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The Diaper Vigilante (Updated, Part 5, Complete!)

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The hacker sat cross legged on her floor, leaning against her bed for a bit of support. She’d bought an expensive gaming chair–the kind that was ninety percent of the way to being a carseat, it just needed the harness–but it was several feet away, and she’d already been on the ground, moving a box beneath her bed when the shipping notification pinged.

With her laptop in reach and her focus engaged, she’d gotten to work right where she sat. Her back would protest, but that was a problem for later. Nor did it matter that it was just past dawn, that she’d been up all night, that sleep would have to wait for hours once this began. She had her game, and that’s what mattered in the moment. 

Elizabeth Sullivan did not consider herself a hero, but that’s how she branded herself, and to the few who knew her screen name, ‘Little Cricket’, it’s how she was to be treated. 

She didn’t consider herself a grown-up either, but that’s how her documents read–and as far as the government was concerned, it’s how she was to be treated. 

Shifting a bit, she noted absently how her diaper squelched–she’d saturated it heavily enough to justify a change, and she needed to poop. Strictly speaking, she preferred to keep that contained to the toilet, but she was in the middle of a project, her thoughts were laser focused, and she didn’t want to kill all her momentum by getting up to change and use the toilet. It’d just have to last a little longer. 

Tabbing through her notifications, she read data, soaking it in like a diaper absorbed moisture. She knew the patterns, she recognized information before she’d read it, and only needed to glance at what was written to confirm her gut feelings. 

The internet had existed for forty years, and for twenty, it’d been a tool used by more than half the world’s population. Elizabeth didn’t understand how so-called adults could be so incompetent in its use, so lax and lazy when it came to security.

It’s like they wanted her to beat them. 

Her current target had fallen for a trivially simple linkswap scam to get his passwords, and from there, the rest of his downfall had been easy. A few tricks to bypass two factor authentication, a couple more to get into his financials. 

By most estimations, he was some flavor of asshole–he’d made his money scamming people into buying useless assets, the lazy kind of fraud that didn’t even take creativity. 

Elizabeth didn’t particularly care what he’d done. She’d long since learned, however, that if she targeted vulnerable victims, she’d be condemned, she might even end up in trouble with the law. When she went after criminal con men, though, everything became permissible. 

Leaning forward, she grunted almost without thinking, the seat of her diaper swelling a bit while she took control of her victim’s computer. She’d already decided on the game she wanted to play, now she just needed her participant. 

“Hello, piggy,” she said. Her voice was modulated, a bit–not to hide her identity, though, it wasn’t as though anyone would be able to track her down. She rarely left her condo, and few people knew what she sounded like. Rather, she distorted her words to make her targets uncomfortable.

The man in front of her flinched–of course he did. A voice from nowhere had just addressed him, when he was alone, in private, working from his home office. In a work-from-home world, high-def webcams had become standard, which made her games all the easier. 

“What the hell?” he asked, setting down his morning coffee. He hadn’t even gotten to work yet. “Who said that?”

Elizabeth gloried in the moment for as long as she could–watching her target’s surprise, the shock, all displayed in crisp HD from his webcam. Soon would be the horror and the realization. The sweet moments of early victory, while he still had enough dignity to show humiliation.

“I did, piggy,” Elizabeth said. For emphasis, she moved a mouse on her computer screen, and the motion was mirrored on his own display. “Don’t close your computer. I’m in your wallet, I own your assets, and if you disobey me, you’ll find out just how quickly I can take it all away.” 

She wouldn’t actually take it all away. Others had disobeyed her before, after all, and if she actually followed through on her threat, it ruined the game. She’d take their money, but who cared about money? She wanted more than that.

So, if he disobeyed, she’d only take half. Let him see the notification on his phone, learn what he’d lost, and frantically come back to beg. That was, in its own way, almost more fun than when her days went off without a hitch. 

“I don’t know how you’re doing this,” he said, “But I don’t believe you.”

“Then let’s give you some proof, piggy,” Elizabeth said. She was rubbing the name in thick, but she wanted it to be clear that this was his name, at least while she spoke to him. 

Moving her mouse again, she opened his digital wallet, displaying the various cryptocurrencies he’d acquired. Selecting one at random, she sent it to an anonymous holding wallet with just a few keystrokes. 

It didn’t matter where it’d gone, the point was that her Piggy no longer had it. The digital equivalent of several thousand dollars, gone in a flash. He still had millions, but he’d gained it recently, and the psychological impact of the dollars lost still hit him plenty hard. 

His eyes went huge, like she’d just shoved him down on the playground and taken his lunch money. Perfect. “What the fuck–okay. Stop. What do you want? Money?”

“If I wanted money, I’d already have taken it,” Elizabeth pointed out. “No, piggy, I want something more. You’ve hurt people to get this money, you’re a pig. You need to learn a lesson.”

He swallowed. It was clear she could follow up on her threats easily enough–one wrong word, and she’d drain his accounts. His delicious fear sang when he asked, “What lesson?” 

“What you really are,” Elizabeth explained. “You’ve got a package in front of your door. I know how long it takes you to go from the computer to your porch. Go get the package, and return immediately–every second you dally, I’ll delete another coin.” 

He nodded, shook his head, and stared at his computer screen a little longer. “Okay. Okay. I’ll do it, just–”

“The timer’s started, piggy boy,” Elizabeth’s tone was sing-song, and just for emphasis, she called up a stopwatch on his screen.

Her target jumped to attention, scrambling out of the room. Good–if she kept pressure on him, he wouldn’t have time to think or come up with any bright ideas. She doubted he had the intellectual capacity to come up with bright ideas regardless, and even if he did, they wouldn’t be bright enough to beat her.

Even still, she kept the pressure on. She’d win, no matter what, but she preferred to have full control of the game. 

He returned a minute later, holding a medium sized duffel bag. “Okay,” he said, taking shallow breaths. “I have the package–please don’t take anything else.” 

“We’ll see,” Elizabeth promised. “All I will promise is that after we’re done, you’ll never hear from me again. If your accounts remain full, that’s all well and good. If not…well, good luck getting it back, because I won’t be available to hear your begging.”

He swallowed, looking between his computer and the duffel. “What are you going to do?”

“Inside the duffel, there’s some water bottles, a bit of food, and an outfit,” Elizabeth explained. “Take off all of your clothes and put on the outfit. Is that understood?” 

Instant shock. Of course, it’s what she expected–nobody liked getting naked on camera. “What? No!” 

Another coin vanished with a big, dramatic notification bubble.

“Oh dear,” she said, trying to pump sarcasm into her tone so that it’d come through even with the artificial processing. “You can turn your back–I don’t care about seeing your dick. Just get dressed.” 

That deflated his protests, and he looked again at the duffel, reluctance and greed battling in his head. 

She was so focused on the game that she’d lost all sense of her surroundings. She was a part of her laptop, and the vague smell permeating her bedroom, wafting off her diaper, may as well not have existed. If she leaked, she leaked, she had victory to enjoy.

Defeated, her piggy unzipped the duffel, peering inside for a long moment in uncomprehension. Only after staring did he say, “No, I–I mean–please, don’t take anything. I’ll do it.” 

Elizabeth could have jumped for joy, if that hadn’t meant actually moving her body, taking her attention off the display and keyboard in her lap. 

The outfit wasn’t elaborate–just three elements–but she’d selected it with precision. Sometimes, less was more, and this was absolutely one of those instances. 

She genuinely couldn’t care less about his nudity, but she still watched him strip with glee, staring not at his body but at his face. The humiliation, the fear, she drank it in until she felt intoxicated. 

Then came the real prize–the awkward, uncertain embarrassment that came whenever she made someone put a diaper on for the first time since before they could remember. Inevitably, they always got something wrong, and she got to giggle as they worked to correct their mistakes. 

Her piggy laid down on his back, fumbling with the diaper. He first put it on upside down, then had to flip it, lifting his hips to slide it in place. While he did, little sounds kept escaping him–squeaks of embarrassment that he didn’t even seem to be aware of.

Elizabeth’s grin just grew, seeing how his cheeks turned pink when he stuck down the tapes, sealing himself into a puffy white diaper that clung to him like a pillowy target. 

“And the rest,” Elizabeth said. “A diaper alone does not a piggy make.” 

Meekly, already halfway to being broken, her target reached for the bright pink onesie. It was mostly uniform in color, but had one bit of special decoration–a short, curled tail on the backside. He’d feel it, just a bit, when he sat down, just as she wanted. He wriggled to get into it, not understanding how the crotch buttons worked, instead stepping into it like a swimsuit and shimmying his legs into the outfit from the top, doing the shoulder snaps instead. 

Only one thing was left–a halloween costume pig nose, one that’d hold over his face with elastic straps. It’d be uncomfortable, and that’s what she wanted. Discomfort. A constant reminder that he was just a little piggy, with a little piggy nose. 

He pulled it over his face, transformation complete. 

Or, well–almost complete. He looked the part. Now he had to go through his training. 

“Alright, piggy,” Elizabeth said. “Sit down on the floor, criss-cross applesauce.”

He obeyed. It meant he had to look up at his desk to see the computer screen. It also meant his posture and pose matched hers, except that he looked up at her, and she looked down at him. 

“I’m going to play a video for you, and it’s going to ask some questions. Every question you answer correctly, nothing will happen. Every question you answer incorrectly, I take your money away. Do you understand?” 

Of course he understood–and if he didn’t, she’d still start the video, just to see him struggle and try to learn by trial and error. Still, he nodded. “I won’t lie.” He’d jumped to conclusions about the question, but that just meant he’d be surprised when she showed him his video. “Please. Just don’t take anything else.” 

“I know you only care about your money, and I’m not lying either,” she assured him. “But this isn’t an interrogation. Consider it more…a knowledge test. If you get hungry or thirsty, or need to take a break, you can have the food in the bag. There are points in the test where you’ll have a few moments to do so. But, and this is important: Until the test is over, you won’t sit up, leave, or turn off your computer. Any of those actions count as a forfeit.” 

He understood the implied point, anxiety weighing down on his shoulders. “How long will this take?” 

“I hope you didn’t have evening plans,” she replied. He was a couple time zones ahead of her, but it still wasn’t past nine in the morning yet.

“What if I need to use the bathroom?” he asked.

Elizabeth didn’t feel the need to properly answer. “If you’re that dumb, piggy, I worry you’re going to fail this test. I’m starting the video now. Pay attention.”

He’d already known, somewhere down in his subconscious, but the dawning moment of realization as he was no longer able to pretend still sang to her heart. Knowing, without a doubt, that he’d have to use the diaper he put on was triumphant to Elizabeth. 

In truth, the test was not really one of knowledge. It didn’t matter how much he knew, any toddler could answer correctly–but the questions would come fast, and they’d demand focus. He’d have to follow along for hours. 

Queuing it up, the cartoon began to play. A woman in colorful coveralls stood in front of a barn, and a cheerful tune began to play, simple guitar strums. 

“So many animals on the farm,
so many sounds heard on the farm,
all the animals make sounds on the farm,
can you name the sounds on the animal farm?” 

Her piggy’s brow furrowed for a moment, confused. “I don’t–what is this?”

Elizabeth didn’t reply, and the video continued. 

“What noise does the cow make on the farm?” 

He didn’t say anything. Grinning, Elizabeth removed a coin from his wallet, taking thousands of dollars away right for him to see. 

The song continued. 

“What noise does the cow make on the farm?” 

His eyes just widened. “What the hell?” 

This time, Elizabeth said, “Tsk, that’s wrong,” as she removed another coin, another couple thousand dollars in speculative value. 

“What noise does the cow make on the farm?” 

This time he got it, and finally, tentatively said, “Moo?” 

Elizabeth laughed, and the rest of his wallet stayed firmly place.

“So many cows moo on the farm.

What noise does the chicken make on the farm?”

He got it, and this time, answered immediately. “Cluck.” 

“What noise does the chicken make on the farm?”


“What noise does the chicken make on the farm?”


“So many chickens cluck on the farm.” 

Elizabeth was satisfied–he’d understood, and now, all that was left was to wait and enjoy the torture. 

The song moved forward–next to the dog.


Then to the cat.


Then to her second favorite moment–the pig.


And, finally, the crescendo of the song, where the singer asked,

“What noise do you make on the farm?” 

Her target didn’t get it. “Um…hello? Human sound? I don’t know.”

A coin vanished, and his anguish at financial loss was hilarious and cathartic. She’d picked an expensive one, too: He’d lost more than ten thousand dollars for that one little mistake. 

“What noise do you make on the farm?” 

“This is–there’s no sound for a person!” he objected, furious and near tears as she removed another coin–though, this time, she was generous and only cost him the price of a shitty car. 

“Think about it a little longer,” she replied, pointedly avoiding his new moniker. 

“What noise do you make on the farm?” 

Finally, with a dawning moment of humiliation, he got it. “Oink.” 

Success. No loss for him, as the song jingle finished its loop.  

“Good piggy,” Elizabeth praised. “Now, let’s see how well you learned.”

The song began again, playing through the chorus–the twenty second period he’d get every repetition to drink, or to try and eat some of the food in the bag. She looked forward to that–watching him gawk as he realized she’s left him no utensils, that all the food was chosen to be as messy as possible. Would he try to lick the pudding cups out with his tongue and get it all over his face, or scoop it out with his fingers and dirty his hands? She’d even done tests with the canned spaghetti–when cold, it was slightly thick, and would come out in globs. If he tried to drink it from the can, it’d inevitably end up all over his face, and I’d get to enjoy his mollified reaction as he spilled red sauce and soggy noodles all over his piggy onesie. 

The song itself was only a couple minutes long, but that was fine–the repetition added to the torture. He’d have to listen to it a few hundred times before she let him off the hook–in fact, she had set it up to play on a loop until she told it to stop, and she wouldn’t be doing that until he’d leaked through his diapers and filled up the seat at least as much as she had that morning. 

She wanted him to really get the pig pen experience before it came to an end, after all. 

She could have gotten up then, letting the audio play in the background to ensure that the piggy didn’t get his answers wrong. She kept watching, though, enjoying her private performance as he enthusiastically called out the barnyard animal sounds loud and clear for fear that if he mumbled she’d take more money away. 

This wasn’t about justice, or punishment, or even revenge. Her target was an asshole, but that’d been the excuse to pick him as her victim, not her motivation. 

This was just about fun. 


Author's note:

Patreon nuked my account and I'm left scrambling to try and make up the lost income and rebuild my audience from scratch.

I've set up a new page on a service called Ream, which is ABDL-friendly and fiction-focused. I'd be incredibly grateful if you'd go over there to subscribe, especially if you were previously subscribed on Patreon.


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Poor Piggy, I wonder if he's being recorded. Or even better I wonder if this is being streamed. After all Elizabeth apparently has some people who know what she does and consider her a hero. I could picture a streaming page somewhere on the dark web where if they're lucky they can sign in and see some scammer being humiliated. Even if Elizabeth isn't a hero she at least knows where to aim.

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2 hours ago, Baby Billy said:

Yea that happened to one I follow, though I am not going to another site that I don't trust.

Would you be willing to at least give me a follow? Ream allows you to Follow authors and get updates when their content comes out for the public, without any payment or subscription necessary. Even without building a paid audience, I'm just trying to establish myself on the platform right now and get the reader experience as nice as I can. :) 

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3 hours ago, PeculiarChangeling said:

Patreon nuked my account and I'm left scrambling to try and make up the lost income and rebuild my audience from scratch.

Did you receive an explanation for this?

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11 minutes ago, PeculiarChangeling said:

They deleted the account of every ABDL creator on the site and gave only a stock copy/paste explanation saying that it was violating rules about sexualizing minors. 


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33 minutes ago, PeculiarChangeling said:

They deleted the account of every ABDL creator on the site and gave only a stock copy/paste explanation saying that it was violating rules about sexualizing minors.

I would take this very seriously.  There are slots on page 1 here for 19 stories, and there was a point in September when 5 of the 19 (and 6 of the lead 22) were stories pursuing the theme of using diapers to humiliate children in a manner that could easily be interpreted by people outside this community as a celebration of child abuse.  Since there is effectively nothing here to keep minors off this site, I am worried that this site will be deleted for the same reason.  "Sexualizing minors" is a vague, catch-all charge that could be leveled against any fetish site that does not have secure age verification yet permits minors to be featured in its stories.   

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18 minutes ago, Babypants said:

I would take this very seriously.  There are slots on page 1 here for 19 stories, and there was a point in September when 5 of the 19 (and 6 of the lead 22) were stories pursuing the theme of using diapers to humiliate children in a manner that could easily be interpreted by people outside this community as a celebration of child abuse.  Since there is effectively nothing here to keep minors off this site, I am worried that this site will be deleted for the same reason.  "Sexualizing minors" is a vague, catch-all charge that could be leveled against any fetish site that does not have secure age verification yet permits minors to be featured in its stories.   

Certain people will just wield whatever tool they have at their disposal, to get rid of content, and police behaviour that they don't like, or that they think their god doesn't. Whether that's abusing their own children, or complaining about people writing about it.

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Mikaela Bloomfield could smell a liar like a bloodhound, and she could smell baby powder and urine just about as well as anyone else. 

Her keen sense for deception came part and parcel with her career of choice. As a private investigator, she had to seek out liars, to find their secrets, to demonstrate their tricks for all to see–but that game only offered so much challenge. More often than not, the true treachery came from her clients. 

Mikaela was known for her discretion, and for her willingness to pursue any lead. Those two elements, when put together, made her the first choice for many people with less-than-savory intentions. If she caught wind that they intended to use her work to pursue a criminal end, she had to cut ties; it would be bad for business if the leads she developed were tied to any overtly illegal acts.

She rarely had that issue. Most criminals who could afford her rates knew better than to try and use her as a surrogate hitman. More often, she had to watch for her clients to lie, because those lies were generally integral to her work.

And now, sitting in an outdoor cafe, an anonymous little corner where they’d never incur a second glance, her newest prospective client was lying to her. 

“Sir,” she said, phrasing her words carefully as she reviewed what he’d told her, flipping through mental notes effortlessly. Her mind was a well organized place; she rarely forgot a clue, and physical notes could be lost–or worse, stolen. “You’ve given me extremely little to work with. I will do my best to track down this hacker for you, but the world of anonymous internet crime is fraught.”

“All I know is, she stole almost half a million from me, and left me a message taunting me about it,” Henry replied, shaking his head vigorously. He hadn’t told Mikaela his name, and he likely assumed she didn’t know his identity, but she’d done the legwork before attending this meeting. Henry Wanger, web influencer, had made bank on a handful of pump-and-dump NFT scams. “I want that money back.” 

“Half a million in cryptocurrency,” Mikaela clarified. “Even if I find her, that money is likely to be long gone, and my services aren’t going to be cheap either. I’m not trying to talk myself out of a job, but consider long and hard whether the investment is worth it for you to try and get your money back.” 

Turning ever so slightly pink–the difference so subtle it could have been a trick of the light–Henry said, “I need to find this chick.” 

Mikaela sniffed again, and again–stale pee and baby powder. “If you’re not being honest with me about your goals, I cannot help you. If you want her found, you’ll need to tell me why you need to find her.”

This time, his blush was deep and distinct. He looked away. “She’s still blackmailing me.”

(Ah, there it is.) Mikaela didn’t smile on her face, though her satisfaction rose a tick. “What secrets does she have?”

“Nothing.” Henry shook his head emphatically.

Mikaela’s lips drew into a displeased line. “This matters. I need to know what she has on you, so I can trace down how she learned it. I will never disclose this information, and I will never judge you.”

“No,” Henry clarified. “She doesn’t have any dirt. She’s still got control of my accounts.”

Eyes widening a touch, Mikaela asked, “So how do you intend to pay me?” 

“She’s left most of the money,” Henry explained, shaking his head. “It’s still there, I can see it, I just can’t touch it. I’m–she’s giving me an allowance. And once you catch her, I’ll be able to pay you the rest of what you’re owed.” 

Mikaela tilted her head. “If she’s not taking the money, how is she blackmailing you?” 

He looked away, and told her everything in his silence. His ashamed blush told Mikaela it was sexual, his glance down told her that it was currently on his person, and the wrinkle of his own nose told her that the odors she’d been smelling were no mere coincidence. 

That wasn’t enough. Mikaela had learned the truth, but she hadn’t won, not until she manipulated him into confessing.

“If you want this to end, you need to tell me.” Mikaela extended her hand, resting it on his own. “It’ll be over sooner this way.” 

He hesitated, glancing down again. “She–she makes me do things. If I don’t, she takes money from the account.”

“What things?” Mikaela asked, gently, not pressing hard, just giving a quiet moment of insistence that he keep talking. 

His eyes sought around, as though looking for some way to bolster his dignity before the admission. Finding nothing, he looked at her hands. “She’s making me…wear…” Confidence breaking for a moment, he had to take a breath before finishing. “Diapers. If I don’t wear diapers, she takes my money.” 

That told Mikaela everything important, but she decided to push a little further. “Do you have to use them?”

Henry nodded, refusing to meet her gaze. “And–I can only change if I text an encrypted number and ask for permission.” 

“I probably won’t be able to use that number,” Mikaela admitted, “It’d tip her off that I’m looking, but all the same–send me whatever you have. I’ll take the case.” 

“Thank you,” Henry said, finally looking up at her. His eyes were wet from humiliation and shame. “Thank you.” 

A talented, invisible cyber hacker was making this man wear diapers–presumably just for her own amusement. That alone was intriguing enough to have Mikaela interested in seeking out more information, but she still had one more issue to raise with Henry.

“When you pay me,” she said, “I don’t accept cryptocurrency. You’ll be sending my fee in cash.” 

Mikaela had a dozen identities kept on the internet, but they all had only one thing in common–none were anything more than the barest reflection of herself. She treated them as informants, as agents she could use to get information, but she refused to engage with the internet directly. She understood social media, she understood the various Web 3 Tech worlds, but they were places that she observed without touching.

That sometimes made finding her targets more difficult, but she took it as an acceptable cost in exchange for the safety and anonymity it offered. 

Her first assumption proved to be true: If someone had the tools, expertise, and opportunity to gain access to a secure account and drain its resources, and the inclination to use that access not for personal wealth, but to humiliate their victims, it stood to reason that this wasn’t her first time and wouldn’t be her last. Other victims had to exist.

The difficulty was not in finding other victims of electronic theft, but in separating the wealthy targets from the run-of-the-mill scam fodder.  Using her most tech-adjacent burner account, Mikaela set herself up to be interested in the worlds of her victims, and then began pursuing details. 

It started with one–an “Influencer” who was known for his energetic livestreams. Several reddit threads, though, complained that he’d been rather dull on stream of late–no standing to rant, no pacing around the room, he stuck firmly in his chair. 

Mikaela tuned in, and though it was subtle, she knew she occasionally heard the rustle of a diaper. 

Over the course of two weeks, her list of two victims turned to eleven. It was slow going, but she built a profile: The victims were recently wealthy, having made their money off the gullibility of others, and involved in one marketplace or another that made their accounts vulnerable to targeting. Most were involved in cryptocurrency, using wallets that could be identified and exploited, but two were instead using more traditional offshore bank accounts in the most shady and least regulated parts of the world. 

They were also, universally, men. Mikaela didn’t know if this was because the crypto space was mostly populated by men to begin with, or if her hacker simply had her own proclivities, but one way or another, she’d engineered financial blackmail situations to inflict diaper humiliation on eleven different men. 

And it wasn’t just the humiliation–specifics cropped up even beyond that. She had a favorite brand of diaper. She enjoyed dragging out the space between diaper use and diaper changes–denying her victims a clean diaper for hours, sometimes longer. She had even made comments suggesting that her victims should be thanking her for the experience–that this was special treatment. 

That led Mikaela down another line of investigation, but this one proved to be a dead end. The hacker had to be filthy rich for all the money she’d stolen, but Mikaela couldn’t find anyone who fit the bill. She expected to turn someone up eventually, but no matter how deep she dug, she couldn’t find anyone with extravagant spending habits and a profile that matched the diaper-inclined hacker. 

The game was proving harder than normal. Mikaela’s opponent was discreet, talented, and didn’t leave clues behind–at least, none that could be traced back to her. Three weeks in, she didn’t have a name, a web handle, even a vague idea of her target’s identity.

That just meant it’d take longer. Mikaela wouldn’t give up. 

She’d just have to play things smarter than her target. A bit of personal chatting with the various hacking victims might get her there–and if not, she’d try setting a bit of bait. 

Elizabeth frowned at her computer screen, lying in bed, eyes slightly red from lack of sleep. She needed a diaper change, but that could wait until morning–or the afternoon, depending on whenever she got out of bed. 

It seemed too good to be true–another target had set himself up for her, all on a silver platter. A single post laid it all out–the story of a man who’d recently acquired massive wealth by convincing several senior citizens that they should buy into a worthless coin. He bragged about it, gloating about the sheer money he’d have coming in soon, and–to just emphasize his stupidity–even posted a screenshot showing off several of the NFTs he’d purchased with the gains.

The screenshot included a few too many identifying details, and with only a few minutes of effort, Elizabeth had this stranger’s identity. His wallet wasn’t as full as she’d expected, which implied he might have a bit more intelligence than she’d expected–he likely kept several wallets.

Or he’d lied. 

Going back to the post again, Elizabeth re-read it. He was too obvious. He had too many lines where he mentioned rubbing it in the faces of the people who’d made fun of him for being a late bloomer. The words ‘Nobody’s going to look down on me ever again’ were used twice, and ‘humiliation’ was in the post four times. 

He even condescendingly referred to his victims as ‘diaper wearing grannies’. 

Elizabeth got it, then. This wasn’t a victim, laying himself out for her to exploit–it was bait. 

She had a tail. 

Grinning, she sat up in bed. Whoever this person was, he’d quickly learn the folly of messing with her–she’d find his real identity, and give him the same treatment as her other victims.

And sure, the ploy had been a bit obvious, but it wasn’t braindead. Elizabeth had seen through it only after a second glance, only after giving it some considerable thought. Further, the fact that her opponent had been able to lay the trap at all meant that they’d learned quite a bit about Elizabeth already–enough to know what would catch her interest. 

She finally had a real opponent, someone else who knew how to play the game.

This would be fun


I promise I won't do long plugs like this forever, just allow me one more:

My Patreon got deleted and I completely lost the income I'd spent three years building from my writing. 

I'm not going to lie. If I'm not able to rebuild, I won't be able to continue to write as much or as freely as I have these past couple years. My creative freedom has allowed me to write stories like this one, short smutty ideas that I found joy in writing for one chapter or a few, as well as long, emotionally-driven novels like The Baby Bet.

Without income from my writing, I will have to find another way to pay the bills, and my writing will slow down to whatever I can manage in my free time. 

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Part Three

Elizabeth Sullivan’s prey had proven more elusive than she could have expected. 

She liked it better that way. 

Whoever he was, his online accounts were seemingly impervious–she’d found sockpuppets, fake profiles, but nothing pointing back to his true identity. He clearly had resources, because some of the fakes had real money attached to their names, but none were connected to any root identity.

She’d find him, though. He would be out there, somewhere, and once she got his real name, she’d nail his ass to the wall–or, more likely, lock him in a diaper and make him beg for her permission just to use it. 

Elizabeth hadn’t longed to dominate someone this much in a long time, and such was her craving that she’d given up her usual pretenses. This was no vigilante justice, she just wanted to win.

When her anonymous attempts failed, and her more direct attacks on his identity came up with nothing, Elizabeth finally tried to use his own tactics against him, to set out bait and wait for the rewards to come in.

She posted as an anon, attached to a burner account, but with enough identifying information that the burner could be tracked back…at least, to a fictional identity. 

‘Help - I’m being blackmailed, user has control of my wallet.’ 

Elizabeth was careful not to mention diapers within the post–a real anon wouldn’t admit to that, not in a million years, but she implied that she was being made to do something, and stubbornly refused to answer questions about what that ‘something’ was whenever anyone in the replies asked.

It’d be enough. Her mysterious tail would come calling, sniffing for clues, and with luck, he’d finally reveal himself.

All she had to do was wait. 

In the meantime, there wasn’t much to do. The trash needed to go out, but that could wait–she’d just had lunch a few…

(Wait, how long has it been?) 

Her stomach grumbled. Okay, maybe it’d been a while since her last meal–she ordered a pizza, and checked up on one of her ongoing projects while she waited. One pig–his name was ‘Henry’–had asked to change almost three hours prior. She’d missed the text, including the rather humiliating selfie he’d sent, showing how the diaper sagged. 

Pretending that the delay had been deliberate, she sent the encrypted reply: ‘I think you’ve waited long enough. Send me one more picture to prove you didn’t cheat, then you can change.’ 

She doubted he had cheated–he’d grown too pliable, too obedient. He hadn’t disobeyed her in weeks. Before long, she’d cut him loose, it wasn’t fun anymore.

The only person she wanted to diaper was her mysterious opponent. 

She checked her bait post again. No results, no sly comments or suggestions that her bait had lured in any clues. 

Finally, a knock came at the door. She checked her private security camera, built into the peephole–a tall woman stood outside, holding a pizza bag. She looked a bit frazzled, with greasy brown hair and a faded top, but she was attractive beneath it–if she cleaned up a bit, she’d be a knockout. More relevant to Elizabeth, she wasn’t one of usual delivery drivers.

Then again, they had a high turnover, so that was no surprise.

Glancing down, Elizabeth poked at her diaper–soggy, but not messy, nothing that would draw attention. Pulling on a bathrobe, she waddled to the door, answering it. 

“Pepperoni Pan Pizza for ‘Billy’?” the delivery woman said, reading off the receipt. It was a fake name–Elizabeth wouldn’t put her real name on something so frivolous. 

“That’s me,” she replied. “How much do I owe you?” 

The woman glanced past Elizabeth, into the condo behind her. The living room was stacked with pizza boxes and a single chair at a table where Elizabeth occasionally worked–nothing incriminating, but then, Elizabeth didn’t like anyone snooping. 

“How much do I owe you?” she repeated.

She sniffed a few times, then smiled. “Hello, Little Cricket.” 

Her eyes widened. Nobody who knew that handle knew who Elizabeth was–hell, nobody really knew where Elizabeth lived, either. She stepped back, stumbled, and almost fell, but the woman reached out and caught her arm. The bathrobe fell back, though, and Elizabeth’s soggy diaper went on full display. 

Elizabeth was so stunned that she didn’t know what to say, but the woman clearly knew exactly what she was doing. Pulling her straight up again, the woman let go and waltzed inside the small condo as though she owned the place, not so much as glancing at the diaper. 

“I don’t know what I expected,” the woman declared, stepping in, surveying the scattered pizza boxes and detritus. “You bought this place outright under the name ‘Joan Smythe’, did you think you were being clever?” 

Finding her voice, Elizabeth demanded, “How did you find me?” 

“Brand loyalty,” she explained. “The designs change, but your targets always get diapers from Behindz. I imagined you likely wore the same, and their warehouse isn’t exactly Fort Knox.” 

“I–” she started, shuffling to the side, towards her bedroom. She kept a taser under her bed–this woman was clearly dangerous, and she wouldn’t be leaving on her own. “Wait, you–how did you know I wear diapers?” 

“Call it an educated guess,” the woman said, pushing open the bathroom door with two fingers. The toilet had a sheen of dust on it, and several triple-bagged trash bags were crammed next to it, heavy with old diapers that Elizabeth had yet to take out. 

“You won’t turn me in,” Elizabeth said, simply. “No matter what you’re being paid, I can double it, make this all go away–but if you try to cause trouble, I’ll do to you what I did to them.” 

Before she could smoothly make it to the bedroom, the woman stepped up to it, pushing the door open and looking inside. The room where Elizabeth spent most of her time, it had more pizza boxes, a bulging diaper pail whose front drawer had opened, overfull and in need of emptying, and her bed had several stains on it from where she’d leaked. 

Despite herself, the woman’s steady, thoughtful gaze made Elizabeth blush–not because of the diapers, but because of the state of her room. 

Walking in, the woman took the laptop from off the bed, as well as the cell phone lying on the floor next to it, tucking both into the pizza bag, which Elizabeth now saw was empty. Nothing was saved onto those devices–Elizabeth kept everything safely in the cloud–but the gesture still made her flinch.

“You need to change,” the woman declared, simply. “And, god, this place is filthy. Put on your clothes, and then you’re going to start cleaning up.” 

Elizabeth blinked a few times, baffled. “What?” 

“Do it,” she said, simply, reaching for her own pocket. Elizabeth expected a weapon, but she instead drew out a cell phone, snapping several quick photos of the place. “You won’t have the same impact, humiliating your victims, if the world knows the state you live in–you can still take their money, sure, but you’ll never have their fear again.” 

Eyes widening, Elizabeth took action–storming towards the woman, she reached one hand for the bag, and the other for the invader who knew her name.

The woman’s motion was swift, smooth, and precise. She dropped her phone, seized Elizabeth’s wrist, and twisted, turning the girl’s body over at a nearly ninety degree angle, rendering her helpless.

The woman could have done anything, but she only delivered five quick swats to the seat of Elizabeth’s sodden diaper. Not enough to hurt, but enough to demonstrate her dominance. 

“Let’s be clear,” she said in a warning tone, still holding Elizabeth’s arm, twisting her body at a painful angle. “Attack me, I will win. Threaten me, I’ve got the material to make my threats stick. I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do with you, but violence only makes it more likely that I’ll turn over everything I’ve learned and leave you to the cops and the court of public notoriety. Am I understood? 

Elizabeth wouldn’t be letting this woman win, but there was no point in fighting any further. She nodded, compliant until she could find a new angle. 

“Am I understood?” the woman repeated, twisting a little harder, producing a pang of pain in Elizabeth’s joints.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, barely hiding her loathing beneath a petulant glower. 

Nodding with satisfaction, the woman released her arm. Crossing the room, she sat down in the singular chair, producing Elizabeth’s laptop. 

When Elizabeth didn’t immediately move, the woman looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Well? I said to start cleaning. Get to it.” 

Mikaela couldn’t help but thrill in her victory. She’d found her target, the Little Cricket, the thorn in her side for the past few weeks. It’d been a difficult dance, but a dance that she’d come out of as the leader.

But now, she had to decide how to handle this girl. She’d half expected the Little Cricket to not be a girl at all, but at least that part appeared to be true. The utter chaos of her living space, though? That defied reason. The hacker that Mikaela had come to know was meticulous and careful, brilliant and cautious. To find her living in such disarray had come as a shock, even if Mikaela kept it off her face. 

Still, the girl’s sullen expression as she came out of the bathroom wearing clean clothes and a fresh diaper reminded Mikaela that her victory was well earned–this was the hacker who’d robbed and inflicted humiliating tortures on her victims. She was no innocent little lamb. 

So, while the Little Cricket gave pouting glances and carried old bags of diapers down to the condo’s dumpster, Mikaela opened the girl’s laptop and began to search. 

She half expected to be stonewalled immediately, to encounter a password gate. If that’d happened, Mikaela would have tried to bully the Little Cricket into giving up the password, but it wasn’t necessary. The computer had many passwords, but those passwords were all attached to a USB stick unlock key, and that key only required a five digit code.

The laptop’s number pad had just three keys with slightly yellowed stains on them from regular use; 0, 8, and 5, and Mikaela knew those would correlate with the pin for the unlock key. There were a hundred fifty possible combinations, but Mikaela guessed it on her first try–58008. 

Smirking, she logged into the Little Cricket’s device and began to dig. 

Her estimates had been low. The girl’s net worth was far higher–in the hundreds of millions, if she sold off all her stolen coins and assets. A truly unfathomable amount of money, all obtained illegally, all ripe for the taking. Her number of victims, too, was far greater than the eleven that Mikaela knew of. Half a dozen men were still, in some way, under Little Cricket’s thumb–requiring regular diaper checks, or begging to be allowed to change, or simply being forced to send in daily videos where they filled their padding thoroughly and declared their love for dirty, smelly diapers–or lose their fortunes, one refused diaper at a time. 

The Cricket liked what she liked, and wasn’t coy about making others indulge in those behaviors for her own pleasure. 

That meant Mikaela felt no guilt engaging in turnabout play. 

When the girl returned, from her fourth and mercifully final bag of old diapers–though she still had mountains of pizza boxes to attend to–Mikaela addressed her. “What’s your name? I know it’s not ‘Joan Smythe’, or Billy, or whatever else you’ve been calling yourself.” 

“I’m not telling you that,” Little Cricket replied. 

Mikaela simply nodded, and with a keystroke, deleted account access for one of the girl’s many hacking victims–one she’d already planned on deleting, though now she had a convenient excuse. “I hope you didn’t care about ‘Henry’, because he’s not going to be compliant anymore with his account control back.” 

The girl gasped. “No, you–put it back!” 

“I don’t know how,” Mikaela admitted, her threat protected by candor and honesty. “But if you’re disobedient, I can take away more.” 

She swallowed. She knew the game–if she didn’t step into line, Mikaela would take more and more away. It’s the same game that the girl had played with her victims, after all. “I–Beth,” she said. “You can call me Beth.” 

Mikaela smelled a half-truth, but it was better than nothing. “Alright, Beth. I’ve changed the pin to your login key, and reset all the passwords. Your accounts belong to me.” 

“I can hack back into them,” Beth said.

Probably true. For emphasis, Mikaela deleted access to another victim. “No more diaper checks from, ‘Gary’, then.” 

Beth made a helpless squeaking sound, which sang in Mikaela’s ears. “Please, don’t take any more.”

“I won’t,” Mikaela said. “If you do what I say.”

Beth swallowed and nodded, steeling herself. “Fine. You want a video? Want to make me beg? What?” 

“You’re going to clean up,” Mikaela explained. “As I already said–and then you’re going to use some of your money to get some proper furniture in here, and buy actual groceries for that kitchen of yours. I see from your activity that you’re up all hours of the night–that’s going to change, too. For now, we’re going to try bedtime at Nine PM, no electronics after that. If that isn’t enough, we can go for Eight.” 

Beth began to object, but caught herself, eyes darting between Mikaela and the screen. “What do you want?” 

“That’s not important,” Mikaela said. With her client served and the case closed, she now wanted control, to dominate the girl who’d thought herself untouchable, to prove that she was the superior between them–but Beth didn’t need to know that. “If you do as you’re told, I will allow you to continue to do what you like with whoever you can reel in, but only so long as it’s not interfering with your bedtime or chores. For tonight, no electronics, I still have to ensure I’ve set up the passwords so that you can’t easily get back in–and all future purchases will need to be run past me, as well, I don’t want you trying to sneak in a second phone you can use after hours.” 

Beth swallowed, and her darting eyes told Mikaela she was looking for an excuse, or–no, not an excuse. She needed a fix. Without electronics in her hands, she didn’t know what to do. “I won’t be able to tell any of my pigs that they can change,” she said. “Or use the bathroom, or anything.” 

Mikaela cocked an eyebrow. “Does it bother you that they’ll have to suffer while you’re in time out?” 

She couldn’t lie–she could try, but it wouldn’t work, and they both knew it. Beth shook her head. 

“Good,” Mikaela declared, a sarcastical, saccharine smile on her face. “Then there’s no issue. Finish with your cleanup, Beth, it’ll be bedtime soon and if you’re not done by then, tomorrow there  will be no electronics as well.” 

Beth hesitated, not quite ready to get back to work. “Wait–you know my name. What should I call you?” 

Tilting her head, Mikaela thought for a moment. One word came to mind, but didn’t feel quite right–she wasn’t this girl’s ‘Mommy’.

There was a better choice. Smiling at her helpless hacker, she said, “You may call me Nanny.”



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  • PeculiarChangeling changed the title to The Diaper Vigilante (Updated, Dec 13th)
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Part Four

Mikaela savored every moment of triumph and every ounce of the horror and humiliation that wafted off of her little cricket.

She had planned this out, waiting for just the right moment to unveil the new rules. Patience had been key, not only did she have to wait until her little cricket had grown used to the new status quo, she also had to wait until Beth ran through her remaining stash of diapers.

It hadn’t taken long. Since Mikaela insisted Beth keep her diapers fresh and changed regularly, she’d gone through what she had left in less than a week. And, just like Mikaela had expected, she was so used to her automated shipment of new diapers that she didn’t even notice. It didn’t help that Mikaela insisted on staying tidy, which meant that–instead of piling up in the corner–her diapers were hidden from view most of the time, in a dresser drawer. From Beth’s perspective, she had diapers left, and the exact count didn’t matter…

Until just a few minutes before her new mandatory bedtime, Mikaela watched through a crack in the bedroom door as Beth crouched down and began to push.

(Excellent,) Mikaela thought to herself, smirking as she watched her little cricket fill up her last diaper. This had been a ploy of hers–use her diaper just before bedtime, then drag out the change, winning a few minutes of extra freedom before she was inevitably put to bed.

Mikaela couldn’t have set it up better if she’d tried.

Waddling out of her bedroom, legs splayed slightly to accommodate the extra bulk and weight, Beth glowered at Mikaela. Wearing only a baggy T-shirt and a saggy diaper, she looked as adorably helpless as Mikaela could ever have hoped. “I need to change before bed.”

Mikaela raised an eyebrow. “Ahem.”

Rolling her eyes, Beth repeated, “I need to change before bed, Nanny.”

“Alright,” Mikaela replied, nodding, pretending not to know what Beth would soon discover.

She toddled to the dresser in the living room, pulled open the drawer, and reached inside to–

“Erm…” Beth mumbled, frowning. She crouched, and Mikaela got a whiff of her latest ‘accident’–smelly, noticeable, but not overpowering.


She watched Beth try every drawer, before spinning to face Mikaela. “Where are they?”

“Where are what?” Mikaela asked.

“My diapers,” she insisted. “Where are my diapers?”

Mikaela drew her lips into a line, waiting to be asked properly.

“Where are my diapers, Nanny?”

(Better.) As though she’d only just heard the question, Mikaela tilted her head. “Oh, did you use them all? Well, I suppose you should have ordered more.”

“You aren’t letting me buy stuff.” Petulance radiated off Beth so strongly that it could’ve been used to calibrate a mood ring. “And, whatever, I need to change.”

Mikaela knew Beth would have stayed in a dirty diaper for hours if she’d been left alone, but she didn’t bring up the point. “You didn’t ask to buy new diapers. Did you even notice they were missing?”

“Yes,” Beth lied. “Whatever. I’ll order some, pay for overnight shipping–it’s fine, I’ll just wear panties tonight.”

“And ruin your sheets? I don’t think so.” Standing, Mikaela said, “If you could be trusted without a diaper, you wouldn’t have to wear them all the time, but if you want to start potty training, well–be my guest.”

Beth threw up her hands, acutely ignoring the threat of potty training. “So, what. You’re going to make me stay in this diaper until new ones show up?” Despite her exasperation, Mikaela caught a hint of excitement–as though Beth wanted to be trapped in her diaper.

Mikaela genuinely considered it, but only for a heartbeat. “No. I’ve got something for you, little Beth, it will take care of this problem.”

Turning, Mikaela knelt, retrieving her purse, making a show out of the small movement, so that Beth would be tempted to try and see.

“You got diapers for me?” Beth asked.

Mikaela shook her head, instead taking out a small paper booklet. She held it in her palm, half concealed, building the anticipation a little longer.

“What is it?” Beth began, annoyance fighting with curiosity. “Nanny?”

With that last word, unprompted, Mikaela decided the girl had been teased long enough and turned, holding it out. About five inches long and a couple tall, there was no mistaking what she’d given Beth.

“What’s this?” she asked, as though she couldn’t read the text clearly, as though she held a foreign object in her hand.

“This,” Mikaela announced, looking down at the paper booklet, “is your checkbook.”

Beth looked up at her, baffled. “Why do I need a checkbook?”

“So that I can keep track of your spending, of course,” Mikaela replied. “I’ve decided to let you have control of your money again–so long as all purchases are made with this. I set your name on the account as ‘Beth Brown’. I know it’s not as generic as your other names, but I thought the acronym suited you.”

Beth looked down, then back up, fuming. “I can’t buy things with this.”

“I think you’ll find that you can,” Mikaela replied. “Most stores still accept checks. And–wouldn’t you know–we’re not too far from a twenty four hour pharmacy. Let’s go break that in, shall we?”

Beth’s eyes widened. “Hold on…”

Mikaela grinned, savoring her fear. “I’m not asking, I’m telling. If you try to argue any more, I’ll free your piggies, one by one.”

That finally pushed her into obedience, of a sort. “Fine, okay. I’ll write the check, who am I making it out to?”

Shaking her head, Mikaela instead walked past her, into Beth’s bedroom. Taking a pair of sweatpants from her dresser, she turned, holding them up critically. “I think these will cover up your diaper well enough.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “I’m not–you’re not sending me to go get them myself, are you?”

“Of course not,” Mikaela replied, giving her a moment of relief before bursting it. “We’re going together.”

“I–I’m messy,” Beth stammered.

“No, ‘Messy’ is the state of your bedroom before you clean it,” Mikaela corrected. “Your diaper is poopy, and that’s why you need fresh ones.”

“You’re not going to expose people to that, are you?” Beth asked. “That’s–it’s–”

Snickering, Mikaela walked over to her, crouching to hold open the legs of the sweatpants. “You can’t even say it, you know your excuse isn’t going to cut it.”

Brow furrowing, Beth stepped into the pants. Mikaela pulled the drawstring tight over her mushy diaper, running a finger through the waistband so that it didn’t catch or fold anywhere. The girl just whispered under her breath, looking for all the world like a moody teenager.

“What was that?” Mikaela asked, standing to look at her. “Use your words, Beth.”

Beth fought to avoid eye contact, keeping her gaze down. It was adorable. “I hate you so much.”

“One more try,” Mikaela insisted. “Remember the rules.”

Fuming, hands balling into fists, Beth finally got it right, looking up so she could glare her anger right into Mikaela’s eyes. “I hate you so much, Nanny.”

Mikaela beamed, her face full of sunshine and warmth. “There’s a good girl.”

Elizabeth calculated her revenge upon Nanny as the two of them walked–hand in hand–across the street to the pharmacy.

The intruder, her competitor, had been a thorn in Elizabeth’s side since her arrival. She simply had no leverage–Nanny had no online accounts to exploit, no dirt trail to follow, nothing. In a physical contest, Nanny won, and in a digital battle, Elizabeth had no ammunition.

She’d tried everything. Recovering her accounts was impossible–Nanny had control of all her electronics, and insisted on supervising all her ‘screen time’. She slept in the living room, and had put locks on Elizabeth’s door and windows, with the asserted logic that Elizabeth had nowhere she needed to go–it’s not like she needed to use the bathroom late at night, did she?

She couldn’t ask her peers for help, she couldn’t reclaim her finances, all she could do was play along with Nanny’s game and watch for an opportunity. And now…this.

Elizabeth didn’t shop. She had things delivered to her–under false names, of course–or packages delivered by courier. But now, as the pharmacy’s door chimed and they stepped in, she was expected to–

“Go on, sweetie,” Nanny coaxed. “Go pick out the kind that you like.”

(Oh god,) Elizabeth fumed. (Just say it so the whole store can hear, why don’t you?)

In truth, the whole store probably had heard–only one person was working, a guy in his forties who smirked as they walked in. Elizabeth didn’t know if he detected the obvious bulge beneath her sweatpants, or if he could smell the accident she’d had just a little while earlier, but he saw her pout and that was enough for him to snicker.

Elizabeth looked his way, memorizing his face, putting him on her revenge list. Once she was free of her Nanny, she’d also take out her anger on anyone who’d enjoyed her suffering. She could just imagine the cashier, dressed up like a cow… no, a calf, stuck on all fours, forced to drink bottles of milk while he filled up a diaper, begging for her mercy–

“Come on, now,” Nanny proclaimed. “We need to get you changed, don’t dilly dally.”

Knocked out of her fantasy, Elizabeth straightened. She fully believed that if she waited any longer, Nanny would just shout the truth in detail; she'd already practically announced that Beth was in a diaper.

Waddling, trying to keep from squelching her diaper too much lest it blow out or leak, Beth beelined towards the incontinence aisle.

Of course they didn’t have her favorite brands. No Behindz, nothing remotely cutesy, nothing with adorable designs for adults–most of the options were various flavors of medical diapers, ranging from ‘tasteless sack of elastic’ to ‘would leak within ten feet of a water molecule’. She’d only have a remotely cute option if she tried squeezing into the largest size of pull-ups available.

She weighed that option for a moment, debating which would be better. She had to deal with the constant awareness that, whatever she picked, she’d have to waddle up to the register and buy it. (I wonder if I can act like these are for someone else?)

“Do you like the princesses?” Nanny asked, pointing at one of the Pull-up packages that she’d been eyeing.

Brow furrowing, Elizabeth snatched a basic-but-effective package of SouthCoast Superiors. “No.”

“Alright, well,” Nanny said, reaching for the princess pull-ups. “Let’s get both, just in case you change your mind.” Stacking the new package on top of the SouthCoast diapers in Elizabeth’s arms, she smiled with so much condescension that Elizabeth could see it rolling off her in waves.

She hesitated a second longer. Maybe she could shop longer, to put off the inevitable checkout? But, if she did that, Nanny might keep adding things to the purchase. At least for now it was just diapers, if she wandered into the baby aisle she might throw in a pacifier, just to grind it in a little harder how helpless Elizabeth had become.

“He’s going to notice,” Elizabeth muttered, half in protest, half in pleading.

“Be quick, and maybe he won’t,” Nanny replied, without a shred of mercy.

Already blushing, Elizabeth forced herself to march to the corner, telling herself that the crinkle beneath her sweatpants wasn’t too obvious. Seeing an opportunity, she pivoted, moving instead to the self checkout–maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

Since Nanny didn’t stop her, she set the packages down, scanning both over the little barcode reader. She wouldn’t have to interact with the cashier at all, she just had to check out and…


‘Please insert card, or select method of payment’. The digital display mocked her, showing only three options, cash, credit, or debit. She couldn’t pay by check.

She hesitated, staring despondently at the words on the screen. Maybe–

“Can I help you ladies?” the cashier asked, stepping up to them.

Nanny offered no help–she stood back, letting Elizabeth take all his focus. “I…” she started, blurting out an excuse. “Do you think these will be good for my grandma?”

As if her excuse wasn’t pathetic enough, Nanny tittered softly behind Elizabeth, holding up her hand to her mouth.

The cashier just smiled in a knowing way and nodded. “I’m sure.”

Finally cutting in, Nanny said, “She has to pay with a check.”

“Oh, well that’s no problem–come right on over, I’ll get you rung up at my register,” he replied.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Elizabeth inhaled, fully aware that a vague aura of stink followed her. He knew the diapers were for her–he didn’t have to know she’d used them.

“Come on, sweetie,” Nanny coaxed, taking Elizabeth’s hand and pulling her gently towards the register, holding one pack of diapers.

Elizabeth grabbed the pull-ups, waddling behind, fumbling at the hem of her sweats so that they wouldn’t sag.

The cashier rang up both packages quickly and professionally, making conversation as he did. “Are you two ladies having a good night?”

“Good enough, other than our little emergency,” Nanny said, smiling innocently.

“Well, that’s why we’re open late.” Looking at the display on his register, the cashier read out, “That’ll be forty two sixty nine.”

“Alright,” Elizabeth said, shuffling from foot to foot, aware she had to move quickly if she wanted to get out before the smell could build. Reaching in her pocket, she took out the– the–

The checkbook.

“Erm…” she started. “I don’t–”

“Write the amount here,” Nanny stepped in, pointing. “And here, but with letters instead of numbers. Then you write the name of the store here, the date up here, and at the bottom you’ll sign your name.”

Flushing, Elizabeth began, aware of every pen stroke, fingers shaking with humiliation and rage. She was a wizard of the economy, able to infiltrate accounts with ease, she had more money than several countries stashed away in her crypto wallets and sockpuppet accounts, and here she was, writing a fucking check to pay for–

“Oh, and be sure to fill out the subject line,” Nanny added. “You can just put ‘Diapers’, we’ll remember the other details.”

(I am going to kill you,) Elizabeth thought, signing ‘Beth Brown’. (Or, no, better–I’m going to tie you up, and put you in a little box, and I’m going to ship that box to myself, and when it arrives, I’m going to smash it with a–)

“Hoo boy,” the cashier said, nose wrinkling. “You weren’t kidding about it being an emergency, were you?”

Elizabeth’s rage shattered, and she melted, hand barely gripping the pen as she finished writing ‘diapers’ in the subject line.

“Sorry about that,” Nanny told him, tearing the check free, leaving a watermark version on the contact paper beneath. “She didn’t realize she was down to her last one, and I don’t know what she likes.”

He shrugged, accepting the check. “It’s fine, that’s why we’re here.”

Barely able to form a coherent angry thought, Elizabeth just stood there, fingers numb, as she was handed a receipt and two shopping bags. The plastic bags were so thin that she could easily read the labels, and so would everyone they passed on the sidewalk when they walked home.

“You two have a nice night now, okay?” the cashier replied.

Nanny nudged her. “Say thank you, Beth.”

“Thank you,” Beth mumbled weakly. Nanny took one of the bags so that she could grip her hand, leading her to the exit.

Before they could leave, she paused, saying in a breathy tone, “Oh, Beth.”

“What, Nanny?” Beth started, only realizing what she’d said aloud after she’d already said it.

Stepping behind her, Nanny reached down, pulling at the waistband of the sweats, adjusting them…so that they properly covered her diaper. “You tucked your shirt into your diaper, sweetie, everyone could see.”



(That means…)

She’d never stood a chance of hiding it. The cashier had noticed the moment she turned her back to him.

Once they were on the street, Nanny changed her tone–she didn’t need to act cutesie in front of the cashier. “You did very well, Beth. I’m proud of you–maybe if you prove you can be trusted shopping like this more often, I’ll let you go out on your own occasionally.”

Despite herself, Beth smiled at the praise, unable to keep her face in control. It was only after a couple seconds she managed to fight a scowl back into place, her true emotions regaining control. “Can we just go home and I’ll change now?”

Nanny frowned to the side, tapping a finger to her lips as she pretended to think it over. “No.”

What?” Beth demanded, stamping a foot on the sidewalk–she didn’t care, she’d done all this, she deserved to get what she wanted, right?

Nanny shook her head disapprovingly. “It’s past your bedtime, so I’m going to make you wait until morning for a change. Next time, maybe you’ll learn to change sooner.”

Beth’s eyes widened.

Nanny had given her what she wanted.

“I hate you, Nanny,” she said again.

“I know, Beth,” Nanny replied, smiling sweetly. “Now, let’s get home and get your tush into bed.”


There's one more part coming to this little story!
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  • PeculiarChangeling changed the title to The Diaper Vigilante (Updated, Part 4, Jan 17th)
  • 3 weeks later...

Part Five

After three weeks of living with her captor, Elizabeth finally had her plans in place. 

She couldn’t deal with Nanny directly. She was too strong in a physical sense and too wary in a mental sense. So long as she kept her leverage, Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to get any advantage.

If, however, Elizabeth escaped, she could rebuild. She’d lose her old accounts, but that no longer worried her–it would be easier to make new ones, with better encryption, than to try and wrestle her old ones free. Though she’d miss a few of her long term piggies, little boys she’d kept filling their diapers for months-long streaks, she could give them up.

And, once free, she could launch her counter offensive. All she would need was enough money to start digging, then she could track down ‘Nanny’ and find a way to make her pay. Revenge wouldn’t be enough–though Elizabeth normally only targeted men, she’d make an exception here. 

Nanny would be the filthiest pig in her pen–drip-fed bits of freedom while Elizabeth made her dance like a puppet.  

First things came first: Escape. 

She just needed enough money to pick up a functioning computer and time enough to commit a few crimes. A few hundred bucks would do, the computer didn’t need to be good. A couple hours spent breaking into accounts would get her seed money, and from there she could get a new apartment, buy a proper rig, and start building her new web of control.

To that end, she’d worked out a scheme. Nanny kept all of Elizabeth’s clothing under tight control–if she snuck out the window, she’d have to do so in baby jammies, diaper bulging beneath them. That wasn’t ideal, but she could hurry to the store across the street and buy some clothes. She’d have to deal with that cashier’s leering condescension, but she’d get her revenge on him soon enough. He’d already landed on her soon-to-be-piggy list.

The point was, she could make out a check to cash and make the figure large enough to convince the clerk to give her some spendable, untraceable money. 

Elizabeth had learned from Nanny about making checks out to cash. She hated that she knew how to make a check out to cash. 

A thousand dollars in a check should be enough for three hundred dollars cash, that level of greed would overwhelm his good sense without seeming to be ‘too good to be true’. She’d get dressed, flee to the nearest electronics store, and before Nanny knew what hit her, Elizabeth would be gone. 

So, despite wearing pink footy pajamas with loose front buttons and baggy flannel fabric that ensured her diaper could always be spotted from the front, she put her plan into action. Staying quiet as to not wake Nanny, Elizabeth began to strip her bed–first the regular sheet, then the waterproof fitted cover. 

With painstaking slowness, she tore the fabric a few threads at a time, so that the sound of fabric being split apart wouldn’t be heard by her baby monitor. She had to balance making enough strips that they’d tie together well, while still being thick and strong enough to hold her weight. 

The process took an eternity in the wee hours of the night, crouched by her bedside, but she was no stranger to long nights or tedious work. Before long, she had six strips, each about six feet long, twisted into quick-and-dirty rope. Tying them end to end, she lost a little length from the knots, but she still had enough material to get out. 

Eyeing her baby monitor, she stood and listened. Nanny hadn’t made a sound in a couple hours–she was sound asleep. 

So, creeping to her window, Elizabeth pulled on the handle. It glided silently open, but she fumbled with the screen and it rocked, threatening to topple in a noisy clatter. Darting out her hand, she caught it before it could fall, setting the screen on her bed. 

Makeshift rope tied to the foot of her bed, she checked its security one more time, tucked her checkbook into the pocket of her fuzzy footy PJs, and swung her legs over the edge of the window. 

Breathing unsteadily, Elizabeth sat in the window frame for a moment, looking down at the two-story drop below her. (Do I want this?) she wondered, glancing over her shoulder. (Is it worth it?) 

Looking down at the fall that’d await her if she had made a mistake with her rope, she swallowed. Leaving Nanny behind…

(Just do it, coward.) Gripping the rope, she pushed off and began her escape.

Immediately, the rope shifted and she dropped a couple inches. Her stomach lurched and she scrambled with her feet for something to slow her fall, but nothing tore and her knots held. Once her heart stopped pounding, she began to rappel down, hand over hand, sliding all the way from her high apartment down to the street. 

She’d gotten out. She’d escaped! Dropping to the sidewalk, she–

“Beth, sweetie, you’re out past your bedtime,” Nanny remarked casually. “Surely you know your rules by now.” 

Elizabeth yelped, turning to see her captor, her opponent, leaning beneath an awning, watching her phone with a casual air. She turned the screen around, showing a camera feed of Elizabeth’s room. 

Her eyes darted side to side, looking for an escape. She could run now–Nanny wouldn’t chase her down in the street, would she? And–

“Elizabeth Sullivan,” Nanny snapped. “Don’t you even think about it.” 

Elizabeth froze. 

Nanny had learned her name. Her real name.

And if she had her name, then she knew…everything. 

“You–” Elizabeth began. 

“Let’s go back inside, you’ll get a chill,” Nanny said, making a tsk sound with her tongue. 

Shaking her head, dumbfounded, Elizabeth repeated, “You found me? How?” 

“Leg work,” Nanny replied. “Upstairs, Cricket. March.” 

Beth trembled, cowed into temporary obedience. She knew better than to fight when there was no chance of winning. 

Shuffling back into her apartment building, she asked, “If you knew I was getting out, why didn’t you stop me?” 

“I thought I’d let you try,” Nanny replied, gesturing a hand at Elizabeth’s outfit. “I wanted to see if you’d actually go out like this.” 

Elizabeth fumed a little harder, stomping up the stairs. 

Mikaela kept her cool as they went into the apartment. Little Beth didn’t notice anything amiss or out of the ordinary, which was expected–the girl had computer smarts, not people-reading smarts. 

“I’m going to escape,” Beth grumbled. “Sooner or later.” 

Sighing, Mikaela decided to end the charade–there was no point in keeping it going any longer. “You don’t need to, Cricket. I’m leaving.”

Beth gaped, confused. Facing Mikaela, she fumbled for words. “But–then why stop me?”

“Because I needed to explain some things first.” Mikaela pulled up her phone, reading off a few details. “I know all about you, Elizabeth Sullivan. I found your family, your history, your age–and I’ve created a little portfolio, tying all your online activities and false identities to your real name. If I ever decide to do so, I can tie them together, permanently. You won’t be the online vigilante anymore, you’ll be the world’s most infamous diaper girl.” 

Blushing, Beth stepped back, her heels bumping against the living room couch. 

“You hold leverage over your piggies with money,” Mikaela continued. “But money’s a fickle thing–I don’t like it. I’m holding you with dignity.”

She swallowed, and the girl’s knees buckled. She sat down, dizzy, reeling. “You–what do you want?” 

“What I want, is something you’ll be quite familiar with.” Mikaela smiled. “I’ll be giving you a special phone to communicate to me with, and you’ll use it to send me verification of certain tasks. You will not lock me out of your accounts–in fact, if you make new ones, you’ll send me the login immediately.” 

“What do you want?” Beth asked, her voice distant. 

“You’ve done all sorts of things to your piggies.” Mikaela refused to answer simply–she wanted to draw this moment out. “Denying them changes, forcing them to wear diapers for days on end, demeaning them for your entertainment. Making them dance on cam sites just so you can giggle at the viewer reactions. How long did you make that man wear his piggy costume and sing to nursery rhymes? Fourteen hours?” 

“Fifteen,” Beth mumbled numbly. “And twenty three minutes.” 

“You never seem to care if your piggies get diaper rash. You seem to prefer it, in fact–making them squirm, making them uncomfortable. It’s your goal to ruin their life just enough that they’ll never forget you, while letting them keep enough dignity to hope that it’ll get better. But will it? Or do you go after them again, just as soon as they’re comfortable?”

Shaking her head, Beth swallowed. “Just tell me what you’re going to do.” 

She could relent, a little. Mikaela leaned back against the wall, smiling, letting Beth feel the fear for just a moment before she explained. “You’ll keep the baby monitor in your room. You’ll send photos when I ask. If I give you tasks, you’ll do them, but above all else, you’ll follow these rules.” 

Pausing for a second, a drawn out breath, Mikaela let her dominance sink in.

“Eight hours of sleep a night,” she started.

Beth blinked, confused. “What?” 

“That means lights out, no electronics, eyes shut, head on your pillow,” Mikaela confirmed. “And you can’t give me any excuses about needing to get up to use the bathroom. Which reminds me–I expect regular diaper changes. No more wallowing until you’re about to get a rash.”

Baffled, Beth shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

“You’ll take your trash out three times a week, at least one meal a day will include a vegetable, and you’ll have to ask permission before ordering pizza–it’s a treat, not a staple food.” Mikaela beamed at her, the smile halfway between a joyful grin and a dominant leer. “Eight glasses of water a day, and you’ll send me a positive affirmation before bedtime.” 

Beth’s fear had turned to confusion, but both rendered her equally speechless 

“If you break any rules, even by accident, I’ll free one of your piggies,” Mikaela continued. “I know which ones are your favorite, so I’ll save those unless your disobedience gets particularly bad. If you try and ignore the rules, if you try and get out from under my control, that’s when your identity comes into play.” 

That got a reaction from her. Beth squeaked, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me and find out,” Mikaela shot back. “I own you, now, Cricket, and once things are mine, I expect them to be cared for. You will take good care of my things.” 

Jaw slack, Beth just sat in silence for a long moment. “So…other than those rules, I’m free to do whatever I want?” 

“Unless I change my mind and add a rule, yes,” Mikaela explained. “But I’m not software, and these aren’t logic puzzles. If I see you’re trying to wiggle through a loophole, I’ll close it. That’s it. Follow my rules, stay on my good side, and you’re free.”

Beth glowered, which made Mikaela grin. Already, the girl had been trying to come up with flaws in Mikaela’s verbal security, exploits she could attack. “When are you going?” she asked, changing topics so she didn’t have to admit what she’d been thinking. 

“Now, more or less,” Mikaela admitted, pulling her jacket a little tighter. “Everything I need is already in place, I have no bags to pack, and you’ve had me as your guest long enough. I’ve got a train to catch in a couple hours.” 

“This is it, then?” Beth stared, her eyes unfocused, and her voice sounded distant. 

Mikaela paused. She’d delivered her Cricket a crushing defeat, and now she’d have no opportunity to outplay and regain the advantage. The game was over for Beth, and if Mikaela knew her at all, that would be worse than a mere loss.

So, Mikaela threw her a bone. “I might come back and visit. We’ll have to wait and see, Cricket.”

Beth’s eyes shone for a moment, the craftiness returning, glimmering with the light Mikaela had wanted. Satisfied, Mikaela moved to leave, but Beth gave one last parting comment before she could get out the door. “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,”

Mikaela hesitated, her back to the girl. “You like to take out your fantasies on the people you target, Cricket.” Looking over her shoulder, she winked. “So do I.” 


The... End?


This concludes - for now - the story of these two! I might return to them in the future, but I felt that this sendoff gave a pleasing level of closure, moreso than just writing a series of one-off stories that end when I run out of ideas for where to take them.

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  • PeculiarChangeling changed the title to The Diaper Vigilante (Updated, Part 5, Complete!)

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