Advanced Dungeons & Diapers (Updated - Chapter 4, Mar 6th)

[PeculiarChangeling]

This is the start of a sequel to one of my longest commissions, "Dungeons & Diapers". It's written to work effectively as a standalone novel, but follows directly on the plot of the original work, which you can read here.

Also it's set in the Pathfinder 1e universe, not any DnD plane. Nyeh. You can't tell me what to do.
...

The smell of the Wizard’s destruction carried on the wind far past the edge of Verity, the eastern capital, long before the damage could be seen.

Sandra knew they were walking into trouble and danger of their greatest enemy’s doing. Her whole party knew it. The Wizard had caused them untold humiliations as an afterthought, and prolonged exposure to his magic had taught them the telltale signs. With one sniff of the air, they knew it was him.

The distinctive, sharp smell of baby powder left little room for misidentification.

Turning back in the saddle to look at her party, Sandra swished her tail, trying not to show any uncertainty. “If anyone wants to turn back, I understand. There’s no reason to throw ourselves into danger without cause.”

Quinn didn’t need to answer. The brawny half orc feared little, and even when he had trepidation, he kept it hidden for the others. His protective instinct didn’t break here, and he shook his head.

Tarja trembled on the horse next to Quinn, but not out of fear–rather, the curse that had degraded her fine motor control left her constantly shaking unless she could lie down, get on all fours, or briefly dispel the effects. Mounted on a saddle, she had to cling to the horn and let Quinn lead. She hardly looked like the most lethal Ranger Sandra had ever met, but when she was free of the curse, she could track, hunt, and aim a bow with legendary precision.

Even cursed as she was, she’d never back down from danger. Taking the effort to enunciate clearly, she said, “I’m no’ running.” Her words carried a slight lisp, like a toddler still struggling to make the letters come out right–another side effect of her curse.

Finally, Hadrian. The party’s own wizard, and their most thorough source of information on the Wizard’s magic. Clad in a latex bodysuit that bulged around his hips, and with a pacifier lodged between his lips that he couldn’t remove, he had the most visible curses of them all.

His gaze was on the horizon, hard and furious. He didn’t need to speak to communicate, not when his feelings were this clear.

They were going to Verity, no matter what had happened there, no matter the danger.

Sandra shifted in her seat again, noting a slight squelch beneath her pants. Her diaper was full–and now that she’d noticed, she picked up a slight foul stench mingling with the baby powder odor. The diaper would self clean before they got to the city, so it didn’t concern her much.

Still, it was a reminder of the Wizard’s lightest, least invasive curses–he’d stolen her potty training more than a year prior, and it had stayed stolen. If he led an assault against a city, she shuddered to think what he could have done to the populace.

It wasn’t long before they crested a rise and, finally, came into view of the city. Verity’s walls stood proud and unbreached, and most of the homes, businesses, and buildings seemed to be intact.

From one point, though, billowing clouds of white wafted up. Plumes of baby powder, shooting from a space where the great Temple of Calistria had once stood. Now, the structure seemed to be made of geometric pastels, twisted as a thousand child-safe squares of foam flooring had been frozen in the middle of an explosion.

Pulling up his mount next to Sandra, Hadrian gestured at his pacifier urgently. Reaching to the side, she pulled it free.

“Serendipity,” he said, “She’s–”

“In the temple,” Sandra finished. “I know.”

He didn’t wait for further words or confirmation, but spurred his horse onwards, galloping as fast as the mount would take him.

Sandra couldn’t blame him, even if she doubted there was much they could do. Hadrian had fallen head-over-high-heels with a priestess performer of the temple. He wouldn’t slow for anything while he knew she could be in danger.

The others followed soon after, matching Hadrian’s speed so they didn’t lose him on the road to Verity’s gates. As they grew closer, Sandra got a better look at the damage–she could make out distinct shapes, but the scale was all off. One side of a baby crib, bars painted pastel blue, seemed to be twenty feet long or more and hovered above the debris. An enormous mobile, so large that the plush toys dangling from it were to-scale with the animals those plushies resembled, spun slowly.

Contrasting with the openly juvenile elements, she also saw a large plug, tapered at the base, large enough that it could only be practically used by an elder dragon with a very particular set of kinks.

If Sandra had any doubts, that confirmed it. Only the Wizard of Paraphilia would mix infantile and erotic objects with such a tasteless disregard for dignity.

Hadrian was babbling at the gate–literally, his pacifier had returned in the fifteen minutes it’d taken to ride there–and Sandra had to pull up next to him and address the guards. “We’re working for the guild,” she said, leaning over to free her friend’s lips again. After removing the pacifier, she continued, “We have business with the Calistrians.”

“The temple’s…” one of the guards said, scratching his head as he looked them up and down, first at Hadrian’s pacifier and latex bodysuit, then at Quinn’s ample breasts, to Sandra, an elf with a dragon like tail that twitched to emphasize her impatience. At least they’d managed to clear up a couple of the more awkward things–Sandra could at least pull her clothes down to cover her diaper properly, hiding the perpetual peek she’d been stuck with for a while, and Quinn had managed to find a caster who could permanently revert his size back to normal. It could have been worse.

Shaking off his confusion, the guard explained, “Eh…the temple’s got wrecked like you all. Not sure you’ll be able to do any business there.”

“We can help,” Sandra insisted, sliding the guild seal from her pocket to show him. “Let us pass, quickly.”

Shrugging, the guard nodded and stood back, allowing the four of them to ride through the gates.

To Hadrian’s chagrin, they couldn’t just gallop up main street–Verity was a big enough city that, even with a crisis in plain view, life had to go on. Merchants had to sell their merchandise, beggars had to beg, scoundrels had to scound. Their horses helped them navigate up the streets more quickly, but she could see the frustration build on Hadrian’s face as they got closer and closer, stymied by the thick press of busy people in the streets.

Finally, they came into view of the temple, and Hadrian leapt free of the saddle. Stumbling on his heels for a moment, he ran across the cobblestone street, up to the place where the temple entrance had once stood.

The walls were replaced with the same pastel-painted slightly foam substance. Where there had once been grand doors decorated with symbols of Calistria, the Savored Sting, there was now a large flap, more akin to something an animal would use.

Sandra pulled up behind him, bringing her mount to a nickering stop, and said, “We need to use cauti–”

Hadrian ran in through the flap.

“Damn.” Sandra jumped down from her own horse, taking a moment to tie it off to the hitching post, dealing with Hadrian’s as well.

Quinn began to help Tarja down and deal with their own mounts as well, but Sandra stopped him.

“You stay out here.” Sandra said. “If this place has some effect on the people inside, we can’t all just rush in. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, start finding a way to get Hadrian and I outside without any collateral damage.”

“Be safe, ‘Andwa,” Tarja lisped, before Sandra slipped under the flap, conjuring an umbral knife in her hands–she’d be ready for anything.

Inside, the grand hall of the temple had once been home to a massive stage, where scantily-dressed clerics would flaunt their goods in exchange for tithe. Calistria was a goddess of lust, after all, it made sense.

Now, where poles and stages had once been, cages and hard points floated in the air, trapping priests and worshipers alike. The sky could be seen above–the roof was floating far too high to fully shield from the elements, and the various bizarre structures Sandra had seen from afar loomed above them.

A foul smell hung in the air, the results of the curses and time that had warped the former holy place. Diapers were everywhere Sandra looked, wrapped around people of all genders and ancestries, most soiled to the point of leaking. Pacifiers, too, were a constant–held in place with leather and magic, so that the victims couldn’t spit them out, mumble, or even speak.

Some priests had their hands tied far above their heads, leaving them standing, desperate, unable to rest or relax. Sandra met their pleading eyes, though their words got distorted into helpless mumbling beneath their pacifiers.

She approached one. “Hold still,” she whispered, “Let me try…”

Reaching up, she touched the clasp holding the pacifier in place. She could plainly detect magic on it, and knew it had to be enchanted, but perhaps–

Her brain fogged for a moment, and she staggered back, falling to the ground. Her brain fuzzed, befuddled by magic. When she blinked and regained full control of her thoughts, she realized she’d begun suckling her thumb, and that her diaper–which had self cleaned not ten minutes prior–was suddenly sagging and full again, not that it could make the room smell any worse.

Shaking her head, Sanda stood, staggering for a moment before regaining her balance.

“I…” she said. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

The priest’s eyes didn’t show understanding, just desperation to be free. Regretfully, Sandra looked around further, careful not to touch anyone.

Other priests were in their own predicament. Some, trapped in cages or cribs, were cuffed spread eagle. Still others sat on adult-sized rocking horses that never fell still, wrists tied to handles and feet to the base, forced to shift back and forth, squelching their diapers interminably. Going by the slight bzzz sound filling the air, Sandra guessed more than a few had toys inside their diaper, torturing them in other ways that couldn’t be seen as easily.

There were more restraints, too, in patterns and configurations she didn’t know. X-shaped crosses. Spanking benches–though, mercifully, she saw no enchanted paddles going to town. Two particularly unfortunate clerics were tied to each other, wrist-to-ankle, so that their faces were buried in each other’s diapers.

She counted dozens of people in the grand temple room, all bound, all unable to move or flee. Some were faces she recognized. Some were strangers. All were helpless.

“Hadrian?” Sandra called, picking her way through the helpless, whimpering victims.

“Back here!” he called, voice carrying from a rear door.

She followed the sound. In the former backstage, it was less populated, but the cribs and cursed people inside were just as helpless. Hadrian was there, but as she stepped in, he looked from face to face, crib to crib, then turned and ran out the room.

Sandra followed, urgently, chasing after him as he went to the once-and-no-longer rectory. Here, there were no people, only changing supplies and baby food stacked on shelves, piles and piles of each, a trove of necessities for anyone who’d been cursed into diaper dependence.

Hadrian continued to run, and Sandra chased after him. “Wait, Hadrian–”

“I have to find her,” he called back, moving down a back hall, to the priest’s quarters. More cribs, more faces, but not the face he wanted to see. Up, then, to the library–now a play room, with baby books and lewd folios, baby toys and vibrating wands all scattered around as though they belonged together. A few priests, glassy eyed, were going through the motions of stacking blocks or organizing rings onto a post, seemingly without any control over their actions.

More desperate than ever, Hadrian continued his flight. He checked the kitchen, now filled with high chairs, and the restrooms, now filled exclusively with changing tables.

Nothing.

“She’s…” Hadrian panted, leaning against a changing table for support. “She’s not here.”

“Maybe she was out on business,” Sandra suggested. “Gwyndomere relies on her for jobs.”

“Gwyndomere’s gone, too,” Hadrian said. “He took–The Wizard took them.”

Sandra looked back out the changing room door, to the open field of restrained worshippers. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Hadrian said, a growl building in his throat. “But we’re not going to let this sta–”

“Hey!”

A voice called from the grand hall. Someone who could speak, not bound up by the curses and restraints.

Sandra stepped out, looking for the source of the voice. A man in white and gold robes. Sandra recognized the colors, indicating a god or goddess of healing, but couldn’t remember the divinity’s name.

“We’re with the guild,” Sandra said. “I’m–”

“Sandra Cassidy,” the cleric replied, stepping closer. He was older, with a neatly trimmed grey beard and a weary expression. “I know who you are. My name is Barro, I’m a priest of Aesocar. You shouldn’t be in here.”

“These people need help,” Sanda gestured, while mentally snapping a proverbial finger. (Aesocar! That’s the god I was thinking of.)

“We’re finding ways to do that,” Barro said, “But it’s dangerous. The pacifiers provide food and water, keeping them alive, but we haven’t yet found a way to get them down safely. They could be like this for weeks, and unless you know how to dispel it, there’s nothing for you to do but fall into a trap or erase your own mind by mistake.”

“I know how to work around the Wizard’s cruelty,” Sandra said.

“And you know how dangerous he is,” the cleric replied. “But–”

“Wait,” Hadrian said. “How do you know it could be weeks? When was the temple hit?”

The cleric shifted, uncomfortably, looking back at the door. “We should step outside–”

“What happened?” Hadrian demanded, stalking forward. “How long has it been like this?”

“This temple was hit this morning,” Barro said. “Eight members of the clergy are still unaccounted for, but…”

Sandra understood. “This isn’t the only one.”

“Four temples in eight days. The Wizard has been busy. And…it could be much, much worse than this.” He looked down and to the side. “My order was hit. Aesocar’s great hospital–the wizard rendered most of the finest healers in the realm to sadistic torments, turning their healing magic into cruel sources of pain.”

“Let’s go outside,” Sandra finally said.

Careful and reluctant, they stepped around the helpless, moaning victims, out into the fresh air.

“Four temples,” Sandra repeated. “What’s he doing?”

“We think, trying to get something.” Barro hesitated. “He’s taken the high priest of each, and several of their highest ranked assistants.”

“Serendipity,” Hadrian whispered.

“Gwyndomere,” Sandra added, thinking of the high priest’s power. If the Wizard had taken Gwyndomere, rather than coming in and attacking the temple while Gwyndomere was gone, then that implied danger and power beyond what she’d already feared.

“What’s going on?” Quinn asked, seeing them walk out.

“Danger and trouble,” Sandra started. “We’re going to need to be careful and decide our next move cautiously, something big and complicated is coming, and–”

“No,” Hadrian cut in. “It’s not complicated at all. We’re going to find the wizard, and when we do, we’re going to kill him.”

 

...

 

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[PeculiarChangeling]

Chapter 2

Hadrian’s fiery rage ran against the mental asbestos that was information scarcity. 

The desire to go after the Wizard, spells and blades brandished, couldn’t be realized without knowing the Wizard’s location, and the Wizard had left behind few clues. The locations of the four temples that’d been destroyed–or, rather, three temples and a holy site–didn’t seem to show any pattern, though given his power, it seemed likely he could teleport at will. 

The primary captives, two high priests, one ‘grand’ priest, and a merchant with a series of divine connections, hadn’t been able to send for help or signal their locations. Nor had the others who were taken. Nothing else was missing, he hadn’t taken any relics or valuables. He’d stolen only people. 

There was no satisfying-but-impossible revenge to be had. The only way to help the situation was to help.

And so, they did what they could. Counterspells were largely out of their repertoire, but there were people who needed aid, and Sandra’s party were able to give that aid. 

A team of clerics working on magic to unlock the pacifier-feeder-brain-corrupting gags needed reagents and supplies, Sandra or Quinn could run and go get them. Hadrian knew more about the Wizard’s magic than most, and could provide detailed lore and insight into the ways of paraphilic magic. Tarja could only walk and exert fine motor control for ten minutes at a time, and doing so required her to wet her diaper, limiting how often she could make it happen, but she could still read books of magic and look up citations, still offer insights into healing and medicine, still make food and fetch water.

All hands could help, and so they did. It wasn’t the sort of guild heroics that stories were written about, but it was the kind that made a difference. 

Hadrian worked until long after the sun had gone down, and would have kept going if Sandra hadn’t insisted he needed a good, long rest or he’d be useless to them tomorrow. Finally, the party ended up at the Blackbird, a guild inn where the drinks were cheap and the rooms were soundproofed. 

They ate on a balcony overlooking the bar floor, watching other late-night guild members drink and eat and chat. Faintly cheerful music drifted from a player piano, and a waitress almost as busty as Quinn brought up mugs of ale whenever their ran low.

“Let’s talk,” Sandra said, without looking at her dining companion. 

“You waited until Quinn and Tarja went off for ‘quality time’, hmm?” Hadrian asked, glancing over at her. 

The room soundproofing wasn’t just to keep the noise of guildmates out of the bedrooms–it was to keep the noise of hot-and-bothered lovebird quiet. 

“I figured you wouldn’t mind the discretion,” Sandra confirmed, watching everything and nothing. “So.”

“Let’s talk,” Hadrian agreed. “It’ll be a quick talk. We’re going after the Wizard.” 

“You’re not going to do Serendipity any good bound, gagged, empty-headed and full-diapered,” Sandra replied. “The Wizard hit four temples, full of clerics and even paladins, waltzed through them all, and took their strongest champions. We’re strong. We’re getting stronger. But we can’t fight that.” 

“That’s crap,” Hadrian snapped, unwilling to accept bad news. “We’ve gone against him before, and we’re twice the party we were then. We’re not going to sit on our asses and let him keep doing this!” Slamming down his tankard on the table, he drew a couple eyes from the lower floor from cautious, jaded warriors ensuring they didn’t have to be ready for a bar fight.

Sandra sipped her own ale and set her tankard down silently. “I didn’t say we’re going to sit on our asses, either.” 

“I’m not opposed to the whole stick-around-and-play-butler aid,” Hadrian said, “But we’re just playing catch up. The only way to stop the Wizard is to put him down or at least bring him in, we can’t be cowards.”

She didn’t mind his heat, his anger. She understood where it came from and could accept that Hadrian was only throwing it at her because he couldn’t throw it at its true target. “Let me talk, Hadrian,” she said.

His lips flattened into a line. “Fine. Talk.” 

Leaning forward, she watched the bartender, then sent her eyes to the waitress, then an old, gruff dwarf leaning against the piano. “I was thinking while we worked today, why hit where he did? Why four temples, four priests?” 

Hadrian didn’t answer right away, before asking in sarcastic tones, “What, can I answer? You said you wanted to talk, skip the hypotheticals.”

“Alright,” Sandra said coolly. “The wizard operates in curses. He’s got powerful spells, sure. You’ve figured out all sorts of ways he twists magic to be kinky and torturous and vastly stronger than it should be, but his bread and butter is curses, objects, constructed things. It’s cursed items that do the most harm–be it mass produced locking pacifiers that can disable a person completely, or bespoke humiliations he invents on a whim. He does curses.” 

Hadrian kept his mouth shut, but nodded.

“And what dispels curses better than divine magic?” Sandra let the question hang for a moment, lending it weight. “I don’t think he hit four temples. I think he hit four Clerics. Four of the strongest in the realm. I think he took out the people most suited to challenge him, the people who–if they got together and pooled their might–could bring him to task.” 

Sitting back, she took a long sip of her ale. Hadrian eyed her, a little annoyed at the request for silence, but didn’t interrupt.

“We can’t face the wizard directly,” Sandra said, “But we can deal with his traps. We’ve done it before. If he’s not there, actively hampering us, we’ve got the savvy to stay safe, and we know his magic. We can’t win the battle, but we can rescue the people he’s taken, and once they’re free…then they can take their power, find the wizard, and put. Him. Down.” 

Hadrian nodded, in silent thought. After Sandra didn’t say much else, he said, “I’m going to talk now.”

Sandra nodded. 

“It’s a good speech.” 

“Thanks.”

“And a good plan, too, if we can find where the captives are,” Hadrian said. “Find them, spring a rescue. They might be too cursed to move, though, or to fight once they’re free.”

Sandra nodded. “We’ll have to take it one step at a time. Finding their location will take some doing, releasing their curses will be a long term effort, but we’ve got some powerful allies in our corner. The guild isn’t going to stand for an attack like this, and if they pool all their resources into defense, we can fight off the wizard while we get the priests cured. Plus, if we locate the captives, and free them, that’ll include Janet.” 

Hadrian blinked for a moment. “Serendipity.”

“Her given name’s Janet.” Sandra smirked. “I never understood, why do you call her by her performing name? You two seem closer than that.” 

“It’s…complicated,” Hadrian conceded, face turning pink. “It’s almost that we’re too close, but it just doesn’t feel quite right calling her… er… mist–” 

The front door of the tavern opened, and Sandra held up a hand. “Hold that thought.” 

Hadrian had to double take to see what was unusual. The door had opened, but nobody had walked inside. A floorboard creaked, barely audible above the sound of chatter, but a few others noticed.

This was a guild bar, after all. Everyone their had been taught in the school of ambush paranoia, and those lessons carried daggers along with failing grades. 

After a moment, though, a figure, no taller than a foot off the ground, padded inside, tongue lolling out adorably. It was a puppy, and a particularly cute one at that. The coloration and pointed ears made Sandra thing, ‘Fox pup,’ though it didn’t quite match–foxes didn’t have cute, colorful eyes, and they didn’t pant like dogs.

Rather, this creature looked as though someone had mashed together the cutest elements of both–fox, puppy, and maybe just a touch of cat in there too. Even from forty feet up, Sandra wanted to pick the little creature up and snuggle it.

It seemed the rest of the bar agreed. After the pup gave a happy little, “Arf,” the entire room responded with a chorus of D’awwws. 

“Danger,” Hadrian said. 

“Agreed,” Sandra replied, standing up. Scooting back a couple steps, she kept her gaze over the balcony while sending a few hard knocks on Quinn and Tarja’s door. “Sorry to interrupt!” 

She could just barely hear their responses, frustrated grumbling by the tone, but they’d come through. She trusted them.

Walking forward, Sandra inspected the creature for magic, and saw the faint spell aura wafting off it. “Mental magic.” 

“We’re out of its aura, right?” Hadrian asked, preparing spell reagents from his belt pack. 

“I think so,” Sandra said, conjuring black knives in each hand. “Take it out fast, before it can do anything else?”

“Buffs first,” Hadrian suggested. “It’s not actively attacking right now. Let’s wait a second, be sure we’re ready to fight before the music starts.” 

Sandra smirked.

Hadrian glanced at her. “What?” 

Gesturing with her chin towards the player piano, Sandra said, “The music’s already going. Hit me.” 

Hadrian twisted a bit of licorice root between his fingers and Sandra felt the speed surge in her, followed by a secondary surge of precision as he sent a second spell her way. She felt ready to fight, to fly, to take on the world, filled with energy and a buzz that made her want to move.

A second later, the windows of the tavern all exploded inward in unison, and the door flew inward as though kicked by an invisible boot. 

The people in the bar reacted, but their foes couldn’t be seen, and they seemed unable to attack, only to throw up defenses and try to prepare to face an invisible enemy that surrounded them on every side. 

Sandra couldn’t spot any magic at play, at least not from the windows, though magical shields and wards started going up almost at once, and the fox creature in the center still yipped and cheered happily, sending out some mental effect or another. Hesitating, she tried to resist the urge to leap into battle. 

Tarja and Quinn stumbled out of the door, Quinn hastily donning his battle dress while Tarja struggled to stay upright in the doorway, clad in only the cursed onesie she couldn’t remove and a puffy diaper crinkling beneath the crotch snaps. 

Quinn’s battle armor was something to behold–a large pink dress made almost entirely of silk and lace, it seemed to always poof out and flounce around him with very movement, and yet it turned away attacks better than any armor they could afford. He wasn’t cursed to wear it, per say, but it was hard to turn down the benefits of protection when a misplaced attack could cost his life, while a floofy pink princess dress only cost a bit of dignity.

Tarja, on the other hand, got neither. Though she held onto her bow with a death grip, it was clear from how she trembled that her curse was in full swing.

“Tarja,” Sandra said, eyeing the chaos below nervously. “You’re going to need to–”

“I know,” Tarja shot back, flushing. “It’s–kinda hawd wi’ now.” 

“Make it work, we’re on a time crunch here,” Sandra insisted, fidgeting, feeling a buzz like adrenaline and caffeine and something harder all driving her to move. Maybe Hadrian had sent out the buffs too quickly, but she wanted nothing more than to dive into battle, to get attacking, to run a marathon–

Below, invisible forces were throwing around the guild adventurers, twisting wrists and kicking out legs. Sandra danced from toe to toe, battling her good sense–she wanted to get in, to start fighting, but she was waiting on her party and on a good plan. 

“There’s nothing there,” Hadrian said, “But I’m not seeing magic.”

“Me either,” Sandra said. “So…not a spell, not an illusion.” 

“Crap, crap, I know this,” Hadrian said, tapping the side of his head in thought. 

“Tarja!” Sandra repeated, glancing back at their trembling ranger, whose face was screwed up in concentration. “Any time now would be good.” 

“I can’t–” Tarja said.

“You can’t make yourself pee at all?” 

Sandra looked back at her, trying not to be annoyed. The curse was a cruel one–Tarja could only have control of her body if she wet her diaper, but it didn’t take much wetting to make it happen. Surely she could pee, just a little, and–

“It’s hard when–” Blush deepening, Tarja said, “It’s hard ta’ pee when I’m…er…”

(Ooooh.) Sandra blushed sympathetically. She and Quinn had been interrupted right in the middle of fooling around, and Tarja’s curses hadn’t been limited to clothes. In possibly the wizard’s cruelest trap, he’d set something up that rearranged Tarja’s nether regions, a transformation that she hadn’t been able to undo since. 

And that was the trouble–she was trying to pee with an erection. Now that it’d been pointed out, Sandra couldn’t help but notice the slight tent bulging beneath her onesie. 

“Just–” Sandra tried to think of an idea, “Try to think not-sexy thoughts!” 

“Yannow how hard it i’ to twy not to fink about somethin’?” Tarja snapped back, her blush rising a note. 

“What’re you–” Hadrian started, before piecing it together himself. “Oooh–don’t try to think ‘not sexy’, try to think ‘gross’.” 

“I don’–” Tarja said, “Ugh, I dunno, I–”

A crash, and a yell, and Sandra’s heart almost stopped–from nowhere, a gag appeared, a pacifier on a leather strap, and locked itself around the mouth of the waitress. Instantly, her eyes rolled back in her head, she stopped struggling, and a dark yellow stain grew on her dress. 

Then she fell to the ground, no longer a concern. They had no time.

“Tarja,” Sandra commanded, tail swishing anxiously, “Gross yourself out, now, we need to fight!” 

“I, I–” Tarja stammered, her face totally awash with red, before nodding. “Okay.” 

Squatting down, Tarja held onto Quinn’s hand for support so she didn’t fall over completely, screwed up her face, and–

“Mmm, okay,” Sandra mumbled to herself, looking away to give her friend a modicum of privacy. Her acutely pointed ears couldn’t help but hear Tarja’s slight grunts of effort, but there was nothing to be done there.

And, a second later, Sandra heard an accompanying hiss, and then Tarja stood, steady and balanced, bow drawn. 

“I’m ready,” she said, nocking an arrow and stepping up next to Sandra. Neither of them said a word about what’d helped her get ready, they just took shallow breaths and pretended nothing was amiss. 

Below, the scene was chaos. More gags had appeared, more adventurers were on the ground. Fighters were dropping like flies. 

“Let’s go,” Quinn added, holding his massive warhammer at the ready. 

“Then–” Sandra started.

“Wait,” Hadrian said, shaking his head and reaching for his component pouch. “I’ve got it. These are elementals–Invisible Stalkers, or something close to them.” 

“You have something for that?” Sandra asked, itching to go, ready to scream if there were any more holdups. 

He grinned and nodded, producing a little pinch of baby powder. “I do. Let’s see how this works when it’s heightened.” 

Raising his hand, he blew, and the baby powder cascaded out of his fingers, turning from a pinch to a torrent, white, fine dust cascading towards the room, outlining everything–including eight invisible bipeds, shuffling, shambling figures. 

Sandra couldn’t wait anymore. Grabbing the balcony railing, she leapt over it, daggers out, and plunged into battle, and a second later, her party followed after. 

...

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[PeculiarChangeling]

Chapter 3

Landing on the floor of the bar, Sandra tucked and rolled, coming up with daggers out.

Immediately, she felt the pressure of passivity weighing on her mind–the adorable fox-pup on the floor yipped and jumped up to her, licking at her face while it gave her the biggest, softest look possible, eyes glittering like pools. 

(Awww,) Sandra thought, her focus taken up by the creature’s overwhelming presence of cute. 

A second later, a sharp thud impacted on the creature’s side, and it lurched, rocking away. In an instant, its cuteness vanished, and Sandra saw the truth–teeth, claws, and fury, all in a tiny, fluffy package. Two arrows stuck out its side, each crackling with a hint of lingering lightning.

“Break its concentration!” Tarja called down. Sandra needed no other encouragement, lunging forward at the fox with both daggers. 

The fox thing snapped at her, cute, doe-eyes replaced with pits of black fire. It chomped once, twice, but missed with both, and Sandra responded with a quick slash of her knife.

Compounding on the damage Tarja had already dealt, Sandra needed only a single hit, and the fox simply burst into pure energy, vanishing completely.

Sandra stood, wobbling a little, in time to see Quinn–sitting atop one of the invisible stalkers, his dress pulled over the monster’s head, wailing on it with heavy elbows dropped onto its head, one after the other, slamming its head through the frilly fabric. 

Hadrian was too good for fighting, apparently–instead, he hovered above them all, hands out, channeling strings of purple energy. 

“They’re summons!” Sandra called, gesturing to the enemies around them. “We’re fighting summons, we have to get to the summoner!” 

Another arrow whizzed past her, striking one of the powder-coated elementals behind her. 

With the fox thing gone, the other adventurers in the guild bar were fighting back, but they’d already lost much of the upper hand. Those who weren’t already disabled by mindbreaking pacifiers were pinned or struggling, outnumbered and caught unawares without their full suite of weapons or armor. 

Sandra, on the other hand, was supercharged for a fight and had no qualms about going all out. 

Spinning, she threw one dagger and slashed with the other, speed and dexterity coursing through her limbs. Her attacks came so quick it was hard to separate the individual slashes, and she made them as she tumbled through the bar, dropping a wound on one invisible foe before rolling to the next, trying to deal just enough damage that the struggling warriors could free themselves.

Then, around the room, Hadrian’s complicated magic kicked in, and five of the guild adventurers who’d been pacified and rendered helpless rose up, eyes still glassy, drool still dribbling from behind their pacifier shields. Thin strands of energy went from their wrists and ankles up to a series of hovering constructions in the air, x-shaped handles, like the kind used to control a marionette. 

Despite their mindless appearance, the five warriors raised what weapons they had available and charged into battle, carried forth by Hadrian’s pupeteering. 

Sandra’s mood surged, feeling triumphant–they were winning, and doing well to boot. 

Her confidence dropped when she felt something slam into the back of her head, an attack she hadn’t seen coming in the slightest. Turning to face her new attacker, she saw nothing, but footprints in the baby powder dusting the floor told her another enemy was there.

Swallowing, she called up, “More! Hadrian, there’s mo–”

An invisible hand grabbed her by the throat, lifting Sandra into the air, and her umbral knives vanished from her hands as she grabbed the wrist, trying to hold herself up enough that she could breathe. She felt fingertips pressing on her blood vessels, cutting off air, blackness creeping in, and she could do little to fight it off when she saw the pacifier gag appear from nothingness, a bulb moving towards her gasping, breathless lips. 

If it entered her mouth, she’d be defenseless, helpless, mindless, but she couldn’t wriggle away from the iron grip on her throat.

“RAAARGH!” Quinn bellowed, lunging forward and slamming the invisible arm with his warhammer. Sandra heard a sick crunching noise–elementals had something like bones that could be broken, it seemed–and the grip on her went slack.

Falling to the floor, she gasped, stepping away. “Summoner,” she coughed, ducking to the side of a flying mug of ale. “We need to take out the summoner.” 

“If we leave the adventurers, they’ll be disabled,” Quinn said, “And we still don’t have a countercurse for those pacifiers.” 

Pressing her lips into a line, Sandra called up, “Hadrian, Tarja, do you have this?” 

Fingers dancing to move the marionette handles, eyes unfocused as magic surged through him, Hadrian nodded. 

Tarja didn’t even need to reply, instead nailing another pair of arrows into the head of an invisible foe.

“You and me then,” Sandra said, nodding to her lacy, brutish friend. “We don’t want them dead, though–when we find the summoner, we knock them out.” 

Hefting his warhammer, Quinn nodded grimly. Too much damage was being inflicted on their allies to revel in the fight, but she saw the anticipation in his eyes–he was furious, and ready to extract revenge. 

Taking a guess on location, Sandra ran out the front door of the bar, her steps supernaturally light and quick. Casting her gaze around, she spotted their target almost instantly, a figure surrounded by a confluence of magical energy. 

It took Sandra a moment to comprehend exactly what she was looking at. The figure in front of her was on all fours, but seemed stilted, awkward. They were in the form of a quadruped, like a wolf or maybe just a dog, but wrong. Their body was all a slightly shiny purple, more like a constructed latex facsimile of an animal than the real thing. It seemed to have very little range of motion, as though its forelegs didn’t have joints, and its hind legs dragged on the ground, giving the impression of a figure crawling on elbows and knees rather than a proper dog.

“It’s the summoner’s pet,” Sandra said, realizing–Summoners didn’t work alone, they had Eidolons to help them, companions that could handle the nitty gritty up-close fighting.

“Where’s the summoner, then?” Quinn asked, turning to look around. 

“One thing at a time,” Sandra decided, charging the eidolon with reckless haste. It was just a planar being in the shape of an animal, and once Quinn came in they could get on both sides of it, bringing it down with ease. 

Or, at least, that was her plan. Instead, something slick and cool conjured itself around her body, and as she charged at the creature, she lost her footing, tumbled, and fell onto her back in front of the latex eidolon. 

It stepped over her, and she tried to make sense of what she was looking at. Its face seemed to be covered by a muzzle, and yet it managed to open, revealing a layer of canine teeth and, beneath that…

(Another muzzle?) 

She saw the distinct shape of a leather face muzzle inside the creature’s jaws. Storage, she guessed, a way to keep magical restraints ready to go, so it could be spat out onto helpless targets.

Sandra made a mental note not to allow herself to be pinned by this thing, and rolled out of the way just in time to avoid its snapping jaws. 

Quinn skidded up next to her, but had to stop and pinwheel for a moment as he stepped onto the same slick patch that’d toppled Sandra. Arms waving, he got his tentative balance, though his charge had lost momentum and the swing of his hammer landed with merely gigantic strength, instead of titanic. 

Still, it was a start. Getting to unsteady, slippery feet, Sandra threw two dagger slashes at the eidolon, ripping its latex skin to reveal ‘flesh’ made of fluffy cotton. It spun, growling and snapping, but she was ready for the attack to come from the beast. 

What she wasn’t ready for was the cloberring from behind as another invisible attacker struck her. She felt stupid–of course there’d be more invisible summons–but it hadn’t crossed her mind in her haste to deal with the visible enemy. She stumbled forward, right into a snapping bite from the wolf-thing that latched down on her leg, grappling her in place. 

Quinn, for his part, slammed his boot into the ground, sending out a quake of power. The invisible figure holding Sandra tripped, falling back, and by the thuds she heard, a few others went down as well. Only the dog-eidolon-thing remained, as four legs rather than two gave it an advantage in stability.

Sandra could win a one-on-one. Raising her daggers, she brought them down in a double slash, taking advantage of its uneasy position, directly between her and Quinn. It staggered, and Quinn struck it right back into her, playing a game of tennis with their foe’s body.

The eidolon made eye contact with her–glassy, false black circles staring into her, and Sandra hesitated. She’d seen a flicker of magic come from the eidolon, but there was no time to identify the spell, and besides–Eidolons weren’t typically known to cast spells themselves. 

She understood, then. 

“That’s not the eidolon,” she said aloud, first quietly, then louder. “That’s not the eidolon, it’s the summoner!” 

Maybe they were bound up in a spell, completely covered by the latex and cotton body that rendered a person into a four-legged, growling thing, but beneath it all there was a sentient being, the one summoning the monsters. 

Flinching when Sandra called out the truth, the summoner first snarled and swiped to the side, tossing Sandra to the ground, then turned to flee–not away from the fight, but into the bar, where its other summons were still battling. It threw open the door, bursting inside, where the other melee was going on. 

“Don’t let it get away,” Sandra said, before shouting at the top of her lungs, “Hadrian! The summoner is the thing!” 

Quinn was right behind it, while Sandra had to struggle to stand, still coated in slippery lube. She got to her feet, just as Quinn got into the bar, then began making her way towards the bar herself. 

Before she could take one step, her whole self seemed to blink. One moment, she was running in the street. The next, she was in the bar, looking up at Hadrian as he brandished his holy symbol and conjured power.

His eyes went wide, but it was too late–in the second it took him to react, his spell had already been cast, and invisible force lashed out at Sandra. She tried to react, but she’d been left in the most vulnerable possible spot, arms out, ready to take the hit in place of the summoner. 

Magic twisted her arms and her legs, forcing her body down, prone, into almost the same four-legged position that the summoner had been in, and she felt cuffs spring into life around her wrists and ankles, bolting and shackling her to the floor. 

“Sandra!” Quinn yelped in surprise. “Hadrian, what did you–dispell it!” 

“I can’t, it’s not concentration, it’s just–” Hadrian stammered. 

Sandra tried to lift her head, but though the spell didn’t conjure any visible restraints, it still kept her gaze down and low, forced her to stay on all fours. She could just barely see in the corner of her vision as her pants were yanked down, revealing her diaper, and then the diaper went next, leaving her naked from the waist down to her knees.

She knew what Magic Hadrian had been dabbling in, and she had a good guess what was coming next. 

THWAP! 

A sensation like a paddle stuck her bare, exposed ass, hitting with excruciating force. This was an offensive spell, not a tender-but-forceful partner: There was no warmup, no build, no safe word, only deliberate pain. Sandra cried out, gritting her teeth against the sudden shock. 

THWAP! 

“How long does this last?” Tarja called. 

“I don’t know–like two minutes?” Hadrian said. “I–shit, how did Sandra get there?” 

THWAP! 

She couldn’t survey the bar or get a sense of the battlefield, not between the shocking slams of impact that struck every second, hitting hard enough that she could feel the impact reverberate up through her chest and into her head. She couldn’t help but yelp and whimper at every impact, the assault on her exposed ass was just too powerful for her to try and retain dignity. 

Everyone could see, everyone could hear her whimpers, she couldn’t escape. 

(Fuck me–) 

THWAP! 

“Where’s the summoner?” Quinn finally asked.

(Do they not get it?) 

THWAP!

“Fuck!” Sandra yelled. “HE’S OUTSIDE, WE–” 

THWAP!

Tears were hot on her cheeks. It felt as though scalding oil had been poured over her tender, exposed flesh, and every impact of the paddle set the whole thing alight for a split second, flashing pain and heat up through her body.

“They swapped places!” Hadrian realized. “Shit, that means he–”

“On it,” Quinn said, sprinting out the door.

THWAP! 

“Don’t go alone!” Tarja chided, gliding gracefully down the stairs after him. 

Sandra’s indignity continued to burn.

THWAP!

Sandra could hear whispers. Onlookers. She was vaguely aware that her diaper was incredibly visible, but the embarrassment of that didn’t even register to her next to the pain. She was helpless for all to see, a display of sheer masochistic torture.

Every part of her body felt like its senses were on overdrive, she could feel everything, the cool air and burning hot skin, all the smells of the bar, all the sounds of whispering onlookers who had nothing to do but watch her spanking play out. 

THWAP!

She felt something hot on her leg. At first she thought blood, but the spanking hadn’t broken her skin–the acrid smell of urine assaulted her senses, though, and she got it on her second guess. She’d begun to wet herself. More for the onlookers to laugh at. 

THWAP! 

Balling her fists, she took deep breaths. The pain felt like it had reached a crescendo on every strike, always harder, always deeper. She couldn’t wait for it to be over, she had to fight.

She could take it. She had to take it. It was just pain.

THWAP!

“I can do this,” she whispered. She realized she wasn’t whimpering anymore–she’d begun to growl. She could take the pain, she could withstand it, she would not let a stupid spell break her. 

She could win this. She only acknowledged the pain and moved on, accepting it, allowing it to pass through her, endorphins flooding her brain to fight off the torture. 

THWAP! 

“Argh!” she called out. “Is that all you’ve got?” 

It didn’t matter that there was nobody holding the paddle, no actual master standing over her to deliver this punishment, she conjured one in her thoughts, an enemy she could get mad at, to overcome. 

THWAP! 

“Harder,” she whispered under her breath. “If you want to win, you’re going to need to hit me harder.” 

(Let them watch,) she thought. (Fuck it. I don’t care. I’m better than thi–)

THWAP! 

“HARDER!” 

She was dizzy, her vision spinning. Whether it was the soup of hormones swimming in her head, or the sheer physical damage inflicted on her by the paddle and through her ass. There was something dark in the room, like a fog, encroaching over her eyes, making it hard to see. 

THWA–

...

I've been told that the joys of supporting my writing is even better than getting changed into a fresh diaper.

Or, for those of you especially yucky babies out there, it's better than *not* getting changed no matter how badly you need it!

Is this true? Or am I engaging in hyperbole for the sake of a quippy call to action? You decide!

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https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

[PeculiarChangeling]

Chapter 4

“Sandra, Sandra–” 

The elf sat up, groggy and worn from the fight.

Or…from the spanking, really. She had a hard time thinking of it as a ‘fight’, she’d been a hero of legend right up until she became a humiliated peepshow. At least she didn’t wake up with a pacifier gag of confusion in her mouth.

Hadrian knelt over her, tapping her face. To someone out of her view, he called, “Healing potion, come on! How many times do I have to say it?” 

She blinked a couple times, winced, and sat up. Her thighs and butt stung like wildfire, but someone had done her the dignity of pulling her diaper and pants back up, so that she was at least covered up. 

“I’m fine, don’t need a potion,” she said, moving her jaw around a bit. There were people moving about, either caring for the wounded or taking stock of their injuries. The bartender was up, too, in the middle of returning a health potion to its shelf. “Take it we won?” 

“Six people are down,” Hadrian said. “Not dead, but disabled until we find a way to remove those cursed gags.” 

“Damn.” Standing, Sandra tried to make it look like she wasn’t just taking weight off her butt to reduce the constant burning there. Though she couldn’t see, she imagined she had an impressive bruise down there. “Tell me we at least caught–”

The summoner flew through the broken doorway and into the room, carried by an impressive throw at Quinn’s hands. Cuffed, gagged with a cloth, bare skin exposed all over, and most notably, no longer inside a fluffed up latex animal costume. She landed with a heavy thud on the floor, but lay still, unconscious. 

“We got her,” Tarja said, waddling through the door, her gait a little wide and awkward. She wasn’t lacking in dexterity, the waddle was from aversion to the load in her diaper–it’d only been a few minutes, then, since Sandra passed out. 

Quinn was right on her heels, a big of swagger in his hips on account of the successful takedown. “Once we hit her a few times, the wolf costume thing kind of just…melted away.”

“That was her eidolon, I think,” Sandra explained. “Some summoners, they can fuse with their Eidolon and share a form, but…I’ve never seen one that restrains its host like that.” 

“That’s the wizard’s work,” Hadrian said. “Finding ways to make everything a little more messed up.” 

Stepping over the summoner’s unconscious form, Sandra nudged her with a foot. She had on a collar, buckled around her throat tightly, giving off a faint aura of magic, with a name printed on it–‘Kitty’. 

(Okay, maybe not a name, just a label.) 

Her armor was scanty, little more than a leather bra and a thong, exposing dark skin and a well toned body. For someone who spent most of her time casting spells, while bound on all fours, she was fit and athletic. 

(At least it isn’t chainmail,) Sandra thought, looking over her not-really armor. “Let’s get her into a room. A soundproof one–I’ve got questions.” 

Quinn didn’t need to be told twice. Hefting the summoner, he threw her over a shoulder, taking her upstairs. 

“Do I have a second–” Tarja started to ask, cheeks growing a little pink.

“Go change,” Sandra said. She to follow after Quinn, but winced as her diaper and pants chafed against raw, tender thighs. Glancing at the bartender, she said, “I will actually take that health potion now, if you’ve got one.” 

…

They took no chances. The summoner clearly had experience with restraints, and Sandra didn’t want to risk a slip-up. They tied her legs to a heavy chair, shackled her ankles together, cuffed her arms behind her back, and tied the cuffs to the chair too. For good measure, they wrapped a few coils of rope around her whole body, too, binding her so tightly there wasn’t any room to move. 

Hadrian stayed in the corner of the room, counterspells ready. Tarja sat to the side, bow in hand, while Quinn loomed by the door. Only a few candles existed to cast light in the room, lending it all a shadowy, intimidating atmosphere, and Sandra loomed over the chair with a knife in her right hand and a leather glove shrouding her left hand.

Only once all that was in place did Sandra pour her healing potion down the summoner’s throat, giving her just enough rejuvenation to wake up. 

Sandra held the dull back edge of her blade against the summoner’s throat, a threat to keep her in line. She expected surprise, or even shock, but when the summoner woke up, she just blinked a couple times and took in her surroundings. 

Then, she began to purr. 

“Mmm,” the summoner said. “I’m sorry, mistress, was I naughty?” 

Sandra blinked, her grip on the knife shaking for a moment. “I’m sorry?” 

The summoner turned her head to nuzzle against Sandra’s arm. “No, I’m sorry. Did I earn a punishment? Am I going to have to please your friends one at a time, or are they all going to use me at once?”

Yanking back her hand as though burned, Sandra tried to figure out how to respond, lowering her knife. “What–what can I call you?”

“It’s on my tag!” The summoner said, giggling. “Kitty.” 

“Alright, Kitty,” Sandra said, trying to regain control of the situation. “You’re going to tell us what we want to know, or we’re going to make you regret it.” 

“Bold talk,” Kitty said. “If you think you can–I haven’t even felt how hard you hit yet.” 

Unsure what to do next, Sandra glanced at Hadrian, but he only shrugged. She didn’t want to actually torture the summoner, but it really seemed like threats weren’t working. 

Kitty tilted her head to a forty five degree angle, feigning surprise. “What? You don’t want a little struggle first? I figured you’d like the game–if you just wanted a compliant hole, I left you plenty of those downstairs. But, please–you can use the sharp side of the knife, I don’t mind a little blood.” 

Sandra looked down at the blade in her hand. Kitty had noticed the empty threat, the dull edge. 

“We want to know where the wizard took everyone from the Calistrian temple,” Sandra said, “And from the other temples he’s hit, too. And we want to know why you attacked us tonight.”

“That’s all?” she asked, grinning up at Sandra. “Hmm…alright. My safe words can be map coordinates, then–if you think you’re hard enough for me?”

“Hadrian,” Sandra said, holding out her hand. She’d put on a leather glove just for this, to prevent skin contact with the cursed object. Hadrian carried over one of the cursed pacifier gags, passing it to her. She held it up for emphasis, just a couple inches from Kitty’s face. “If you don’t comply, I’m going to jam this in your mouth and you can say goodbye to your mind.” 

Kitty went a little cross eyed looking at the gag, but then her vision shifted back to Sandra and she made an overt effort to roll her eyes. “Stick that in my mouth, I can’t give you the information you want, can I?”

Sandra frowned and stepped back, tossing the collar off to the side. She looked around again, to her party. It really seemed like torture would be the only option, if that even worked, if they could deal enough punishment to make a hardcore masochist break. “Eh…” she started. “Guys? I don’t know if I really want to just–” 

“I’ww doi’,” Tarja said, drawing the room’s attention to her. 

“D’aww,” Kitty sneered, mocking Tarja’s lisp. “Da widdle baby is gonna have pwaytime wiff me? Gonna piddle your pants so you can be a big bully?” 

Hesitating, Tarja shook her head, focused on enunciating. “I don’t need to stand to make you hurt.” 

Kitty’s sneer faded slightly, and her eyes widened when she realized the threat wasn’t impotent. “Eh, heh.” 

“Are you sure?” Quinn asked, standing up a little straighter. “You don’t have to.”  

Sandra stepped back. “Don’t–”

“Let me do this,” Tarja said, to both of them. “If you need to step out, I understand, but this bitch took six minds today. I don’t really have any qualms about this.” 

Sandra backed up to the door. She was uncertain about the methods, but she couldn’t argue, and they needed the information. “Eh…do it.” 

Tarja nodded, shut her eyes, and focused for a moment, loosing a bit of ranger magic without so much as sitting up.

From the floorboards, small, narrow vines began to sprout. Weak at first, they wound their way up Kitty’s bare legs, through the cuffs, and up her body, tying, tightening, squeezing. 

Kitty chuckled nervously. “I’m already tied up, what’s–aaah–”

Thorns, wicked and sharp, shout out from the vines. None were long enough to cut deep, but there were dozens, hundreds, piercing Kitty’s skin and drawing out tiny droplets of blood. 

The vines kept growing, creepy, needles moving up Kitty’s bare tummy. As they grew, they twisted, slowly rotating so that the thorns were pulled through her skin, more lacerations than Sandra could count.

Kitty took a deep breath, steadying herself, a flicker of a smile playing across her mouth. For all the pain being inflicted, she still enjoyed it.

“Your leader said it best. Harder,” Kitty whimpered, flashing a smirk at Sandra.

Tarja complied. The vines clambered higher, underneath the leather bra that barely qualified as armor, and by the way the material bulged, Sandra could tell the vines were coiling around Kitty’s nipples, tightening, cutting. 

She winced sympathetically, glancing away for a moment. Kitty squeezed her hands into fists, balling them up so tight that her nails cut her own skin and blood dripped down from her palms, but her vicious smile only grew stronger.

The vines grew higher, towards Kitty’s throat, wrapping around her neck to squeeze. They pulsed, reducing circulation, stifling the supply of blood to her brain. It never lasted long enough to let her pass out, just enough to fog her brain, to send her into an unconscious panic mode she couldn’t resist. 

Tightening further, the vines applied the barest amount of pressure to her windpipe, so that even breathing caused pain. 

“Hhhc–” Kitty said, trying to look back at Tarja. “That all you–got?” 

Forcing the vines tighter, Tarja wrapped them around Kitty’s chest, limiting the summoner’s ability to suck in air. She could only take short, ragged breaths, and those were each accompanied by a staccato of pain.

Sandra had to turn around completely. She couldn’t watch the rest–she just had to wait it out.

Kitty’s words grew blurrier, less clear, but she continued to fight, to sass, to brat. Demanding more, until her words were gone completely, and she could only gasp and moan and yelp and groan. Still, she didn’t break, reveling in the pain. 

Tarja grunted, then, driving the magic harder. 

A minute passed. Two. Kitty’s pitch grew and her moans gained volume. It didn’t sound like she was being tortured, it sounded like she was being fucked, drawing incredible sexual pleasure from the violence.

Sandra wanted to step out, but she’d already shown enough weakness by looking away, she didn’t want to give Kitty the satisfaction. But, still…

“Stop,” Quinn cut in. 

The room fell silent.

“I can go harder,” Tarja said. “I can do this.”

“I believe you,” Quinn promised, “That’s not my issue. We’re going about this wrong–we’re punishing her with the carrot.” 

Kitty laughed, her voice sultry and ragged all at once. “No, no, please–I was just about finished. A little more.” 

Quinn was right. They weren’t torturing her at all, they were just giving Kitty what she wanted. 

Looking back, Sandra asked, “What do you propose?”

“Kill the vines,” Quinn said, walking up to Kitty. “Please.”

Tarja was reluctant, but complied, releasing her magic. The vines crumbled, and for just a moment, Sandra could see that they’d sprouted roots, digging into Kitty’s–

Trying not to gag, Sandra just accepted that it was over. 

“Here’s the deal,” Quinn said, kneeling in front of Kitty, so that they were at eye level. “You’re going to tell us what we want to know, and if you don’t, I’m going to make your life a hell that you, personally, can’t stand.” 

“Really?” Kitty asked, leering up at him. Even covered in a thousand wounds and bloody all over, she managed to look confident, even cocky. “How are you going to do that? Throw me in prison? Maximum security, let the guards ravage me at their will?” 

“We know plenty of churches and orders,” Quinn said. “I’ll find one of them–a sweet, nice one–and I’ll put you in their care. They’ll be able to make sure you can’t use your magic.” 

“Sure, who cares?” Kitty asked. “I’m not hearing a threat, sissy boy.” 

“They’ll take care of you,” Quinn continued, smiling genuinely when Kitty’s eyes widened. “Every day–make sure you’re eating healthy food, getting plenty of rest. Taking time to meditate and focus on yourself, in self-fulfillment. Finding satisfaction in the mundane, in simple acts of goodness. And I’m sure they’ll let you masturbate as much as you want, as long as you’re not hurting yourself…”

Kitty’s face was panicked. “No,” she said. “You–you can’t.” 

“I can,” Quinn promised. “I wonder if you’ll prefer gardening or knitting?”

“I–” Kitty started. “I–”

Sandra, finally, saw her moment to step in. “We know a good therapist who will happily take time for you, too.”

Kitty swallowed. “Fuck.”

“Or,” Quinn said, reaching out to touch her leg, squeezing hard enough that she could feel his strength. “You tell us what we want, and we’ll throw you in a dirty, awful little hole, full of prisoners that can’t wait to take advantage of a helpless, pathetic, powerless summoner. I don’t know if they’ll want to take turns or use you all at once, it’ll probably depend on the day. You’re going to be imprisoned one way or another, so you tell me–which would you rather have?” 

Kitty swallowed. “You bastard.” 

“Where did the wizard take the prisoners?” Sandra asked. “And why did you attack us?”

“You broke a promise,” Kitty grumbled. “Interfered with my master’s affairs–helping his victims. He wanted to remind you that promise-breaking has consequences. As for the locations…Master has strongholds he’s built, places to tuck away important things, important people. Your priests are stuck in a few of those. I know one is underneath Drakefire Mountain, the volcano north of here. Promise that my cell won’t have a toilet, and I’ll mark the locations of all his temples on a map.” 

Sandra exhaled sharply through her nose. Quinn’s plan had worked. “We’ll get that map. One more question,” she said. “Your collar–what does it do?” 

“It’s a compulsion,” Kitty explained. “It–how do I put this. It makes everything feel so good, and it makes me obey my master.” 

She blinked. “Wait, it’s…like, an obedience collar?” 

“You could put it that way,” Kitty continued, nodding. “My master makes me wear it, so I’ll be a good Kitty for him. And I want to be a good Kitty for him, so I always do whatever he asks me.” 

“Ah…” Sandra said, guilt suddenly gnawing at her. “So you didn’t choose to come out here, and hurt these people–”

“No, no,” Kitty said. “Not at all. I did it because the Wizard told me to, and I can’t say no to him.” 

“Fuck,” Sandra said. “We–we just tortured someone for something she couldn’t consent to.” 

The room fell silent. 

“I should have thought of that,” Hadrian said. “No shit he’d have compulsions on his servants, making them act–don’t blame yourself, Sandra.” 

Tarja shook her head. “But, she–she liked it, right? Even if she’s not responsible for the fight…”

“She was mindfucked into liking it,” Sandra said, pacing the room as guilt washed into her. “We…oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Quinn stepped in with the important question. “Kitty, do you know if someone else can remove your collar?”

“My master told me not to remove it, so I can’t,” Kitty said. “But someone else should be able to–but please don’t! Master would be really upset.” 

“Don’t worry, Kitty,” Sandra said, shaking her head. “We’ll get your head free. You’re going to be better, soon.” 

Reaching up, she unbuckled the collar. It fell free, landing in Kitty’s lap, breaking the compulsion spell. 

Instantly, Sandra felt better. She’d done something good, rescued another victim of the wizard. Everyone else seemed to relax, too, sighing in relief. 

“Sandra,” Kitty said, moving her head around, stretching out her neck. “Thank you for that–I mean it. You’re a good girl.”

There was something odd about her tone, but Sandra couldn’t identify it. And, besides, the words caught her interest more than the inflection–‘A good girl’? 

It struck her as an odd compliment, but maybe Kitty had just spent so much time around the wizard that her word choice was warped. Besides, it was a nice thing to say about someone. 

“I’m sorry for being a bully,” Tarja said. “That was mean, I don’t like being mean.” 

“It’s okay,” Kitty said. “Could someone untie me, please?” 

That seemed fair–she wasn’t much of a threat anymore, and she was nice. Crouching, Sandra inspected the knots and cuffs. She knew how to untie these–rabbit goes around the hole, into the weeds, then out…right? 

“Gimme a second,” she said, frowning over the knots. 

“Take your time,” Kitty said. 

Behind her, Hadrian said, “We’re gonna…beat up that wizard for this.” 

“Yeah, he’s a jerk,” Sandra agreed. The knots perplexed her. She’d been the one to tie them, but they looked so complicated. Sweating, she pulled at one of the threads. “Erm…this is tricky.”

Tarja got to her feet, waltzing over to help Sandra, crouching to help. “Huh…you tied this?” 

“I know,” Sandra said. “It’s…funny.” 

“Hey,” Kitty said. “It’s okay, I can get it.”

“Oh,” Sandra said, nodding agreeably, sitting down and scooting back to give Kitty room to work. “Okay. Sure!” 

Sitting down, she scooted back a little and watched Kitty wriggle her hands, fidget a few times, and finally drop the cuffs from her wrists. From there, she worked her way up to the ropes, maneuvering her body one joint at a time until she got free of the bindings on her arms. 

“This would have been way harder if I had to do it while you weren’t looking,” Kitty explained. “Thanks for that.”

Sandra tilted her head. “How come you couldn’t?”

“Well, you would have stopped me,” Kitty explained. “But now we’re friends, so it’s okay!” 

“Oooh, okay!” Sandra said, happy to hear that they were still friends after she’d been such a meanie. 

“Uh…” Quinn said, looking down. Sandra could practically hear the blush in his voice, and she giggled when she looked up at him–he’d peed his pants! 

“Hah!” Sandra announced. “Quinn went potty!” 

“So did you,” Tarja pointed out, snickering. “Potty pants.” 

Sandra glanced at her, then, finally, noticed that Tarja wasn’t shaking at all. “Hey, you too!” 

“You can all be potty pants,” Kitty said, shaking herself off and getting to her feet. “It was nice talking, kids, but I’ve got places to be. Have fun, you should come to your senses…oh, eventually.” 

“Huh?” Hadrian said, raising his hand, his tone a little whiny and high. “Hold on, you’re not supposed to be going no place–Sandra, she’s not! Tell her she’s not!” 

“Hey, yeah,” Sandra said, looking up at Kitty. “Where’re you going?” 

“I have grown up business to take care of,” Kitty explained. “I may have mislad you a bit, earlier–I do what my master says because I want to, the collar is just something I asked for because it’s so much fun to not have a choice. And the insurance policy we worked in? That’s extra helpful when I’m in a room full of dupes.” 

Sandra blinked, and then her eyes went wide as she understood, sort of, what’d been said. “H-hey! You fibbed!” 

Hadrian tried to conjure magic, and managed to throw up a magical barrier over the door, though he looked puzzled as he cast the ward. “Nuh… not going noplace. Stay here!” 

“Mhmm,” Kitty said, crouching and waving her hand over the pacifier gag on the floor. “I know, I’m an awful fibber, but I really can’t stay.” 

Floating up into the air, the pacifier turned, identifying its prey–Hadrian. Diving at his face, he only had time to yelp before the bulb jammed itself in his mouth. His eyes rolled back, and he sunk to the floor, suckling mindlessly.

The ward over the door vanished, and Kitty crouched down, smirking at Sandra. “Your friend’s gonna be all hazy, but I bet he’d like if he got a makeover, so he could look pretty when he wakes up!” 

That…seemed wrong, but Sandra couldn’t spot an issue with the logic. Hadrian did already have heels and his pretty, shiny outfit–why wouldn’t he like a makeover? 

“Okies,” Sandra said, nodding happily. “Thanks, Kitty!” 

“Thanks, Kitty!” Tarja repeated. 

“No fair,” Quinn pouted, no longer trying to hide his accident. “I want one too!” 

“You can all play,” Kitty suggested, waltzing out the door. “Just remember this, next time you think you’re good enough to try and beat the wizard–even when you win, you really just lose.” 

Sandra remembered the words, but she didn’t really know what they meant.

That was okay.

She had her friends to play with. 

...

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