Kinkyberen - Kinkyberen

Padded Little Paradise

On Your Knees

Image Credit: PennyBarber.com “That’s right, on your knees, little sissy girl. That’s where you belong when you’re here with us, after all.

Another one fresh from the archive and released on Wordpress. Enjoy, ya little sissies! ;-)

She couldn't believe it. Her dream has come true.

Since Abby was a little girl, she liked to be in diapers. But unfortunatly, everyone has to grow up and potty train. But now it was diferent.

Of course Abby was a diaper girl and a member of the ABDL community, but she never had the courage to become really incontinent and never could really have a 24/7 diaper period longer than 2 months. But recently, the gouvernment wanted to make a new law, where some criminales would become incontinent by surgery, and they were searching voluntiers for the first tests. And thats when Abby saw her oportunity. She aplied for thats reaserch, where she would be compensated so she never had to worry about money.

And now, after the surgery. She was finally happy. Incontinent and happy

How it all started...

It’s crazy actually sitting down and thinking about this. I’m in a place I never thought I’d be, with someone I’d never thought I’d be with, and in a community I never thought I’d be a part of.

I was a vanilla all my life, up until recently. Never used any type of toys during sex. Never had an orgasm. Never came. When it came to sex, my partner(s) never really tried, and only looked to fulfill their own release. Looking back, honestly it seems pretty pathetic and sad. I never really had someone who fulfilled what I needed not only physically, but emotionally as well.

I had a few relationships, but none of them resulted in anything positive. All were extremely toxic. I was cheated on, controlled, manipulated. My views on love were completely morphed into something I never pictured it to be. It became ugly. And i told myself that ifTHIS truly was what love was, I wanted nothing to do with it.

After feeling my lowest, I managed to escape the clutches of those emotionally abusive relationships; Those toxic relations that did nothing but drag me down and make me feel all types of emotions that true love should not involve. I knew I had to leave, and that I deserved better. I deserved more than that. And thankfully…my little came into the picture just when I was about to give up.

I didn’t know he was into this type of community when I met him. In fact, I had no idea. Not a single clue.

We were friends for a long time before any of this had happened. We always made an effort to come to each other’s aid when we were at our lowest, and we needed it most…and I truly believe that that’s how we found each other.

I trusted him with all of my worries, my fears, and relationship secrets. He did the same with me. That wasn’t really something I was very open about to begin with.

I realized that the more I talked to him and told him, the more I saw how patient, understanding, and caring he was. He spoke with such conviction and his heart showed through his actions. I started to fall for him pretty hard and fast. One day, we admitted we started having feelings for one another. And that is where this whole induction started.

It all started with Halloween, and talking about our ideas about what we wanted to be.

“I’m going to be Jimmy Fallon for Halloween.” “OMG you should go as Sara. You would look so good lmfao.” “Psssh, I’m the type of person that can buy a pack of depends for a baby costume and rock the FUCK out of them.”

I didn’t think he meant anything by that. We laughed and we talked. We became closer and closer by the minute. He began to disclose a lot of secrets. Really personal, raw emotions. And I think that made me fall for him even more. He let himself become completely vulnerable to me. And that’s when he said it…

“I’m an ABDL.”

Someone I knew, or at least I thought I knew had a secret life; A fetish that a lot of people do not understand and discriminate against BECAUSE they don’t understand.

I thought that this would cause me to be up in arms, but it didn’t. I looked at him while he was pouring his heart out to me, and saw the truth and longing in his eyes to be loved and cared for. I felt the most alive I’ve felt in months…I felt like we could help each other.

…and I was right.

The next few days after that, all I could think about was our conversation. I looked up videos. I looked up punishments. I watched documentaries on the psychological reasons one may have this fetish. I actually (as pathetic as it sounds) started a notebook with all important information that would come in handy later (I.E., type of diapers that crinkle the loudest, toys that could be used for punishments, etc). I did everything in my power to understand and accept something so mysterious, and foreign to me. But that is what made me so intrigued.

It was exactly that; foreign. A lot of things would change once I accepted the role of becoming his mommy…and would challenge me as a vanilla, hardly knowing anything about any of this due to lack of experience.

Could I handle it? Would i be good enough? Would I fit into this community?

I remember after talking about it for a little, there was one rainy day where he came over and I was laying on my bed. He opened the door to my room and walked over just to lay right on top of me. I began running my fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead while he snuggled into me. When I reached down to rub his lower to upper back, I remember hearing it for the first time. *crinkle*. It was music to my ears for so many reasons. I looked at him and without hesitation, I instantly smiled and kissed him as hard as I possibly could.

There are so many people who do not understand and judge in today’s world. People criticize others for not fully grasping or understanding differences. There is such a risk in being open and raw and real.

Looking at my little gives me such a huge amount of joy, and makes my heart so full. I see him in his most vulnerable state. I get to hold him in my arms while his eyes get heavy and he can barely stay awake. I get to kiss him and tickle him, and shower him with all of the love I had to offer but held back for so long.

It is so refreshing to have something as real as this. So intense in so many fucking aspects. He aims to please me, he aims for my approval, and he aims to make me happy. He takes the time to make sure I get mine, and we constantly test each other’s limits. It makes everything so extremely passionate, and aggressive, and intense. I have never had this type of love or loved someone the way I do my little.

I am so (beyond) happy that he told me and opened up to me about this…something that he said can easily scare a person off or freak someone out. This didn’t do either for me. If anything, this brought us so much closer. It’s real. It’s something very, very fucking real. And I’m happy I get to share something so intimate with someone so special to me.

I never thought I’d play this role…ever.

But there is something about the innocence in this that amazes me. The way he looks when he has his paci in his mouth and his onesie on. The way he looks when I give him a bubble bath, and how he happily splashes in the bath tub. The way he shakes his cute little butt when I put on a fresh diaper with baby powder.

There is something about standing over him while he shakes from my teasing him, something about the way I make him moan, and something about the way he whimpers and whispers that he wants to fuck me that I will never get tired of. I love this feeling of being control.

I absolutely adore being a mommy…but mostly, I adore being his.

xx

Mummy's Girl - Part 1

Kimmy might be a twenty-two year-old-woman, but her potty skills have never been up to the level of her peers. Living firmly under the thumb of her controlling, condescending mother, she desperately wants to live an ordinary life of a girl her age, to make friends and go on dates and, above all, to say goodbye to dirty diapers for good. Unfortunately, her Mama has other ideas...

***

Kimmy hurried up to the front door as quickly and quietly as she could, praying her mother was preoccupied with something and wouldn’t notice her sneaking into the house so late – it was almost eight thirty in the evening, which meant it was past her bedtime. She tottered a little unsteadily up the drive, thanks in part to the half a dozen or so shots of vodka she’d had with her college friends at the bar after lectures. But there was another thing making her walk a little strangely; a thick pair of oversized Huggies pull-ups were pushing her thighs apart, and one of her hands was pressed urgently against her crotch as she fought desperately not to wet herself.

If it wasn’t for her babyish training pants and the childish clothes she was dressed in (a pale pink frock that could just barely pass for something a grown woman might wear), Kimmy would have looked the part of the archetypal blonde bombshell. As it was, her long golden hair looked more cute than sexy in braided pigtails, and her generous chest was hidden, crammed inside her tight blouse. Her bright blue eyes, plump lips, and perfect complexion were model-like, but at present her features were scrunched up with the effort of holding her aching bladder.

Nevertheless, there was no doubt that Kimmy was a beautiful, fully-grown woman. Although the toddler’s pull-ups she wore instead of adult underwear didn’t make her feel that way, she was actually two or three years older than most of her peers at university. It was her mother’s doing, of course. Mrs Jones had decided on three separate occasions that her daughter ‘simply wasn’t mature enough’ to move on to the next school year, and had insisted she be held back – once in kindergarten, then twice over the course of primary school, making her much older than her classmates. But she’d been the only one still toddling off to the nurse’s office at breaktime for diaper changes. At least she’d kicked her pants-pooping habit by the time she’d moved on to secondary school, even if she did still have to contend with wet training pants on a regular basis.

Now, though, the age difference wasn’t nearly as important as it had been, and even her pee-pee issues had almost completely dried up. At long last, Kimmy was free in a way she’d never been before, free from the humiliation of being a grown woman who still went to the bathroom in her own pants. She only wished she could be free from her mother’s constant coddling as well. She’d been worried her mum wouldn’t allow her to go to college at all, but with enough badgering, she’d eventually relented – on the condition that Kimmy choose a local university, and live at home rather than at a dorm. Unfortunately, that meant dealing with the same rules she’d had since the age of six.

“What time do you call this, Kimmy?!” her mother thundered the moment Kimmy entered the house. “It’s past your bedtime, little girl! Where have you been?!”

Kimmy let out a whimper and felt the familiar sensation of her bladder letting go in her pants. Warm pee flooded into her pull-ups at once, accompanied by a faint hissing sound. It had been a feeble hope, but there was a small chance she could have slipped in without her mother noticing if she’d been taking a bath or something. But she ought to have known better; her mum had never once failed to catch her breaking a rule in all her life.

Apart from being a little plumper, Mrs Jones looked exactly like an aged-up version of her daughter; the same golden blonde hair, only tied up in a tight knot behind her head rather than arranged in childish pigtails, the same large breasts, though in her case her assets were proudly on display in a tastefully tempting, low-cut top, and the same crystal blue eyes and full lips, perhaps a little less pouty than her daughter’s, but painted a deep, sensuous red. The most dramatic difference between them were their expressions, however. While Kimmy looked shy and sweet, her mother gave off an impression of severity and self-confidence.

“I was just out with my friends, Mama…” Kimmy said meekly, pulling a face at the icky feeling of the heavy, pee-soaked pull-ups squishing against her skin.

Her mother sniffed the air suspiciously and her eyes flashed. “Have you been drinking, young lady?!”

“I’m twenty-two, Mama!” Kimmy whined petulantly, looking down at her feet. “I’m allowed to drink!”

“As long as you’re under my roof, that decision is up to me, Kimmy! You know your bladder can’t cope when you…” She paused, sniffing the air again. “Oh, Kimmy…” she said in a disappointed, threatening tone. “You didn’t…”

Kimmy’s bottom lip trembled and tears welled up in her eyes as her mother reached out and lifted up the hem of her frock, exposing the faded wetness indicators on the front of her sagging pull-ups.

“Soaked!” her mother announced, as she inspected the discoloured training pants between her daughter’s legs. “This is exactly why you shouldn’t be drinking, Kimmy! I told you this would happen! Mama is very cross with you, little lady! I’ve been trying my hardest to finally get you potty trained, and you insist on going out of your way to make it as difficult as possible! Maybe you’re not mature enough for college after all…”

“No!” Kimmy squealed, eyes widening in fear. “Please, Mama! It was just an accident!”

“Two-year-olds have accidents, Kimmy, not twenty-two-year-olds. Perhaps daycare will suit you better than university…”

“I’ll be good!” Kimmy said desperately. Tears were spilling down her cheeks. “Please, Mama! Don’t make me drop out! I can be a big girl, I promise! I even have a date tomorrow with a guy from my class!”

Her mother said nothing for a few seconds. Then she sighed. “Alright, Kimmy. But you still need to be disciplined. Are you going to be a good girl and accept your punishment?”

“Yes, Mama!” Kimmy said at once, even though her stomach was twisting uncomfortably at the thought of what her mother likely had in mind.

“Then come me with, baby.” She took her daughter’s hand and led her to her bedroom. Kimmy’s heart sank as she watched her approach the closet, open the doors, and bend down to reach what Kimmy knew was sitting at the bottom. A moment later she straightened up, holding in her hand one of the enormous, custom-ordered Pampers that she used for her go-to punishment – diaper discipline.

“Mama, please…” Kimmy whispered, her bright eyes fixed on the huge nappy.

“Three days in diapers, Kimmy,” her mother said briskly, walking over to the large changing table that still sat in the middle of the bedroom and patting the surface. “Hop up. You know the drill.”

Her feet felt like they were made of lead, but Kimmy dragged them over to the table obediently and hoisted herself up.

“Good girl,” her mother said, quickly getting to work stripping off her clothes. “You just lie still and Mama will have that naughty bottom back in nappies in no time!”

Kimmy covered her face with her hands so she wouldn’t be able to see as her mother ripped off her pissy pull-ups and slid the bulky diaper under her bottom in their place. But she could feel the cool tickle of the baby wipe as the pee was cleaned off her skin, and there was no blocking out her mother’s voice. “There you go, Kimmy,” she said, pulling thick padding up between her legs and taping it into place. “Now you can wet yourself as much as you want, just like a baby. Do you remember the rules?”

“No toilets,” said Kimmy quietly. “No asking for a change. No touching my diaper.”

“Good girl.”

Kimmy took her hands away from her face and swung herself down from the table. Her gait was spread wide; as always, the Pampers felt absurdly thick between her legs – big enough to hold a full day’s worth of a grown woman’s pee.

“Mama,” Kimmy said hesitantly, “maybe I could just use them for number one, and then when I need to-”

“You’ll poop in them too, Kimmy,” her mother said firmly. “A full nappy will help you appreciate how immature you acted.”

Kimmy screwed up her face and tried not to cry. Wetting herself was one thing, but dirtying her diaper always transported her back to those awful days of her childhood when she still had poopy accidents. She wanted more than anything to leave that phase of her life behind forever. “Yes, Mama…” she mumbled.

“Now, brush teeth and straight to bed young lady!” her mother ordered, delivering a firm smack to her bottom to send her on her way. “No dawdling, or you’ll have a red bottom under your nappy by the time I tuck you in!”

***

The full story can be found on Patreon for those who want to read more.

My dream

Stacy had gotten in over her head.

She was a busy junior executive at FTSE 100 company. When she was able to book annual leave she explored increasingly extreme ventures in surrendering control as a means of recuperating from her stressful working environment.

Recently she had been reading about age regression as after coming across the term on a blog about relaxation techniques. It was a little weird but it seemed harmless. She was willing to give it a go.

Stacy contacted a professional nursery and booked herself in for a week of, what she described to her colleagues with a knowing smile, ‘pampering and relaxation

After arriving at the nursery Stacy was greater by a matronly older lady who introduced herself simply as ‘Nanny’ and ushered Stacy through to a cosy kitchen to share a pot of tea.

As they sipped from steamy, very sweet tea, they discussed what Nanny services nanny could offer and what limits Stacy wanted to set. Very soon Stacy found it difficult to follow the conversation and her eyes were drooping.

“What’s in this…” She slurred before slumping in her chair.

***

When Stacy stirred again she found herself in very unusual circumstances. She had been entirely redressed in a cutie short dress like a doll. Crinkling beneath the skirt and a very soft cushioning padding between her legs were symptomatic of a thick nappy and plastic pants.

“Ermpof” Stacy squealed and was surprised to find her tongue seemed to roll around her mouth without coordination. She tried sit up from where it was apparent she’d been laid down for a nap on a fleecy play mat. Stacy found her movements were sluggish and her muscles felt very heavy.

Gradually she managed to literally pull herself to her feet using the bars of an oversized crib as support. Stacy was shocked as she suddenly felt herself tinkling into her nappy, unable to slow the steady steam warming and wetting the soft cotton of her nappy.

'Nanny’ arrived just as the stream seemed to subside, Stacy blushing heavily.

“Aw is Baby Stacy trying to walk all by herself? Don’t worry if you can’t do it without Nanny holding your hand sweetie, you did say you wanted to give up complete control.”

Nanny came closure and cupped a palm against Stacy’s nappied crotch before slipping a finger inside the leg band of the crinkly plastic pants.

“Oh, I see you’ve already lost control of your bladder. Good girl. You’ll probably loose bowel control next so i’ll wait till you’ve made a stinky then change you.”

Advanced Dungeons & Diapers: Chapter 1

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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Poor Bella squirmed, she knew full well what the contraption she was strapped into was for. Her work colleague had found out Bella's secret submissive desires when they both ended up at a fetish night the week before. Bella couldn't believe it when Janice, the disgusting old lecherous woman in her HR department had walked in, dressed in PVC and leading a girl in her 20s on a leash, grinning hungrily when she spotted Bella across the room in lingerie looking like a deer in headlights. Bella had begged the woman not to tell anyone she was here, exploring her secret submissive desires, and the older woman had agreed - on one condition. Bella was to become her toy the following weekend.

One week later, Bella found herself at the HR manager's house, dressed up like a cheap whore.

"Now now, sit still Bella, or else I'll be telling everyone else in the office what a dirty little submissive freak you are." Bella whimpered at Janice's words, as the large woman scooted up onto the stool, and hiked her skirt up, allowing the fabric to fall over Bella's head.

Bella felt wet thighs wrap around her as she was pulled in until her nose pressed against Janice's sex, thick matted curls of pubes tickled Bella's nose and her face was immediately drenched in a mix of pussy juice and sweat from the dominating woman.

"Eat me you little slut" Janice ordered, reveling in her control. She pulled out her phone and began recording, lifting her skirt for a moment to get a nice face shot of Bella sucking on her clit, mascara smeared on her cheeks as she obeyed.

Yes Bella had only agreed to this weekend, but soon enough the poor girl would be signing a contract keeping her wrapped around Janice's finger for the rest of her career.

Janice nearly came at the thought, but pushed the girl's face away just in time to hold off. She wanted to savour this submissive little tart's downfall for a little longer first.