The Package - Chapter 3 (2/12/23)

[ImprobableLemon]

Friday.

“Kay, I need the transcript from the team meeting before you leave.”

“Uh, you didn’t ask me to take any notes. How badly do you need it?”

“Ugh, come on. Do I have to ask you to do everything?”

“Right… Sorry sir.”

Being a secretary absolutely blows. Overworked as fuck, dealing with customer complaints, management always expecting me to read their god damned minds, and worst of all I have to apologize!

Middle manager Tom rolls his eyes and unleashes a sigh that seems to stretch on forever before stepping away with words of caution.

“I guess it’s fine this time, but I expect a transcript for the next team meeting.”

This is hell. I’m literally living in hell.

However, with that interaction finished I’m free to leave. Free for the weekend!

I grab my purse and keycard, push my rolling chair away from the reception desk, and quickly make my way through the front glass doors. Checking myself out on the employee card scanner as I go.

Rolling my long sleeve shirt up I peer at my watch and notice that the bus should arrive shortly at the stop I frequent to and from work.

That puts a little pep in my step. I walk as briskly as my business skirt and heels will allow.

My increase in speed paid dividends as I turn the corner and see the bus moments away from pulling up to the stop just outside the business complex.

“Oh, thank god.”

I murmur in relief. If I missed this one, the next one wouldn’t be showing up for another thirty minutes.

Walking up to the bus I ready my pass and scan it. The doors close behind me and the driver hits the gas before I’ve seated myself.

*Ding*

A text notification from my phone. Blindly I shove my hands into my purse, rummaging around. Eventually I hit the plastic of its case and extract it from the overflowing space.

My heart does a happy little flip. It’s from Marna, my girlfriend!

For better or worse my last text wasn’t entirely truthful. We both know I’d be partying a little less than ‘hard af’. Some video games, wine, maybe pop on some Netflix in the background. If I’m feeling particularly zany perhaps I’d go for a walk or heat up a frozen burrito for dinner…

I appreciate texting with my adorkable shortstack love. It blew a good chunk of bus riding time.

Several stops into the journey and we arrive at my exit. I quickly take my leave, thanking the driver as I go, and throwing a wave behind me as I walk the final block to the small two-bedroom house that Marna and I share.

It’s a nice walk, the fresh and somewhat cool spring air feels just right.

And our yardwork is coming together quite nicely. The flower seeds we planted a few weeks ago have started sprouting. Soon it’ll be a sea of beautiful flowers.

But as I walk down the pathway to our home, I notice something strange on the porch. A small brown box. I’d not been expecting a package, and I wasn’t aware that Marna was either…

Reaching down and picking it up I find it to be quite light. As well as addressed to me and our house; so little chance of it being a mistake.

I unlock the door and make my way inside with great haste. Intrigued by the mysterious package. Shoes go off on the entryway shoe rack. Purse gets hung up on a hook. Package goes under my arm as I take a right to visit the kitchen for a drink and scissors.

Glass of water gulped down; I viciously attack the box with the kitchen scissors. Carefully down the center and swiping down the flap’s sides.

Inside it’s packed with white tissue paper. Sifting through that is a dainty black drawstring bag. Perhaps made of silk?

I pull it open and upend the bag, a piece of fabric falls out and onto the counter.

Picking it up and unfolding it reveals it to be… Lacy black panties?

Flowery patterns adorn the rear of the undergarment. These patterns continue around the thighs up to the front were a solid circle sits center on the front. Within that circle is what can only be described as a safety pin and the number 3.

The flower pattern is nice, and the fabric feels very comfortable in my hands. But the pin and number are odd, seemingly breaking up the aesthetic for no discernable reason.

But this certainly feels like something Marna would buy for me. Gosh, she does this all the time. Ha, she’s probably expecting a picture tonight.

Eager to get this done I run to the back of the house where the laundry room resides. I strip free of my work clothes and toss them into the washer, adding my new pair of underwear as well. My half-full laundry bin does a nice job filling the rest of the washer, so I add a pod and start it up.

While the washer runs, I hop upstairs to where our bedroom, ‘office’, and bathroom reside. After a day like this a long and relaxing bath is required. I get the water temperature just right and plug the tub. Quickly I go to the bedroom and pull together a fresh set of underwear, bra, sweatpants, and a comfy t-shirt.

Then it’s bath time. I scrub my hair and body clean, and lounge back, soaking in the warm water. I remain that way until I hear the distant screech of the washing machine. A sign that the load is washed.

“Well… I guess it’s time to get out…”

I say aloud to myself. Very much not ready to leave.

But I do so anyway, drying off with one of the towels from a nearby hook. I throw on my selected outfit and wrap up my hair in order for it to dry better.

Downstairs the contents of the washer go into the dryer with a lavender scented dryer sheet.

And I forgo TV on the living room couch for the upstairs ‘office’. Which in all actuality is more like the game room. A desk for Marna, and a desk for me. Hers more work-centric with various papers and files. Mine more play-centric with several monitors, a game console or two, and a PC.

I take a seat on my gamer chair throne, the back of which feels so much nicer than the rolling chair at the office. No support whatsoever on those.

The Switch blinks to life as I grab my pro controller to log some hours onto Pokémon Scarlet. The obviously superior version with the cave-mommy professor. I throw a speed running video onto another monitor, the commentator is funny and I only have to half-listen.

I spend roughly an hour in this state, making some progress on my Pokedex when I hear the loud beep from the dryer downstairs. Tearing myself away from the game I rush downstairs and pull the clothes out of the drier and into the clean hamper. The towel wrapped around my hair goes into the dirty bin. I lug the clean laundry through the house, stopping at the kitchen to grab a pack of single serve bottles of wine from the fridge, before going upstairs to our bedroom.

The clothing is folded and put away inside drawers and hung up in the closet. The lacy black panty is the only remaining fabric.

Down go the clothing on my lower half, and up goes the new underwear and the sweats on top. I toss the one I’d been wearing before back in the underwear drawer… It’s still clean!

A few test steps and body positions later and I can easily conclude…

“This pair of undies is the tits! So damn comfy! Marna you beautiful bastard, you’ve outdone yourself.”

With my only real chore for the evening done I return to gaming heaven with tasty wine in hand. Where I spend the rest of my evening, pausing briefly only to acquire a frozen burrito.

And then, so very late at night… Or early in the morning, it is time to sleep.

Off goes every article of clothing aside from my brand new underwear, and I slip under the covers.

Ah wait, I need to tell Marna how much I love her gift.

 

I roll my eyes. Marna sometimes likes playing dumb when it comes to her little gifts. She can be so silly sometimes.

Holding my phone aloft I make sure to get most of my body in the frame and snap a picture. One of my front, my free hand lightly touching the waistband of the underwear while I bite my lip in a sexy albeit buzzed manner. One of my back, my free hand grabbing an exposed ass cheek playfully.

The back one may or may not have taken a few attempts…

Marna replies quickly, only moments after I’d sent the images.

I return her sentiments of adoration and gently lay the phone on the nightstand on my side of the bed. Then, to the best of my ability, I follow her final orders for the evening.

My sleepy eyes close.

…

….

…..

I feel a twinge in my bladder. The alcohol I’d had this evening making itself known.

Against my better judgement I can’t bring myself to get up. My body refuses to move a single muscle.

“Ooooaaahhh well, I can hold it till morning…”

My yawn becomes a self-assurance as I roll over onto my side.

Rational thoughts cease as I fall fast into a buzzed slumber.

Before I go under, I feel the twinge in my bladder break slightly in relief. A few stray drops of urine escape into the panties hugging my bottom.

~~~

In what feels like no time at all, my eyes open wide and sudden. No longer on my side, I’d shifted in my sleep onto my back.

Light breaks through the bedroom window’s curtains, giving good indication it is no longer night, or even morning for that matter.

I lay in the warmth of the bed and stretch. Arms and legs crack. Despite creaking my back manages to hold strong.

Rolling over I grab my phone, it’s noon. Just in time for lunch!

I push myself up into a sitting position on the bed and then stand.

“Hah?”

Something is off.

The panties I’d sung the praises of last night feel different. Like the fabric bunched up while I slept.

I guess there’s no such thing as the perfect underwear, there’s always a catch…

My thumbs hook into the waistband of the lace underwear except… What they feel is not the light lace from last night. It feels like cotton or something.

“What the…”

Did I drunkenly wake up last night and put on a new pair?

Finally, I look down to see what I’m wearing on my bottom half.

It is not in fact the black lacy panties that I’d slipped on last night. But it shares the exact same flowery pattern, color, and safety pin motif. The number on this garment is 2 rather than 3.

I run my hand around my butt, feeling the fabric all over. Thicker in some places, lighter in others.

The gears in my sleep addled head turn slowly but reach a conclusion based on past experiences. I’ve babysat before, I know what this is…

“Why the hell am I wearing cloth training pants?”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Starting the new year off strong with a new short story. Expect only a handful of chapters for this story.

This is based off a prompt someone on Twitter gave me. I'll link the prompt on the final chapter, wouldn't want to spoil the story at chapter 1...

[FloridaKid]

Interesting start. 3…strikes?

[BobbyDrago]

Ah the morphing underwear a tale as old as time is she also seen as a little girl now or is reality still the same for her time will tell.

[The Cle-venger]

I'd like to see where this goes

[ImprobableLemon]

Saturday.

The training pants puff around my bottom, a thick mass of cloth between my leg. It feels strange. Foreign.

There’s absolutely no way I mistook those panties yesterday for training pants.

No way in hell. They felt so different from what I’m wearing now.

Wait, hold on. There’s a sanity check, we can prove this. We have photographic evidence.

I grab the phone from the bedside table and plop back down on the bed. Then I navigate to the texts and from there my correspondence with Marna.

“What the fuck…”

My mouth hangs agape, and I stare confused at the contents of my phone.

Despite my clear-ish (thank you alcohol) memory of last night, I see two things not lining up in my texts.

1.     I do not recall thanking Marna for sending me training pants.

2.     I do not recall taking pictures in said training pants to send to Marna.

And yet, my phone proves that both things happened. The room feels as though it’s spinning around me. Something isn’t right. I feel a knot forming in my stomach.

I furrow my brow and shoot out a quick message to Marna asking if she can call. Before I have time to get off the bed my phone begins to ring.

I pick up.

“What’s up Kay, how ya doing?”

“Uh, hey Marna… Did you notice anything weird about the pictures I sent last night?”

“I mean they were sexy as hell if that’s what you’re getting at. Those new training pants hug your ass so well, and the pattern… Mmm!”

Her voice dips quiet as if she’s in a semi-public area and trying to keep the conversation secret.

“Right… So did you buy those… Training pants?”

“I wasn’t joking last night; I didn’t order that pair for you. I assumed you did.”

“Why would I buy training pants? I wouldn’t buy something like that!”

Silence hangs on the phone for a brief moment. When Marna speaks next her voice is tinged with confusion.

“Are you feeling alright babe? You’ve always worn training pants.”

“Wait, what!?”

“I mean you’re basically potty trained. It’s been like a month since the last accident and that was just a little dribble if anything.”

“…”

“Are you sure you’re alright Kay? I’ll come home early if something is wrong…”

I know she’s not messing with me. She sounds genuine and concerned. I really shouldn’t worry her any more than this. Not while she’s on an important trip.

“Uh no… I’m alright. Sorry if I’m being weird, I think I had an odd dream or something and I woke up off. Have a good day Marna, love you!”

“Okay… Let me know if you keep feeling off. Love you too, hope you feel better!”

We hang up.

I hop off the bed. A few steps away and I’m at my dresser.

My hand rests on the top knob. My underwear drawer.

…

I don’t want to open it… But I do anyway.

…

It’s full of folded cloth training pants. A wide variety of colors, patterns, and thickness. Much of which mirrors what I remember my underwear drawer looking like before… Albeit noticeably thicker.

…

I bend my legs and squat low to the ground. My head buried into the folded arms resting on my knees.

“I’m absolutely losing my fucking mind.”

I remember putting on underwear yesterday. Actual panties. From this very drawer. And Marna has been out of town since before I woke up yesterday. There’s no way she snuck home last night to replace all of my panties with training pants in an attempt to gaslight me into believing I’m only mostly potty trained.

She’s not the pranking type. And she wouldn’t do something like this to me. I may not know what all I know right now, but I know that much.

My arms unfold and I brace my hands on my knees to stand back up. While doing so my legs squeeze together against the slight thickness between my thighs. Perhaps just a smidge thicker than usual underwear. Perhaps my initial assessment was off, this isn’t too bad. Could this have always been my underwear of choice?

I guess I’ll… Just set this aside for now. Maybe I got a bit too tipsy last night and smashed my head against an end table. Maybe I’ve drank myself into a wild stupor. Everyone (Marna at least) and everything lines up different from my memory, so guess I’m wrong.

Fuck it. Time to take it easy and turn off the ol’ brain. Starting Saturday with a confused near panic attack is a shit way to start the weekend.

So, putting my bout of amnesia behind me and ignoring the thickness of my… The training pants, I head downstairs to the kitchen.

Along the way I peer at the pictures lining the walls of our abode. Nothing looks off, everything as I remember it. I stare particularly hard at my midsection. Looking for any sign of ‘thickness’. But unfortunately revealing clothes aren’t a crazy part of my wardrobe to begin with, so nothing noticeable.

The living room I poke my head into is much the same as the hallways, nothing new.

Finally, the kitchen is exactly as I left it the night prior. Empty wine bottles draining water in the sink. Part of our recycling prep.

I grab some Pedialyte and blueberry cream cheese from the fridge, and throw some whole wheat bread into the toaster. An apple on the counter becomes the final ingredient to this balanced brunch.

By the time I finish this assortment of food and drink, I honestly feel much better. Much less like I’m losing my ever-loving mind.

Tomorrow I’ll probably have to stop by the store and get some groceries before Marna gets home, so that means I can use today to its fullest to chill.

Dishes get rinsed and tossed in the quarter full dish washer. A coffee mug with a lid gets filled with water and comes with me back upstairs to the office.

Naturally I assumed the room wouldn’t have changed, like the rest of the house. And for the most part it’s as I remembered. However, the shared calendar between our spaces is clearly different. Days of the month already passed have stickers.

It’s still the same old calendar with pictures of flowers for each month. But underneath the large text for the month, in Marna’s handwriting, is the sharpie’d message “Kay’s Potty Chart”. Including a little emote “:P”.

“Heh…”

That extracts a chuckle from me despite the sense of unease boiling inside me. Now hypothetically speaking. If I had always been only mostly potty trained, this is the kind of silly thing Marna would do.

But hey, at least the stickers seem to indicate that I’ve had only successes…

Ignoring the chart/calendar I plop down at my desk, sitting heavily against the back of my chair. I’d never admit it aloud, but the training pants do a decent job of further padding out the chair. Not bad…

I flip on the computer to throw on some YouTube while I get back to Pokémon.

As I browse the home page suggestions an interesting thought pops into my head. While the ‘family friendly’ photos decorating the house seem no different, then what of the ‘not so family friendly’ photos saved on my hard drive…

Minimizing Chrome, I navigate to the file explorer. Several sub-folders deep lay my stash of saved indecent photos.

With trembling hand, I enter the final layer.

And it’s exactly as I expected.

Mostly nude photos of Marna and I. Hands all over each other. Most notably, hands on the training pants I’m wearing in every photo. Can’t possibly be a photoshop job. It looks too good, and the training pants are different in each non-sequential photo.

“Mmmmgrrrhhh…”

I mumble and close the explorer, choosing once again to shove this issue to the back of my mind.

~~~

Gaming goes well for a short time, I completed the dex and acquired the shiny charm. I got through about an hour of recommended videos. However, I’m ready to take a break in favor of a different game. But… A familiar sensation hits my bladder.

“Oh shit!”

The urge is sudden and strong. I stumble out of the chair, banging my leg on the desk in the rush. A quick hobble to the bathroom next door and the bottoms are dropped just in time.

That was close. Much too close. If the bathroom were any farther away those training pants would’ve been soaked.

I remember having more warning and also being able to hold for much longer. But apparently those memories are… False as well.

I shake my head and finish in the bathroom.

You know what, we’re ordering pizza for dinner tonight. One phone call to Dominos later and the delivery order is placed. Pepperoni and onion, extra sauce. Thick crust obviously.

While I’m in the kitchen prepping a plate and drink for the pizza’s arrival I receive a call.

It’s Marna. I answer.

“How ya doing babe?”

“Not too bad, how’s the trip?”

“Not too bad, we’re done for today. We’re about to head out for Italian. What about you?”

“Wow, we have so much in common! You could say that’s what I’m having as well.”

“Dominos right? You’re having Dominos, aren’t you?”

“Mmm you’re quite the detective, and with so little to go on.”

“Psh, you order that every time I go out.”

“I have to wait for you to leave to order good pizza.”

“Woah, I ordered Little Caesars ONE time, okay?”

“And you liked it Marna, you liked it.”

“Fuck me, I’ll never live it down.”

I burst into laughter, unable to hold it back. She does as well. The same argument occurs every time pizza is relevant to the conversation. And it never gets old to either of us.

Finally, the chuckles die down and she continues where she left off. This time her voice taking on a more sultry, quiet tone.

“You know I… I think I’d like another picture tonight…”

“Oh really, would you now?”

“Of course, my intentions are entirely pure… Gotta make sure my special lady hasn’t had an accident.”

My mouth drops and my eyebrows shoot up high. I cannot believe she just said that. Is… Is this how our dirty talk works?

“Uh, no accidents here. I can guarantee that.”

“Weeeell, I’d like a picture. Just to be sure, babe.”

I look down for the first time in forever and realize I never actually put on clothes today. I’ve been rocking training pants and a sleep shirt all day.

My face immediately brightens in embarrassment, not that anyone else is here to witness my pseudo nudity or shame.

Still though, I comply with her request. I set her to speaker, switch on the camera, and hold the phone up and away from me. Angling it down.

After making sure my full body is in frame, I take the picture and send it her way.

“I hope you’re happy, it’s on the way.”

“Just got it, I’m more than happy! Sexy as fuck, and seemingly dry though I’d have to get in your pants to be absolutely sure. Guess you won’t be needing diapers after all.”

Like a switch is flipped she goes from sexy to teasing, and while normally fun the last bit makes me pause.

I’m given no time to think though, as the doorbell resounds through the house.

“Oh shit, pizza’s here and I don’t even have pants on! You’ve distracted me with your antics!”

“Pants? Why do you need those?”

“Uh. What?”

I ask, dumbfounded by her reply.

“Are you sure you’re alright today...? You get the door in your training pants all the time. Hell, sometimes I have to make you put pants on before we leave the house. Not that anyone cares about seeing you in them.”

“…”

What does that even mean!? If I wasn’t feeling like I was losing it before, this has officially taken the cake.

Before I can consider a counter-reply the doorbell rings again and Marna begins speaking quickly.

“Sorry to leave like this, but it looks like we’re heading out now! Goodbye my love, I expect texts before bed expressing your undying love for meeeee!”

“Ah, alright. Love you too, have fun!”

We hang up at the same time and I step out of the kitchen and into the hallway. On one end is the front-door, on the other side is the rightfully impatient pizza deliverer. On the other is the staircase leading to pants that will spare me embarrassment.

The doorbell rings for a third time, and that seals my decision.

Quickly I run to the front-door, grabbing my wallet from my purse hanging next to the door. I crack it open a little and speak nervously.

“H-Hey, sorry about that. I was upstairs…”

“No worries, that’ll be $5.99.”

It’s an unfamiliar guy perhaps in his early 20’s, a driver I’d not seen before.

I dig through my wallet and come up with a $10 bill. I pass it to the man who begins digging through his own money pouch.

“Don’t worry about the change, keep it.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it!”

He replies gratefully, giving me a slight smile. Then he unhooks the flap from the ‘keep warm’ box and pulls out my pizza. I push the door out a bit more and collect it with both hands.

Unfortunately doing so bumps the door with my arm, sending it careening open at a slow pace.

“Oh! Ah! Agahgaha!”

A yelp followed by unintelligible, embarrassed gibberish escapes my lips. The delivery driver’s eyes flick down, getting a good look at my exposed black flowery training pants.

However… His expression doesn’t change. The good-natured smile remains. Not in a creepy manner. Nor in a demeaning way. As if what he’d just witnessed was something not out of the ordinary.

Just as Marna had suggested.

“Here, I can get the door for you if your hands are full.”

“Ah… Uh thanks. H-Have a good night.”

“No problem, you too.”

And with that I step away from the door as the delivery driver pushes it shut and walks down the path to his waiting car.

Seconds tick by as I stand there, trying to comprehend what had just occurred.

Brain absolutely fried I give up, turn on my heel, and head back to the kitchen to serve up the pizza and swallow down some alcohol.

~~~

Pizza, alcohol, and a healthy dose of Overwatch later I’m once again lying in bed preparing to sleep. I brushed my teeth and put on a clean sleeping shirt of course, of course.

And most importantly I toned it down on the alcohol tonight. Given the state of my bladder today I didn’t want to go too crazy with it.

Ready to shut my eyes and be dead to the world I crack the phone open one more time for the promised text exchange.

“Maybe this is all just a dream. An overworked induced dream and I’ll wake up and it’ll be Saturday…”

Of course, that would make perfect sense. Something as absurd as what’s happened today could only be the product of a tired and overworked mind.

Phone goes on the bedside table, and I roll over. With high hopes of a typical morning and the obviously imaged training pants hugging my rear in a relatively comfortable fashion…

___________________________________________________________________________________

Gotta say people seemed to love the first chapter of this short story. I hope to maintain the interest; this post marks the halfway point!

I've also commissioned art from a good friend and amazing Artist, Melunnia. Give her some love and your money for art commissions.

If you scroll back up to the bottom of the first chapter you may notice a trend where the art is headed...

[diaper24/7]

This is good and please more.

[BobbyDrago]

Ha ha hahaha soon the reality alterations will be complete.

[Taki]

This is a really fun story. I'm enjoying the playful tone and the interesting changes. I wouldn't have expected the bit about people being okay with seeing her without pants. X3

[LittleFenny]

I agree with Taki, this is a fun story. I have to wonder how long Kay can keep that 2 from becoming a 1. Does it only go one direction? If she manages to stay dry long enough could the 2 become a three again? And is it three strikes and out or three strikes a you're out of warnings?

I mean, Panties->Training Pants->Diapers or Panties->Training Pants->Something->Diapers, where that something might just be a training pant that has a 1 in the circle and the flower patterns closer to something you'd expect on a training pant instead of panties, or maybe now the drawer is full of pocket training pants and sets of pads to fit in the pocket.

You had my curiosity with part one now you've got my interest ?

[aldl4811]

Fantastic work on this so far

[FloridaKid]

Love the direction you’re taking this story and the relationship. My guess is the reality warp will take another “little” turn overnight and she’ll end up in progressively more infantile clothing

[RynoBro]

I like the idea of the story.

[ImprobableLemon]

Sunday.

 

Before I know it my eyes pop open groggily. The last day of the weekend. A quick check on the phone next to my bed informs me that it’s early by my weekend standards, roughly 10 am.

My limbs stretch out and my back arches, getting the nighttime stiffness out.

I’m yanked right out of my grogginess however by the sound generated by my movement. A loud rustling and a much quieter crinkling.

Feeling the strange feeling of not-quite-vertigo from yesterday I roll off the bed quickly and throw the covers off.

Nothing unusual…

I push on the bed lightly, moving my hand around. And I’m rewarded with the same loud rustle.

So, I rip the bedsheets themselves off. Under that is a thick sheet of white plastic covering the bed. A bed protector, the kind one would buy for… An accident-prone child…

My hands run through my bed head, massaging my scalp.

“Well, fuck.”

Despite my late-night hopes and prayers, this was not in fact a dream.

Mind boiling over in troubled thoughts and anxiousness, I begin pacing around the room.

However, that infernal crinkling sound from the bed rings obnoxiously in my ears.

Just as I decide to stop the source of the sound, I catch a look at myself in the full body mirror.

It’s not that I look any different from last night, I’m still very much me. What’s off is that I do not remember throwing on the black sleep shorts. I also do not remember the cloth training pants being so bulky on my rear.

Thumbs hook into the shorts and I yank down the garments exposing my underwear to myself in the mirror.

Except what I expose is not underwear. Not really. It functions as underwear sure, but when you think of the term ‘underwear’, you usually consider something a bit more… ‘Long term functional’.

No, these were made of a papery material with disposability in mind. Inside is more padding, an absorbent fluff of sorts that spreads my legs thicker apart just slightly more than last night’s underwear. It even has little perforations on the side for easy removal.

It’s a bona fide pull-up. With the same black color scheme and patterns from the previous two days. The number one rests proudly on the front of the garment.

“Shit… Shit.”

There’s no way I’m buying that this is right. I was starting to yesterday but this is clearly not.

I turn to my dresser, but I don’t even have to open it to know what’s inside.

Sitting just to the side is an unopened package of dark purple pull-ups. Ribbons and swirls of color decorate the front.

Could it be the underwear I’d received in the mail Friday? They’re the one constant from these past two days…

Better safe than sorry.

With each hand I grab on either side of the pull-ups perforations and pull it apart off me. I throw it into the closet and slam the folding door shut, getting it out of sight.

I’d go commando but yesterday’s bladder control was rough, I’d hate to think about how it is today.

So, without looking into my underwear drawer and dealing more mental damage to myself, I tear open the purple pack and slide it up my legs. Despite the rather kiddish color scheme and packaging it goes up easily, fits like a glove, and covers a touch more than ‘granny panties’.

“Hold on…”

I mutter to myself as I march over to the joint gaming room and office.

The calendar is still the same as it was yesterday though it seems more serious in function and tone. It simply reads “Kay’s Potty Chart”. The sarcastic little emote denoting it as a joke is gone. It’s serious. And judging by the number of dark clouds vs smiling suns it seems well warranted…

 Shakily I run downstairs to the kitchen. Along the way I look closely at the photographs decorating the wall.

It’s difficult but in some of the pictures I can tell that my choice in underwear is obviously thicker than a pair of panties would be.

And as if that wasn’t enough evidence, a picture of Marna and I at the beach where I’m rocking a smile, a sexy blue bikini top, and a pair of vibrant blue swimming pull-ups.

At this point my mouth is dry and I all but drain the Brita filter of everything its got.

I flip open my phone and return to my correspondence with Marna from the past two days. Starting with our Friday evening texts.

“Not good. Damn it.”

I shake my head. The strange acceptance of yesterday’s oddities that I’d talked myself into is fading faster and faster.

Even the message from last night is quite drastically altered. Her mention of me feeling off yesterday is gone. As if everything was just peachy yesterday.

That’s not even getting into the good girl and training potty shit.

“Ah nuts!”

As if I don’t have enough going on with reality crumbling down around me, I gotta hit the store like this.

Then, a powerful sensation below. An urge to piss like I’d never felt before.

Whether it’s stress, my preoccupation, whatever’s weakening my bladder, or a mixture of it all holding off the signal I am unsure. But it’s here and I’m moments away from bursting.

I tear upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

As I reach the final step at the top of the staircase, I feel a twinge and a slight burst of urine hit the soft padding held so closely to my privates.

“No way-“

I grunt and bend over slightly, literally hold myself. Stemming the flow. For now.

Carefully I make the rest of the trip to the bathroom much slower. I only stop my awkward stance when my ass is hovering over the porcelain seat. The pull-ups slide down and my rear makes contact with the seat just in time for the dam to fully break.

My hands cradle my head as my body unwittingly does its business, flushed red in embarrassment at having pissed myself even a little.

It’s in that position, looking down, that I notice something off.

The pullups sitting in a damp heap at my feet are not the ones I’d put on just a short time ago.

They’re the same pattern and color of the one I’d torn off. The ones I’d been suspicious of causing this nonsense.

When the hell did that happen?

But that’s not all, on the waistband of the sodden garments is a tag, much like you’d see on a non-disposable pair of panties. Alongside the typical information such as washing instructions (it says don’t considering they’d probably make a mess of the washing machine) is a brand name. Reality™. And in very small print a series of numbers with dashes. A phone number to be precise.

I finish up at the toilet, wipe myself down, and toss the lightly used pull-up into the small trash bin. But not before taking down the number. Hands get washed and I rush to the bedroom to slide on a fresh pair of purple pull-ups once again.

Phone in hand plop down at my desk and ring up the number on speaker.

While it rings, I turn my PC on and pull up the naughty photos I’d reviewed yesterday. A choked gasp of air escapes me at what I find. A mixture of laugh and sigh. Lots of mature content of Marna and me. In all the pictures I’m in a pull-up, sometimes dry but often in some degree of sag. Happy as a clam.

I only get a few glimpses at my stash of photos before the tone cuts, the phone’s been picked up on the other end. My voice ratches up in self-righteous fury.

“Alright you mother f-“

“Thank you for calling Reality. We appreciate your call and hope you’ll stick around while we get to your call. One of our representatives will be with you shortly.”

My tirade is preemptively cut off by the sound of an automated message delivered by a slightly feminine robotic voice. A much deeper, human voice was inserted for speaking the company’s name.

Soft music like you’d hear from any other help line begins to play from my phone’s speaker.

I stare confused and incredulous at the phone and deflate in my chair. This has taken a bit of the wind out of my sails.

The music ends and a feminine human voice picks up, sounding roughly my own age.

“Hello and thank you for calling Reality, where we put the real in reality. Please be aware that this conversation will be recorded for quality and training purposes. My name is Alice, how may I help you today?”

“Uh, hello. My name is Kay. Kay Tots. I received a package from you guys, and I’m honestly confused at all this.”

The very ordinary sounding support call has certainly thrown me off my game. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this. In fact, my own experiences in taking professional calls is quelling my negative feelings.

I’d been on the receiving end of angry customers before.

“That’s no problem, dear. I can get into what we do here if that would help.”

“Sure, we can start there.”

“So, here at Reality we’ve found that the way that we, as humans, perceive and interact with the world around us is in fact quite malleable and easy to alter.”

“W-What? That can’t possibly be right.”

“Oh, but it is. Actually, our brains do most of the heavy lifting in reality alteration. If you tweak with the way things are just right the brain readily adapts itself including its memories to accept new standards of reality to avoid stress.”

Her reply is swift and confident. Not that I can really find fault with her words. Given what I’d experienced I’m more inclined to agree than disagree. I’d been falling down the slope of acceptance all day yesterday.

“Okay… So given that’s true, what does Reality exactly do with this this?”

“Thank you for asking! We’ve taken it upon ourselves to personally enhance the reality of customers such as yourself. And do so in a way such that the quality of life improves by a percentage of 30% or greater.”

“I didn’t buy anything though, how am I a customer?”

“Another excellent question! All customers of Reality are selected at random by our internal reality technicians. As such our services come free of charge.”

“I… See. Uh, in that case could I get whatever’s been done to me undone or removed?”

“Are you experiencing issues with the product that you received?”

“Well, it’s more that I don’t really want or appreciate what’s been happening the past two days.”

“Hm… Well, I won’t ask the specifics of your issues but according to your file it seems that your reality alterations are proceeding within expected parameters. I have an offer for you, if you’d like to hear it, dear.”

“Sure.”

“Here at Reality, we pride ourselves on our 100% satisfaction rating. We get concerned calls such as yours from time to time early in the process, but in the end they’re a happy customer. I see on your file that by tomorrow morning your new reality will be finished settling in. Give it a chance and if you’re not completely happy with how things are then give us a ring and we’ll put everything back and make all of this seem like a bad dream.”

I pause for a moment, chewing on her words and thinking it over.

She seems very passionate about her work, and if what she’s saying is true then at worst all this becomes a dream anyway… I have a few more questions before I reach a decision, however.

“This isn’t some trick, is it? Like everything is set in stone tomorrow and I forget things have changed or become unable to call back…”

“No, no no. We don’t do that sort of thing here, dear. No matter how drastic your change in reality is, the structure of your life will be more or less consistent. You’ll still have your same relationships, employment, schooling, abilities, etc. Anything less would be cruel.”

A fervent denial. Her tone of voice takes on an almost offended or sad tint. As though even the thought of something like this hurt her.

“If all this is a free service, then where do you guys get the funding for this? I can’t imagine all this is cheap.”

“Oh dear, if we can make adjustments to reality then it goes to reason that our company would be able to somehow keep ourselves afloat even without conventional means.”

She chuckles and in hindsight I do feel a little silly for asking. Which doesn’t make the last question any easier to ask.

“Is this… Some sort of magic?”

“Hm…”

It’s her turn to pause now as she thinks of the best way to answer my question. She speaks up again.

“They say that a science so far advanced beyond understanding could be perceived as magic. So, I suppose you could describe what we do here either way. Unfortunately, I cannot give any better answer, trade secrets you know.”

“I guess that’s it… I… I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ll call back tomorrow evening once everything’s settled.”

“Excellent choice, dear. And thank you once again for your call… If a call is not received in the coming months, we may reach out again to get a review and endorsement of our services. It was a pleasure talking with you, goodbye.”

“Alright, sure. Talk to you later.”

I roll my eyes slightly at these typical sounding lines. I may be ‘giving this a chance’, but there’s no way I’m not calling tomorrow evening.

Looking down I see that the pull-up I’d put on before the call once again has the style and look of the ‘cursed’ one I’d woken up in. Feeling a bit more comfortable and less concerned after the call, I poke and prod the crinkly garment, inspecting it a little more.

To my dismay the cloth-like is damp to the touch. Not leaking, but I did not stay dry during that call. Being distracted certainly made it easier for my body to let go without notice…

And if the number adorning the front is a timer for completion that would match with what the representative said about tomorrow being the last day.

“Ah, whatever. I got errands to do.”

We put up with it for now, and tomorrow evening or Tuesday morning we give them a call back.

I push away from the computer and spin the chair around, throwing a fresh look around the room for changes I’d not noticed earlier.

In one of the previously empty corners of the room not occupied by either of our desks is a small bin with a lid and a short cabinet that doesn’t even come to my hips.

Giving the inside of the bin a peek grants me a view of multiple wadded up pull-ups.

“Then maybe…”

Stooping down I pull open the left and right door of the cabinet. It’s just as I expected. On the left is a black plastic training potty fit for me, and on the right is a pack of spare pull-ups with baby wipes.

“Score!”

I shout, perhaps a little more excited than I should.

Really, it’s the convenience of not having to go into the bathroom to freshen up.

With a little help from me and gravity, the pull-up hits the carpeted floor and I get to work cleaning myself with the wipes.

I wince at the cold feeling on my most tender bits, but I get it over with quick. Then a fresh pull-up from the already opened pack covers me once more.

Finished with that task I go to the bedroom to get changed for my outing.

Today’s outfit is a pair of black jeans (not skinny for obvious reasons), a long light brown shirt that hangs over my jeans and a jacket of equal length (to hide the top of the pull-up peeking out over the jeans).

According to my phone I’ll make the bus just in time if I leave now.

Feeling a bit more hurried I rush downstairs to throw on my shoes, grab my purse, and get my ass out the door and down the sidewalk to the bus stop.

I board and while I’m clearly very discreet with the pull-ups, I can’t help but feel everyone’s eyes are on me. So, I sit just behind the driver, not keen to walk by someone that could potentially notice.

Despite my fears the short ride to the grocery is smooth and I’m given no trouble whatsoever. In fact, an elderly couple boarding a few stops after my own flashed me a smile before disappearing further into the bus.

A rather quick 10-minute ride later and the bus pulls into the stop adjacent to the rather large superstore. I disembark and quickly scurry across the parking lot and into the store’s entrance.

With a cart in hand, I push past the automated gates and into the store.

“Welcome to Target, sweetie. Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you!”

“Uh, thank you.”

A rather enthusiastic greeter waves to me in particular; a smile on his face. I return the greeting with a thanks and head to produce, confused.

By the time I’ve filled the cart with fresh fruits and veggies I’ve found my groove. No longer obsessing about my gait or the feeling of the padding between my legs or the looks from the other shoppers. All that’s in the back of my head. Right now, I am a grocery buying machine.

I finish up on the right side of the store with all the food related goods, and head over to the left where the other necessities reside.

Trash bags, soap and shampoo, toothpaste, etc. All that goes into the cart.

And I’m done, that was the last of it.

However, as I walk to the checkout an aisle catches my eye. Or rather, a strange sight in the aisle. I turn the cart in and read the summary of goods hanging above.

“Childcare… Right…”

I say, not sounding convinced.

Because right near the entrance of the aisle is a whole section of rather large packages of pull-ups. Many of these packages are adorned with a variety of grown women wearing the garments, holding the package up proudly.

I pick up one of the packages, turning it over in my hands. Upon closer inspection are quotes from the women where typically you might expect quotes from parents. ‘Thanks to Pull-Ups for Women, potty training has never been easier’. ‘Soft, absorbent, and my boyfriend loves them on me’.

I set the package back on the shelf and peer at the women. The pictures seem off somehow, as if not quite real. Maybe AI generated?

There is no way other adults have been caught up in this… Right…? I mean, the shelves are full, with no indication that anyone has bought these. I don’t see a brand name on any of the packages, so maybe these just… Poof into existence? Reality conforming to the strange normal I’ve found myself in.

With a shake of my head, I turn back to my cart ready to move along. But my eyes catch another odd sight and I turn as if on autopilot.

Adult diapers, albeit ones with a more infantile design than what you might otherwise expect from the size. And they do seem to come in a range of sizes. Cute farm animals, skulls, mermaids, and more designs, all running up the plastic.

The models, fake or real, are in a variety of poses. Spread legged, bending over, even outdoors. All with their pampered rears on full display. All wearing comfortable, happy smiles aimed at whoever catches an eye of the diaper’s packaging.

Is this some sort of precursor to tomorrow!?

“Oh dear, are you alright sweetie?”

“Ah!”

A voice from behind calls out suddenly. I jolt in surprise, a shocked gasp leaving my throat. The package of adult pampers falls to the floor with a crinkle.

Turning around I am greeted to an employee roughly my age; she’s wearing an apron and a polo t-shirt tucked into her jeans. There’s a nametag, Laura, attached to her shirt. She’s eyeing me with a look of concern.

“I’m sorry for scaring you. I couldn’t help but notice you needed some help.”

“Oh, it’s no problem… I’m actually ready to check out.”

“That’s not quite what I meant, dear.”

Laura looks down pointedly. I follow her gaze and my face flushes red in embarrassment. My dark jeans sport a few darker spots, around where my legs and bottom meet. There’s a few down my leg as well. And worst of all a few noticeable drops on the floor. My legs squeeze together with a squish, confirming what I’d already pieced together.

I’ve had an accident and leaked my… The pull-up.

“O-Oh my god! I… I’m so sorry! I-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Everything will be alright. Let’s get you to the bathroom, hm? What’s your name?”

“It-It’s Kay.”

Gently she grabs hold of my wrist and starts pulling me towards the bathroom a few feet away.

“That’s a really cute name! I love it!”

As we enter the white tiled room, I notice something different right off the bat. The size of the public changing table has increased dramatically. Large enough to fit an adult.

We move past that though, and towards one of the uninhabited larger stalls at the end of the bathroom. Laura ushers me in and gently closes the door behind me.

“I’ll be right back with something for you to wear, sweetie. Can you get those pants off for me in the meantime?”

“I… Um… Sure.”

“Good girl! Be right back!”

Already heading back towards the store, her chipper voice echoes in the bathroom. And I’m left alone, or mostly alone with anyone occupying the other stalls.

Following her instructions, I gingerly extract myself from my damp jeans. With those gone and nothing to keep the pull-ups held in place, it immediately sags down. A few beads of piss squeeze out from the leg holes and run down my leg.

Not quite ready to go fully naked in a bathroom stall I sit on the toilet where the droplets can go somewhere appropriate.

With a morbid sort of curiosity, I crane my neck down, looking at the sodden garment. The dark coloring of the pull-up is tinged yellow, with many of the intricate flowers between my legs having faded away.

I rest my head in my hands feeling so incredibly embarrassed. Though Laura is being very nice and understanding. It honestly warms my heart, she’s great.

“I’m back, sorry, I had to run around the store!”

As if summoned by my thoughts of her, Laura appears on the other side of the stall door.

“It’s okay, thank you so much for doing this for me.”

“Psh, for someone as adorable as you I’d do laps around this store.”

I blush again, this time for a different reason. Before I can reply she speaks again.

“Now then, do you need my help to get dressed or can you do it on your own?”

“NO! I-I mean I’m good, I can do it.”

I shout, mortified. On the other side of the door Laura chuckles before cracking the door open and holding out a handful of objects.

Gratefully I accept and sort through them. A pair of regular blue jeans, though the back pockets have purple flowers sewn onto them. Cute. A pull-up, lavender with dark purple flowers. And a small pack of disposable wipes.

I open the wipes and tear the perforated sides of the pull-up wrapped around my bottom. It hits the floor with a plop. As I begin wiping my lower half down, Laura continues the conversation.

“I assumed your caregiver wants you in pull-ups. In case you’re wondering why I didn’t grab some of our more absorbent diapers.”

“Caregiver!?”

“Oh sorry, your mommy or daddy.”

God, this is certainly a development I hadn’t thought about. What sort of weird public kinky relationship do Marna and I have in this twisted reality!?

“Uh, yeah. T-Thanks for the pull-up then.”

“It’s no problem sweetie. I know potty training can be difficult, but don’t let this get you down.”

“Right…”

Laura doesn’t know the half of it. Something tells me that potty training will be a far-off dream tomorrow.

At this point I’ve got the pull-up on and the jeans tugged up. So, I exit the stall and wash my hands.

As I turn to leave the bathroom with Laura, she pulls out a small piece of paper and places it into my hand.

“It was a pleasure helping you out kiddo. You’re so cute and well behaved! Give my information to your caregiver, I’d love to babysit sometime.”

I blush again, something that Laura has been quite effective at getting me to do.

“I-Uh, sure. I’ll make sure she gets it. Thanks for all the help, you’re great and really nice. I’ll pay for all of this if you kept the tags…”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house. And don’t fight me on this!”

She says with a laugh, apparently seeing through the expression on my face. Having been called out, I accept her words with a shrug.

Before I can react, she pulls me in for a quick and firm hug. Then she’s off, heading away from the front of the store.

“See ya Kay!”

I respond with a wave before heading back to my cart which rests in the aisle it was left in.

While super embarrassing, this honestly wasn’t the worst. People have been… Rather nice today…

Ah, whatever. I’m done here. Time to check out, get home, and enjoy the last of the weekend before work tomorrow.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Only one more chapter left! Sorry this took some time but this past month of time has been pretty filled for me, and this chapter turned out quite long.

But I hope to have the grand finale out in a more reasonable amount of time.

That aside, let's see how Kay looks in this chapter's picture. A piece I commissioned from the great Melunnia.

[LittleFenny]

Ooh, a countdown of days not accidents. Maybe Kay will still be in training pants tomorrow. Even if diapers might be more appropriate if she's this prone to leaks.