she cannot refuse to become more babyish or she literally freezes to death. I can only imagine how far down she'll go until she's allowed to join the babies. I'm assuming this isn't going to be another adult toddler centric story. My guess is babies who are so little that crawling is all they can do.

Comparing Academy Works to Baby Hotel is always a huge compliment, thank you so much!  

On 12/16/2021 at 10:41 PM, Bonsai said:

When tested, Ia was always given enough rope to hang herself. Bala instead is strongly discouraged to even think to disobey, and apparently the results are much better!

Yeah it seems like the Academy is having a lot less trouble with Bala, huh?  

Thanks for your patience everyone.  I just finished finals and stuff so I'm going to post another chapter shortly.

[Mia Moore]

Chapter Four

Bala read the instructional card that came with the diaper. 

Step 1. Unfold the diaper and lay it flat on the ground. Bala did just that. It looked massive, even compared to the ones at her hospital, and the front had a duckling print. With embarrassment, she continued to Step 2, where she laid down on top of it. 

The side with the tapes was under her butt and the heat of the tile crept through her skin. She had to cooperate. She didn't have a choice. But as often as she reminded herself of that, it didn't make any of this less humiliating. 

Bala inelegantly taped on the diaper; her skills as a nurse didn't transfer to this perspective of diapering an adult. She tried to fix some of the tapes, which worked quite well. Then she pulled the cotton onesie over her head like a shirt. Bala sighed happily at  covering her goosebump-addled skin. As much as she hated it, she was glad to have some clothes.

The onesie only just covered the important parts of the body so far as hypothermia was concerned: her core areas. It was a strange dichotomy. She knew how easy it would be to lose feeling in her arms and legs. She knew in her heart that the voice knew that, too. What now?

"Return your bottle and you will get a new one," the voice said. 

Bala sighed and looked at the bottle she left in the center of the room. She thought maybe she could find a way to break it and use the plastic shards for something. Or perhaps she could wedge it in one of the boxes and use it as a lever. But the voice seemed to think of everything. 

She had nothing left in here with her other than the onesie, the diaper, the pacifier, the plastic instruction card, and an empty baby bottle. Sooner or later, Bala would need that bottle. More importantly, she was already very hungry. The voice had given her an instruction, and she thought if there was an appropriate time to speak, it would have been that moment. 

"I need food," Bala said around her pacifier, careful not to break any of the rules.

"Return your bottle and you will get a new one," the voice repeated, dryly. And then, to Bala's surprise, it said something else: 

"You are on a liquid diet." 

Did it... did it engage with her? She tilted her head curiously, and looked at the bottle again. 

"I don’t want to be on a liquid diet." The drawer closed. But the heat of the tile didn't go away. Had she just... won?

A moment later, a new drawer opened. This one wasn't too far away, and the tiles beneath it lit up all the way to Bala. She got to her hands and knees and crawled across the floor to it. As she did, every tile she left turned off and the heat vanished. Finally, she was alone on the only red tile and the drawer was within reach. 

Inside the box was a granola bar, a cup of applesauce, some rice crackers, and a few blocks of cubed cheese. There was a plastic spoon, the kind that kids use, but Bala's hunger won out over pride. She immediately took the food out of the box and started to eat it. Notably, there was no drink. Then Bala remembered the baby bottle. They would likely only allow her a single bottle at a time, along with a single spoon. This place was well organized.

Her stomach celebrated the addition of food, which only made her wonder about what might have happened if she'd not been bold enough to ask out of turn. Surely she could survive on a liquid diet, but her tactical choice had won her the opportunity to have this simple pleasure. Bala found herself feeling... grateful. Enough so that -  inadvertently - she mumbled two words that she knew she shouldn't have. 

"Thank you." 

With a mouthful of food, she froze. She'd spoken without being spoken to. Her heart rate increased. Her breathing quickened. No no no! 

A noise startled her and made her jump in panic. Another drawer opened, adjacent to this one. A fruit bar. A fig bar, maybe? Had they rewarded her for saying thank you? Bala's mind reeled.

Bala ate everything. She licked the cup of applesauce. She picked apart each bite of granola. But when all was said and done, she had no more answers than before. The things she knew: 

1. They wanted her to obey them. 

2. They treated her like a baby, maybe as a means of control. 

3. She was not supposed to speak unless spoken to, but manners seemed to be fine. 

4. She was not allowed to walk. 

5. To get something, she had to give something. A drawer was still open, and Bala hadn't returned the bottle or the spoon or the apple sauce bowl. 

6. If all the tiles turned off, she would surely die in here. Cooperation wasn't optional; it was mandatory. 

Before she could try to put any of her puzzle pieces together, the near-robotic voice filled the room. It sounded like a computer program, repeating something a human said. 

"First Protocol complete. Claim your prize." 

Complete? Did that mean she would get out of this place? But before she had a chance to ask, a box opened on the far wall and every tile in the room turned red. There was a rush of a warmth in the air, on the floor, and strangely... in her chest. Pride? Pride at a job well done? 

Banish that thought, Bala, this is an abuser, not a Professor to impress. 

She crawled over to the drawer on the wall without hesitation, as though walking was no longer an option, and peered inside at her prize. 

Inside the drawer was a white blanket, printed with pastel colored pacifiers, and trimmed in pink satin edging. A blanket. She reached in to take it, and it felt soft and warm to the touch. She just wanted to wrap it all around herself!

"Bala Khatri," the voice spoke. It was the first time it used Bala's name and she was a little bit taken aback. It felt so... personal. 

"You are a student of the Academy. Here, obedience is your path to freedom and happiness. Rebellion is a path to entrapment and pain. If you do as you are told, you will be able to live any life you choose." 

"Any life?" Bala wondered out loud. Then she asked: "Can I leave?"

"Certainly," the voice answered. The automated inflection made it unclear if the voice was telling the truth. "You completed the First Protocol and will be introduced to the rules of the Second Protocol. Obedience will always be rewarded, and rebellion always punished."

"And gratitude?" She had to know. She had to know for sure if they had let it slide, or if Bala’s ‘thank you’ had actually ingratiated her to the voice. 

"Gratitude is an element of obedience. Obedience will always be rewarded."

Bala wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and relished in the warmth it provided to her exposed arms, even though the room was no longer freezing at the moment. "If I obey, if I’m grateful… you'll release me?" 

"Obedience will always be rewarded."

Bala didn't know if she could trust this place; The Academy, they called it. But before she had time to consider her choices, the voice continued with the rules. 

"For the Second Protocol, you will be given a bottle whenever you return one. You will be given food whenever you return your spoon. You will be given new outfits and diapers at intervals of our choosing, and you'll always return the old ones afterward." 

"New diapers...?" Bala shivered at the implications. "Please, I can use the toilet..." 

"From now on, only the tile with your blanket will be heated. It will lose heat over time, and you will find ways to warm it up." 

Find ways? Bala wondered. Maybe another obedience thing? Her brow furrowed. She'd be good, she'd win her way out of this. But still... diapers? Maybe that was better than peeing all over the floor, but she was a grown woman. 

"I'll be good, okay?" The voice didn't answer her any further though.

All the tiles turned off, with the single exception of the one where Bala was sitting. Immediately, the air started to chill. She looked at the spoon in her hands and the bottle on the far side of the room. Full of anxiety, she got on her hands and knees and crawled onto the next tile. 

Instantly, the tile lit up. Two tiles were lit up, the one under Bala's hands, and the one under her knees. Bala continued forward, the blanket wrapped over her back, and the tile behind her turned off. As she approached the bottle, the heat followed her. If anything, it was convenient; she just had to keep her blanket close.

She had to put the spoon away, and she had to put the bottle back, and she had to do her best not to fight them on any of this. Whatever they said, she'd do, because if she fought them, it was only going to wind up getting her punished and then she'd do it anyway. Bala had this all figured out. A few days of humiliation in exchange for freedom. But maybe that was easier said than done.

Bala put the apple sauce bowl, the spoon, and the bottle in the drawer, but it didn’t close. After a moment of thought, she decided to put the small instruction card in there as well. They didn’t want her amassing items, it seemed. The moment the card was dropped in, the drawer closed. Another one opened beside it and Bala found a new set of finger foods and a fresh bottle of milk. She left the food behind and took the bottle in her hands. It was a bit warm, like someone had heated it up. 

She plucked the pacifier from her mouth and the red light beneath her flickered off. But when she put the nipple of the baby bottle between her lips, it turned back on. A means to an end, Bala reminded herself. Soon this would all be over. Bala finished the bottle and felt the day's events catching up to her. 

She had no clarity of time, so she didn't know how long it had been since she woke up. That being said, she had no idea how long she had been asleep either. The days would pass outside without any indication in her small, chilly prison. So whenever sleep crept up on her, she let it take her away. It was the only escape she had.

[Sarah Penguin]

[~Brian~]

The story is getting more interesting: I like it: Miss Bala has to learn exactly what is expected of her, and it seems that she is going to do that. To not do so would be silly, because she would be freezing to death.  . Let’s hope that this “voice“ understands that she may not know what she is expected to do if she does a BM, and then hopefully they will remove a dirty diaper quickly, rather than having her have to crawl all over kingdom come. Story is awesome, and I look forward to the next chapter.

Brian

Edited December 21, 2021 by ~Brian~
Added additional information

[Bonsai]

I guess Bala did not fully consider the implications of shifting from liquid diet to solid diet. She will soon learn, I guess.

[Mia Moore]

Chapter Five

"Please intubate the patient, Bala." 

"Yes Sir." 

"Good girl." 

Bala felt her cheeks glow with pride as she looked up at the faceless man standing on the other side of the bed. His praise felt so good. She had to look down as she sucked her binkie, and began working on the patient as her diaper crinkled noisily. The patient didn't seem to mind. 

"Bala, please come into my office," the man said. 

Bala skipped happily across the tile to follow the faceless man with the voice she recognized so well. The door said Hospital Director, and then it said Bala's Owner when she looked at it again. She closed the door behind her, and the man spoke honey to her ears. 

"You've been such a good girl today, Bala. You've worked so hard and taken such good care of the patients. You've been so obedient. You didn't even whine about your diaper, even though it needs changing very badly. You're such a good girl." 

Bala smiled happily. She sucked her pacifier. She played with the crinkly edges of her diaper that peeked through her onesie. She was a good girl.

The man changed her diaper. She was cooperative and enthusiastic and well-mannered, as she was supposed to be. But the new diaper brought a chilliness to it. She missed the heat of her wet one. Then the diaper grew colder, like someone left it in the fridge. Then it felt as cold as an ice pack.

Bala opened her eyes and looked blearily around the room. The floor beneath her was still red, but the tint had faded quite a bit. Whatever was going on, she was losing heat. Bala looked at the mirror on the far wall, at the girl shivering back at her wearing nothing but a onesie and an unusual thickness between her legs. Bala wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.

Warmth. She had to earn warmth. What did they expect of her? Her dream was fresh in her mind, but the cold snap of the chill made it hard to focus on. The diaper she'd been wearing in her dream was warm, because... because she'd wet it. It was cold when it was changed. The idea of using her own pee to warm up felt disgusting, but at the same time... was it that bad? 

Despite her rationalizations, Bala couldn't quite convince her body to listen. The tile beneath her turned off and the cold started to settle in. Bala clung tighter to her blanket, but it wasn't big enough or thick enough to make a huge difference. Her muscles started to ache and her need to pee drastically increased. 

The voice had said something about Bala warming up the tiles, but she couldn't figure out what that meant. She hurried over to the open drawer and took out some of the food, starting to eat it in a hurry. If there really was an answer, it couldn't be far. There weren't that many things in the room.

Bala shivered in place, tugging her blanket over her shoulders, and then moving it to her thighs, like she could cycle it through different places on her body and maybe stay warm if she were smart enough about it. But the cold wracked her body, tip to toes, aching in her arms, aching in her legs, chattering her teeth in a way that made her practically thankful for the pacifier. 

Obey. Obey. Obey. What could they want? Her guts spasmed from the cold and she felt her bladder ache. She had to pee. And her body wouldn't.

Her skin was losing color. Her blood was slowing. Her muscles felt tight and icy, and she couldn't hold it anymore. Sitting in the corner, curled up tightly with her blanket, she felt a splash of heat in her diaper. It filled the space between her legs, soaking her skin in euphoric warmth, and spreading up her butt. It felt like everything was getting better. Her blood pumped smoother, her muscles relaxed, and she slowly stopped shaking. 

She let out a sigh filled with relief. Never ever could Bala have imagined how euphoric wetting herself could feel. How pleasing and satisfying it could be. And yet despite that strongly forming association from the positive reinforcement, it did nothing to ease her anguish and humiliation at having literally pissed herself for the second time. 

But when she opened her eyes, Bala noticed the tile beneath her was glowing red. The tile was warm. Her diaper was warm. Her blanket was warm. She squeezed her thighs together and pressed the warm, wet padding closer to her skin. She had to earn her warmth. Was that what they meant? Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment.

"Good girl," the voice said softly, almost in a tone that was pleasing. Or was that just Bala's imagination? Could robotic voices sound proud? Either way, it made Bala unusually happy to hear, so much so that it almost made her forget about the soggy diaper between her legs.

"Thank you..." Bala whispered, not sure she said it loud enough for it to be heard. She was sitting in her own pee, and every part of her logical brain said she wanted out of this. But if she left the warmth of her diaper behind, she’d lose all the warmth of the room with it. She couldn’t risk it. She had to be a good girl.

After some time - Bala couldn’t quite tell how long - she could feel the tile beneath her start to lose some heat. Bala didn't wait for it to get bad again: she knew what had to be done. Luckily, after that bottle, she still had to pee a little bit. 

It took a while; potty training wasn't an easy thing to overcome. But soon, a small stream spilled into Bala's already-wet diaper and the tile beneath her regained the heat it had lost. 

Another 'Good Girl' followed, and Bala sunk into the corner of the room. In such a short amount of time, they had her wetting her diaper voluntarily. But if Bala was going to keep it up, she needed another bottle. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any time limit on refills.

She was like a hamster in a cage. Drink bottle. Wet diaper. Stay warm. And she was allowed food, too! The pains of hunger would never come back, and if she could assuage those feelings then she might have more energy to focus on learning the rules.

Bala had always been a clever girl; top of her classes, yet completely and utterly unable to find balance. It had always been one thing or the other, in complete and utter absolutes. She could work a triple shift back to back and be fine, but as for a social engagement or dinner dates or anything else on the same day? She couldn't reconcile the two, and work was less volatile. Bala learned that she needed the routine.

This could be a lot worse, Bala thought as she drank her fourth bottle. But her diaper was getting heavy, and she didn’t know how many wettings it would be able to take.