New Pinned Post!

How many stories have you completed?

I had to go back and count. "Completed" being the operative word. I am terrible at finishing or adding chapters to longer stories. I tend to either lose steam or not know where to take the story. But I compiled almost everything I've written that's over 3k words. I tried to post links to the ones that have previews/full-releases on free sites. All of them can be found on Patreon:

The Boss' Baby

Besties - Part 1 , Part 2

Big Daddy

Date Night

Diaper Cuck - Excerpt 1 , Excerpt 2

DREAMS Daycare

Egg Hunt

Feels Like The First Time

Here Comes the Airpwane

Maw

Meet The Parents - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Monitored

Practice Makes Perfect

Princess Pampers

Prudish

Reflections

Rent-A-Bull

Road Trip

Season's Greetings

Severance

Stuffed

Tales From a Mommy Blog

The Baby Shower

The Box

The Check-Up

The Satin Sock

The Wet Nurse

Tinder Love and Care

Under His Thumb

Weekend Services

You Should Smile More

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Ongoing/Abandoned Projects

ABCDegree

Go Ask Alex

Hoetel Bimbo

Joy Ride

New World Order

Sissy School - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Sorority Boys - Chapter 1, Chapter 2

The Hunt

The White Rabbit

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This obviously doesn't include the mini-stories and captions I've written, but I'm not about to go back and count all of those, lol.

I'm going to pin this post if that's okay. I've been meaning to catalogue this for a long time, so thanks for this question to finally make me get off my lazy ass and do it. I will try to update as more gets released.

If you'd like to find my on other sites, here's All My Links

Stupid Baby Story Club: Locker Room Trash

Hello, hello. I've recently started a new story series on my Patreon called Stupid Baby Story Club. It's about a young woman named Sasha and her recent admission into a secret club of college students who tell each other stories about diapers, ageplay, and humiliation. Each chapter of the story is split between the life of Sasha, and then a smaller story-within-a-story, as told by one of the members of the Story Club. Today, I thought I'd share one of those stories-within-stories with you.

This particular story is being presented by one of the club's members, Chuck. He's on the university football team - which is why he's especially paranoid about anyone else finding about his kinks. Here, he shares the tale of the one time these two separate worlds collided.

And if you want to read more of this series, c'mon down to my Patreon. Part 3 of this series just posted today! A membership in Tier 2, for only $6 a month, will get you access to the current chapters, as well as a boatload of other stories exclusive to my Patreon.

Locker Room Trash

I don’t know–have any of you ever spent time in a locker room before? And I’m not talking about high school gym class either. I’m talking about the locker room of a team. It can be a crazy place. Everyone just feeds off of everyone else. 

Like, before a game. We’re all excited, individually. We want to win. We want to show off everything we’ve been practicing. We want our family and friends and school to be proud of us. We want to defeat the opposing team so badly. And each of us just amplifies the emotions in everyone else. Crazy things start happening when you get twenty-something guys pumping each other up. Songs break out. There’s cheering. Chanting. Sometimes things get broken.

And the inverse is just as possible. If we’ve had a particularly grueling practice or, god-forbid, we lose a game–the locker room is like a funeral. Everyone’s bitter and dejected. Everyone wants to blame everyone else. Again, some crazy things can happen when you get twenty-something guys acting miserable around each other. I’ve seen fist-fights erupt over some guy’s water bottle falling off a bench.

I was new to the team two years ago, but I wasn’t new to football locker rooms. I knew what to expect.

Sure, there was a little bit of hazing. Nothing too bad. People get whipped with towels in the shower. Your face gets drawn on if you fall asleep on the bus to a game at another university. Whatever. Just brush it off.

There’s a few ways to make the experience easier. For one, you can just prove yourself out on the field. Make a few good plays–score a few points if you can–and suddenly the team stops giving you as much shit. 

But also? It helps to just not be a baby about it. The guys who get picked on the most? The ones who let everyone know how much it bothers them. The ones who try to run away and hide. The ones who try to say something to the coaches. The ones who plead for people to leave them alone.

We had a guy like that on the team last year. Andy Dimpton. He was a wide receiver from some high school in, like, Rhode Island? Fast as hell, and I had never seen the guy drop a ball–we were lucky to have him on the team. Of course, he was also built like a scarecrow and the wind could blow him over. The most timid guy I’d ever met, too. 

As you can imagine, he quickly found himself in the role as the team’s favorite punching bag. Some of the guys on the team–the ones who had been around the longest–they were merciless with him. They’d break into his locker and hide his clothes on him. They’d pull his towel off from around his waist whenever he came out of the shower. They started calling him Big Baby because he perpetually looked like he was about to start bawling at any moment.

And me? Well, you know, it was my first year too, and I wanted to fit in. I didn’t want to be another Andy Dimpton. So, you know, I…played along. Did a little teasing when I could.

I fucked up one day. Pretty badly, too.

So, I like…diapers. I mean, that shouldn’t come as a shock, considering that we’re all here right now, right? Some people say that they don’t know how they got into their kinks–they just stumbled into it and it just fit, right? But not me. I know where the diaper thing came from.

I used to wet the bed when I was a kid. My mother did her best to have patience with me when I was younger, but the older I got, the more pissed off it made her. By the time I was 12, if I wet the bed, she’d immediately empty my underwear drawer and get me a pack of those Goodnights training pants. Then, I’d have to wear those–and only those–until I could keep them dry overnight for a week. This went on for a few years…longer than it should’ve, probably. The most goddamn humiliating years of my life too. Can you even imagine being 13 and going to school in a pull-up because your Mom hid all your underpants?

Later in my teens, it stopped being as much of an issue. I was doing my own laundry, and I think Ma realized she couldn’t keep me in diapers while I was in high school. We never talked about it. She never asked if I was still having issues, and she never apologized for how she used to treat the situation. It was just…out of sight, out of mind.

But…diapers. They were the naughtiest, most shameful, thing in the world. Exactly the kind of thing that a sexually-awakening teen needed to jump start some fucked-up kink. 

Anyway, I’m in college. I’ve graduated from pull-ups to, like, the real deal. The big diapers. I know you know the ones. 

I kept a stash in my dorm room. Still do, too. I don’t get a chance to wear them all that often, though. Between football practice, games, and…well, having a social life, there’s really never a time when I’m by myself to piss in a diaper and masturbate.

Maybe you know the feeling–that one where you’ve been away from your kinks and private time for so long that they slowly become the only thing you can think about? Weeks had gone by without me touching my stash, and I had diapers on the fucking brain. All I wanted was just enough time to crawl around in one and, uh, you know…use it. 

The more desperate I got, the more chances I was willing to take. Normally, I’d never wear a diaper out in public. The absolute last thing I needed was to have the top of a diaper peaking out over the top of my pants. University Athlete Charles Stone Wears Diapers–I could just imagine that being the headline on the campus newspaper. But I needed to wear a diaper.

So one afternoon I took a chance. I put on a big thick diaper, pulled up my pants, and went to class. And for a while, it was good. I had wet myself once or twice and I had a little bit of a waddle as I walked around. I was extremely self-conscious of it, but the thrill of strolling around in my wet diaper was worth it.

But then I met up with some guys from the team. They were going to head over to the field and run some drills and they wanted me to join them. I tried to get out of it, saying I had other places to go or be, but… These guys, you can’t really say ‘no.’ Remember, it was my first year on the team and I didn’t want to be Andy Dimpton. So I went over to the field with them.

All my gear was in the locker room, so it wasn’t like I had to go back to the dorm room. As terrified as I was of getting caught, I thought I had a pretty good plan: Once we got to the locker rooms, I’d duck into the adjoining bathroom, take off the diaper, and toss it in the trash before getting changed in the locker room. 

And that worked. Flawlessly. Soon, I was on the field with the guys, and nobody had any idea that just a few minutes before, I had been a pissy little bitch.

I honestly had forgotten about the diaper. After a few hours of running around, it was the furthest thing from my mind. The diaper was gone, and I knew that I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Of course, things didn’t exactly go to plan. Kyle Wallace–this massive bear of a guy, and a senior–he was all hyped up after running all those drills. And, of course, you get one guy riled up and suddenly the whole locker room gets riled up. Everyone’s just being especially rowdy. People are playfully throwing things at each other. Calling each other names. Lots of laughter. 

Andy Dimpton is there too, and he heads off to take a shower. And Kyle’s got this shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Watch this,” he says to the rest of us. 

We watch. He goes to the bathroom and returns a minute later with the trash can. The whole fucking trash can.

And we can all guess what he’s going to do. He’s probably going to dump the trash on Andy while the guy is in the shower. Even if I didn’t know what was in the trash can, I’d have probably thought it was a bad idea. It felt like a step over the line between hazing and just being a complete fucking dickhead. 

But, also, I know what’s in that trash can.

Now, I can’t just tell him to stop. I mean–I should. I know I should. And in the thousands of times I’ve replayed this moment in my head since, I truly wished that I had said something instead. But at that moment, I didn’t want to be that guy. I didn’t want to be another Andy Dimpton.

So I said nothing, and let it play out.

It went about exactly as you’d have expected it to. Kyle went into the showers and tried to dump the trash on Andy. It wasn’t all that successful, honestly, the trash just kind of fell on the floor around Andy instead of on him. But there, among the wads of paper towels and energy bar wrappers, was a giant balled-up diaper.

I thought to myself: It’s just garbage. Nobody cares what’s in the garbage. They’re not going to look at it. Study it. Analyze it. Because who would do that, right?

But Kyle sees it, and for reasons that I still can’t quite figure out, he goes in for a closer look.

I’ll never forget his words, hearing them echo off the tiled walls of the shower as we watched from the locker room: “There’s a fucking diaper in here.”

Everyone rushes to see it. I don’t know why people need to see this diaper so badly–maybe it’s just the absurdity of it. Maybe it was just the way Kyle had said it. He could’ve said “There’s a fucking banana in here” and we’d all have come running, just because of how surprised he sounded.

There it is–my bloated diaper, isolated on the floor of the shower, kicked away from the rest of the trash.

Everyone is laughing. It’s obvious that this isn’t a baby’s diaper. There are no babies on campus, and this thing is huge. There’s only one question everyone has now: Who wears diapers?

Everybody huddled in that shower is looking at each other suspiciously. Me too–I’m glancing at everyone wildly, as if I was just as confused about where that diaper came from.

“Is it yours?” Kyle asks Andy. He picks it up–he literally picks up the dirty diaper in his hand and holds it near Andy’s face as he asks. “Do you piss yourself like a little baby?”

“Fuck you,” Andy says. “I don’t wear diapers.”

“Are you sure?” taunts Kyle. “Is that why you don’t like to hang with anyone? Because you’re afraid that we’re going to smell your dirty pampers?”

But, for once, Andy isn’t backing down: “How do we know it’s not your diaper? Maybe that’s the reason you’re always a dick–you need to get your diaper changed!”

It’s a pretty good comeback, and it summons an epic “Oooooooooh!” from the other guys.

It escalates into a fight. Very quickly, it’s not even about the diaper anymore–it’s about a guy who is sick of being picked on and a guy who isn’t about to back down while thinking he’s the alpha. 

There’s not much to say about the fight. You see one locker room fight and you’ve seen them all. They barely even touch each other–there’s a horde of sweaty guys between them, trying to keep the peace. 

The aftermath is pretty ugly, though. When the coaches demand explanations, Kyle’s seniority has most of the guys taking his side, insisting that it was actually Andy who had instigated the fight. Andy ended up getting a thorough tongue-lashing before being made to do a deep clean of the shower. 

I felt for him. I felt guilty. Even if I wasn’t the one who had gotten in his face, it was my diaper that threw the locker room into chaos. Still, I wasn’t about to say anything to anyone–including Andy. I just hoped that, in time, we’d all forget about it and move on.

But nobody forgot about it. People started calling Andy ‘Baby.’ They’d tape baby diapers to his locker. They’d steal his water bottle from the sidelines and replace it with a baby bottle. 

Heaven forbid the guy made a mistake on the field–as it would cause the rest of the team to mock him with questions about whether or not he needed his diaper changed before the next play. 

I could tell that he wanted to let it roll off his shoulders, but it was wearing him down. 

One night, as I sat all alone in my dorm room in a diaper…

One night, as I sat alone in my dorm room in a diaper, I realized what I had to do. I had to come clean to Andy about where the diaper had come from. I needed to let him know that it was my fault.

I had no idea what was going to happen after that. It wasn’t going to fix the problem with everyone else making fun of him–and I certainly wasn’t going to tell the truth to the rest of the team. But maybe Andy and I would have a good conversation about it and we could figure something out together.

In hindsight, it wasn’t a good plan. It was barely a plan. But I was so overcome with guilt that I felt like I had to do something.

One night, after practice, I asked if he wanted to grab some food with me. He agreed, and honestly, I think he was pretty thankful that anyone was giving him the time of day without teasing. We went out and grabbed some fast food burgers and went back to my dorm room. My roommate, at the time, was out off campus and it seemed like a good place to have a private conversation.

Things were actually going well. We were hitting it off, and I think we were both in need of some friendship. The more we talked, the more we seemed to have in common. We could’ve actually been friends. If it wasn’t for the fact that he brought it up himself, I had been thinking I’d skip the entire diaper conversation.

“So, hey,” he says. “What’s up with the whole baby thing? Why can’t anyone just let it go?”

“You know how the guys are,” I say. “They get something in their head and… Well, it’s like a fucking hive-mind. Nobody thinks for themselves and they just go with whatever someone like Kyle says.”

“I just…I’d love to know where that fucking diaper came from,” Andy says. “Because it doesn’t seem fair that it’s my problem now.”

I took a deep breath, not sure if I was actually going to go through with this conversation or not. 

“Andy, I, uhm, need to tell you something.” The words just sort of popped out of my mouth before I was even ready.

“Oh, okay.” He looked a little worried. I guess, if I was in his shoes, I wouldn’t know what to think either. 

“I, uh, know where the diaper came from.”

“What? You do? Where?”

“I… Well. It was my diaper.”

“Wait, what? Did you try to set me up with the diaper?”

“N-no,” I say. “I didn’t know Kyle was going to throw a trash can at you. I mean that I…”

“Oh,” he says, the truth suddenly clicking. “It was your diaper. You wear diapers and you had just…thrown that one away.”

I nodded. I had no idea what else to say. 

We sat there in complete silence for a minute or two, though it felt like an hour. I kept hoping he’d say something, but he just stared off into space.

Finally, he did speak: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Huh?”

“When Kyle got in my face in the shower? Or when Coach was talking to everyone after. Or…in all the days since while people have been harassing me and calling me a baby. You knew that it wasn’t my diaper and you never said anything.”

“I mean…it’s not like I could tell everyone it was my diaper.”

“But you didn’t have to,” he says. “All you had to do was have my back. All you had to do was stand up for me. Fuck. I mean, now that I think about it, even if it wasn’t your diaper, it’d have been cool if you were on my side.”

He was right. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Why the hell were you wearing a diaper anyway?”

It’s another one of those moments that I’ve come back to countless times since, trying to think if there was a better way to have handled it. But as I sat there in my dorm room with him, I felt like I owed him the truth. I thought, maybe, if he knew the real reasons why I wore the diaper…he’d forgive me.

I told him the truth: “I sometimes like to wear diapers.”

The look on his face was simultaneously of surprise and disgust. Of all the reasons that he might have guessed, me liking diapers was clearly not one of them.

“You like diapers?”

I immediately knew I had said the wrong thing. I couldn’t have told him it was for a medical reason? I wanted to go back and try again, but the cat was already out of the bag.

“You’re, like, one of those guys who get off on acting like a giant baby?” he asks.

The question feels like a punch to the gut, it’s so full of judgment. And he’s right, but not completely right. I’ve never been an ‘adult baby.’ My kinks tend to start and end with just diapers. But I wasn’t going to try and explain that to him.

I decided to try taking the conversation in a different direction. “Maybe you and I can talk to Coach about this. Like, we don’t have to tell him the entire truth…but we can team up and see what we can do about the harassment you’re getting from the other guys.”

He shakes his head, still stuck on an earlier part of the conversation. “You like wearing diapers?”

“Yeah…”

“Are you wearing one now? Is that why you brought me up here? To, like, show me your diaper or something?”

“N-no way, man. I just wanted to talk. I just wanted to–”

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me your diapers.”

“I’m not wearing them right now.”

“Wherever your diapers are, take them out and show them to me.”

Of all the possible outcomes, this was the one I had expected the least–Andy revealing himself as just as much of an alpha as any of the other guys in the locker room.

Look, I’ve been playing sports all my life. I’ve been on all sorts of teams and I’ve been around a ton of guys. I’ve managed to never be the guy getting picked on–so I thought that made me one of them. One of the alphas. But the truth, as I learned in that moment, was that I wasn’t one of them. I had just been lucky. Lucky that there was always some guy on the team who was a bigger target. 

And now, in a room with just me and Andy, I was the biggest target.

I went and fetched my diapers from the box I kept under my bed. I didn’t keep many on hand–just two or three. But that was more than enough.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he spit. “I’m the guy getting baby bottles thrown at me, and being asked if I shit myself, and yet you’re the one who has actual adult diapers under their bed?”

I didn’t dare answer that question.

“Put one on,” he says.

“What?”

“You heard me, Chuck. Put one of those fucking diapers on, right now.”

“But, Andy, come on. I just…”

“It’s the least you can do for me. After all the humiliation and bullying I’ve endured, the least you can do is show me what a real diaper-wearing baby looks like.”

In the moment, that made sense to me. In hindsight, I’m not really sure why it would’ve. But, there in that room with him, I believed that I owed him that much. To show him what it looked like when I wore a diaper.

I tossed all but one of the diapers aside, tucking that last one under my shirt so I could leave my dorm and go to the bathrooms down the hall. I figured I could change into it in a stall and then come back and lower my pants for him.

“No,” he says, holding a hand out to stop me. “Do it here. I want to see.”

I can’t explain to you what I was scared of. I didn’t think he was going to hurt me, nor did I even think he was going to run and tell everyone else what he had seen. But I was terrified of him nonetheless. And, too, I wanted to do right by him. I felt I owed him this–no matter the discomfort to me.

So. I do it. I pull down my pants and boxers, and I awkwardly try to put a big diaper on myself while standing up. I’ve seen–both of us have seen–plenty of naked men in our lives. Such is life on a team. But I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself, fumbling with the thick padding as my dick just dangled helplessly between my legs.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. He just sat there and stared at me. It was like he was studying me, you know? Analyzing me. I almost wished that he would start laughing or calling me names. Anything would’ve been better than the cold mysterious quiet.

Somehow, I got the diaper on. It wasn’t straight, it wasn’t tight enough, and it probably looked like a literal toddler put it on himself, but it was on.

“There,” I say to him. “You happy now?”

“Not really.”

“What else do you want me to do then?”

“Get on your hands and knees,” he says. “Crawl like a baby.”

I lowered myself to my hands and knees. There wasn’t much vacant space in the dorm room to crawl around, but I took a few awkward and shaky strides forward. 

Still, he didn’t look amused. He didn’t look like he was enjoying this. He looked angry. It almost looked as if my eagerness to do as he asked made him lose even more respect for me.

“Do you like that?” he asks.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I still wasn’t going to point out that this wasn’t the sort of thing that I did when I actually was enjoying a diaper–let alone the added scrutiny of him being in the room with me.

“I just wanted to see what a real baby looks like,” he says. “So that when the other guys start mocking me and putting goddamn baby diapers in my locker, I’ll remember that this is what an actual man in a diaper looks like.”

“What can I do?” I ask. “Do you want me to talk to the guys? Talk to the coach?”

He shook his head. “What for? Unless you crawl around the locker room in a diaper so that they can all see you as I see you right now, I don’t think you’re ever going to get me off the hook.”

“Well, I could–”

“Don’t bullshit me me,” he spits. “Don’t pretend you’re actually going to do that. Because you’re not, right? You’re not going to go and show the whole team that you’re a little diaper-wearing infant.”

“Okay,” I say. “So what do you want?”

He responded by unzipping his pants, opening them up. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to–it was clear what he wanted and what I was expected to do.

I’ve never sucked a man’s cock before. I’ve never touched another man’s cock. I’ve never even considered it. I’m not, like, homophobic. I just… Well, I just never thought that I wanted any of that. 

In that moment though, watching him reach into his boxers and pull out a cock that was easily bigger than mine–I didn’t bat an eye. I still thought that I deserved whatever comeuppance he believed I was owed. And if he wanted me to suck on his cock, while I was on my hands and knees–diapered–I was willing to do it.

I’m not gay. I’m not bi. I’ve never craved a dick since that moment. It wasn’t some sort of transcendent experience that made me rethink everything I knew about myself.

At that moment, though, I just knew what I had to do. And I was willing to take one for the team–even if the team was pretty much just me in a diaper. I thought about telling him that I didn’t know what I was doing, and that I had never done anything like this before. But he knew that already. The point wasn’t that I was to sexually please him–well, at least not primarily. The point was that I was to be humiliated. The point was that he was proving to me that even though he was getting teased in the locker room, I was the pathetic loser actually wearing a diaper and doing whatever it took to be respected.

I wrapped my mouth around his cock and tried my best. The first few minutes were pretty awkward. He took my head in his hands and guided me up and down his shaft, occasionally slapping the side of my face when my teeth were getting too close to his skin. But eventually we seemed to be in sync. He didn’t even have to guide my head anymore–I had found the right series of movements and the rhythm to pleasure him on my own.

And I was pleasing him. I knew this because of the way he moaned. The way he shoved his cock as deep as he could into my mouth–often until I had to pause and try to catch my breath. I knew it from the things he said.

“Are you sure you’re not some sissy little princess, diaper-boy? I’ve never had a girl suck cock as good as you’re doing it right now.”

I won’t say I hated it. I won’t tell you that I liked it either. But. I won’t say that I hated it.

He finished on my face. When it became clear that he did intend to keep me on his cock until he climaxed, I grew increasingly nervous about how that would go down. I was terrified of him pumping his load right down my throat. I just…I couldn’t even imagine doing that. But at the last minute, he shoved me off of him so that he could erupt directly onto my face.

And that was how he left me–sitting on my dorm room floor in a diaper, with my face covered in his cum.

I’ll tell you this now, since I told you everything else–and because I know that what we say in these stories doesn’t leave the group: I pissed myself in that diaper after he left. And after that, with my face still a mess, I jerked off in my diaper.

If he had stayed, I’d have done it in front of him, too.

Andy stayed on the team for the rest of the season. The bullying slowly diminished until it finally stopped. I heard some guys say that they had just gotten tired of the joke, but I don’t think that’s what killed it. I think Andy Dimpton was a different guy after that night in my dorm room. He started walking with his head held up a little higher. When people made jokes about them, he looked them right in the eyes–seeming to challenge them to say something else. 

In the locker room after our last game of the season, I watched him and Kyle Wallace give each other a hi-five. Andy had done it–he had managed to turn around his reputation and become one of the alphas. 

And I was still in the absolute middle of the hierarchy–mostly ignored.

Andy never said a word to me again. He didn’t so much as look at me. It was like that night never happened. Or, that night–and me–was so insignificant that he never bothered thinking about it afterwards.

He transferred to a different school last year. I couldn’t tell you why. As far as I know, he’s never told a single person about that night. Certainly nobody else from the team. 

Meanwhile, the team has forgotten him and moved on. There’s new freshmen on the team to tease and pick on now. I like to help out with the hazing when I can. It’s important to let the new guys know where I believe I am on the food chain. And, too, I like to remind the other guys on the team that I’m not on the bottom of the barrel. I’m not a baby.

So, no, I probably haven’t learned a damn thing. Except that I can’t ever let my interest in diapers come anywhere close to my life on the team. 

“Come sit next to me baby, I need to tell you something.

There’s a reason these things are happening to you. The wet pants, the premature cumming, the losing control...theyre all connected.

And it’s because of me. I’ve been doing it all. Don’t be upset, I think this is really what’s best for you. You’ve always been a bit of a submissive type, I’m just pushing you deeper into that well.

Now, I can completely take control. You can call me mommy, I can change your diapers and make sure you get plenty of sexual release. How does that sound?”

The Tantrum (Part 1)

A three-part ABDL romance. All characters are 18+. CW: Diapers, Spanking, Bondage, Messing, Wetting

Katelyn pulled into the driveway, her hands tight on the wheel and stereo loud enough to make it shake.

“Fuck my life,” she sighed to herself, before switching off the engine.

She breathed in deep, held it until the count of three, then breathed out what was supposed to be a controlled exhale but was really an angry huff. She huffed again and grabbed her bag, climbing out of the car and slamming the door behind her, only to be yanked backwards when she tried to storm off.

Katelyn whirled around and saw her coat caught in the door. Glaring, she gave it a vicious yank, which turned into her falling on her butt when the thrifted wool tore with a thunderous riiiip.

“Oh come on!” she whined, slamming her hands on the pavement, which was quickly followed by “Owww.”

After giving the driveway a dirty look, she stormed up to the house, holding back tears threatening to break through the thunderclouds on her face.

It had been another shitty Friday in a long string of shitty Fridays (and Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays...), and as was the case after every shitty day, Katelyn had a lazer focus on the bottle of wine waiting in the fridge.

Drink to forget your day, and any part you might have played in it. A flawless plan.

She took a bit more care closing the front door, but still managed a gunshot slam. With a couple kicks, her heels arced down the hall, and she tossed her bag in the direction of the couch, wincing when the loud thud announced she’d missed her target. That just added to her burning frustration, and she whipped off her torn coat and kicked it in the direction of the closet.

From around the corner she could hear chopping and frying and felt a pang of annoyance at the thought of interacting with another human. Even Ryan. But still, she followed the smell of sizzling onions.

Ryan looked up from the cutting board as she stomped in, his smile falling to something more cautious when he saw her face.

“How was your day, honey?”

Katelyn made no stop on her way to the fridge, hunting for the chilled red she brought home last night.

“Fine. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

She moved to the cupboard to grab the big wine glass, the one Ryan jokingly called her wine bowl, before remembering it was still in sink.

“You know you can talk to me.”

Katelyn sighed as she pulled the wine glass out of the dirty pile and started swishing some soapy water in it.

“I know,” she said a little too quickly, scrubbing at the wine residue.

“Okay.” The chopping got louder.

Once the glass hit ‘good enough,’ Katelyn went for the corkscrew, tugging open the bottle with practiced hands. She gave herself a generous pour (Ryan didn’t drink the stuff anyway) and turned to go nest on the couch when she saw what he was sliding into the skillet.

“You’re using carrots?”

Ryan looked at her surprised, stirring the pan as the sweet fragrance made Katelyn wrinkle her nose.

“Yeah, we both agreed we need more vegetables. It was on the meal plan.”

A moment of guilt cross her mind as she remembered the digital meal planner, the one she still hadn’t opened. But the guilt was quickly overwhelmed as her mind conjured the revolting taste of carrot.

“You know I hate carrots. I’m not eating that.”

Mentally, she was already on UberEats. She’d done burgers three nights ago, maybe tonight she’d go KFC.

Ryan didn't look up from the stove, his voice flat.

“Katie, I’ve been cooking since I got home. We planned one meal tonight, no takeout. Can you at least try it?”

She knew he was right, which was maybe why she felt a helpless rage flare up. Was it too much to ask for some comfort food after the day she’d had? The week? The month? The tears were threatening again and her mind flashed back to the work lunch, the one hadn’t even wanted to go to, but Mr. Henderson had to be wined and dined…

“I’m not eating it!” she said, surprising herself at the volume.

She needed out of there, away from Ryan and his carrots. She whirled around, moving just a little to fast, and felt a cold splash hit her chest.

Katelyn froze at the sight of red wine soaking into her best work blouse.

“Oh Katie.” Ryan had sympathy pain all over his face, but somehow that just made it worse. She couldn’t stop herself from stomping her foot for real this time, sloshing more wine on the floor.

“Don’t mock me!” Ryan was getting blurry as she blinked hard. “None of this would have happened if you just cooked something good!”

There was a hint of danger in Ryan’s voice as he grabbed a dish cloth from the sink.

“I haven’t made you do anything, and I would appreciate it if you started acting like a grown up. Do you want help cleaning up?”

Katelyn snatched the cloth out his hand and started dabbing her ruined shirt, for all the good it would do.

“I’ve had a really hard day and I just want food I can eat,” she mumbled, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

Ryan sighed. “You’ve had a lot of hard days lately, and we’ve had a lot of takeout lately. Can you please just try it?”

Katelyn gave up dabbing and flung the cloth back at him, unintentional aiming for his face, which Ryan narrowly caught.

“Fine!”

She was about to storm out when Ryan grabbed her wrist and spun her back to face him. His eyes locked on hers and she felt a small flicker in her chest from the times when he’d had more fun reasons to give her that look.

“If you keep acting like a toddler having a tantrum, I’m going to treat you like one. Is that what you want?”

Those words …

Even in her frustration and anger, a memory surfaced, that very specific phrase and the gravity of the question. She looked into her fiance’s serious eyes. It had to have been over a year since they’d practiced this exchange, well before her promotion. But faced with the real deal for the first time, she felt her subconscious make the decision for her.

“Fuck off!” she said, and pulled her hand free to slap him.

Ryan caught it with a much less gentle grip. A shiver ran through her as she looked up at him and felt the weight of the pact she’d just signed.

“This has been a long time coming.” Ryan grabbed her other wrist and started pulling her out of the kitchen.

“Stop it! Let me go, asshole!”

Katelyn leaned back and dug her heels in, but it hardly slowed Ryan down. Her fiance dragged her down the hall with ease, her hands trapped in an iron grip and sock feet sliding easily. Her rage was back in full force and she leaned into it, no filter.

“Fuck you! I hate you!”

She tried kicking him, but instead lost her balance and slipped on to her butt, and Ryan just swirled her around and started dragging her backwards as she kicked her feet uselessly. Soon she was sitting at the foot of their bed, and a second later he hoisted her up and over his lap.

Katelyn thrashed as best she could, but Ryan had her pinned, her body pitched forward, keeping her off balance. She felt cold air hit her butt as her pants were tugged down to her ankles and was about to unleash a string of obscenities when the first thunderous WACK! struck her ass.

“Do you know why you’re in trouble?”

The spank shocked her, but Katelyn wasn’t done fighting.

“Because my boyfriend is a stupid carrot-loving dick!”

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!

The ferociousness of each spank killed any smart comments she had stored up, drowned in the pain radiating from her backside.

“Is it maybe because you’ve been acting like a selfish baby for months now?”

WACK! WACK!

“You’ve left messes everywhere.”

WACK! WACK!

“You’ve been incredibly rude.”

WACK! WACK!

“And you’re drunk every other night.”

WACK! WACK!

“You’ve” WACK! “Been.” WACK! “A.” WACK! “Very.” WACK! “Bad.” WACK! “Girl!”

There was no stopping the tears now --- every spank drove coherent thought further from her mind, leaving only the pain, anger and fear to finally boil over as Ryan’s hand rained down again and again.

Katelyn sobbed.

(Part 2)

A Fair Trade

“I want to go to the bookstore,” Brynn said. Well, she didn’t say it as much as she whined it–she had a tendency to enunciate all of her requests as if she was a spoiled toddler. But, seeing as how this usually worked in her getting her way, it made sense why this trait stuck after toddlerhood.

“Why?” sighed Lia. “You’re going to wander around there for two hours, read the back of every book you pick up, and then leave without buying anything.” Lia wasn’t this blunt with most of her friends, but she had learned that this was really the only way to deal with Brynn. And even then, it didn’t always work.

“I know,” Brynn whined. “But Fi wants to go to the shore next weekend, so I really should have something to read on the beach. Come on. I’ll be quick.”

A louder-than-expected laugh burst from Lia’s mouth like a bark, causing her to blush a little. “S-sorry, but… We both know that’s not going to happen.”

“C’mon,” Brynn said. “What else did you have to do today?”

Lia glanced further down the street–the plant store, the record shop, and a used clothing store were all within view, and they all sounded better than watching Brynn shrug at thousands of books she knew nothing about. Still, she was a good friend. And she supposed, albeit begrudgingly, that it was more important she stick around for Brynn during this trying time.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Lia finally said. “Let’s look at some books.”

For the first few minutes in the store, Lia tried to hover in Brynn’s vicinity, doing her best to sound engaged when her friend read from the back cover of a book aloud to get Lia’ s opinion on it.

“...and that’s when everything goes wrong. Suddenly, Cynthia finds that her perfect life might not be so perfect after all–and her boyfriend may not be the man she thought he was,” Brynn read. “Does that sound good?”

“That sounds like every single book and movie ever made,” Lia sighed. 

“Really?” Brynn asked. “I think it sounds kind of good. This one’s a maybe.”

 “Alright,” Lia shrugged, holding back any comments she was tempted to make about Brynn being the most basic woman in the world.

From the corner of her eye, Lia spots a sign denoting the “Art & Design” section. The art bug had been biting again lately, and she was feeling eager to pick up a paint brush again for the first time in a while. Maybe, she thought, flipping through some of the art books might stir up some inspiration.

“Hey,” she said to Brynn, who was picking another book from the shelf to glance over. “I’m going to go check out some of the books over there, alright?”

“Sure,” Brynn said. “I’ll narrow it down to, like, four or five books and you can tell me which one I should buy.”

“Uh, sure. Can’t wait.” Lia briskly walked away from Brynn and into the art section, letting out a little sigh of relief when she could no longer smell her friend’s vaguely peachy body spray. She loved Brynn dearly, but Brynn could also be…a lot.

It was a book about Japanese woodblock prints that caught her eye initially, but while the art featured in the book was undeniably gorgeous, it couldn’t have been further in tone from the swirling psychedelic style that Lia preferred when making her own art. Next, she grabbed the book on Jean-Michel Basquiat. Again, her own painting style had little semblance to Basquiat’s (though, whose did?), but she often found his use of color and small details worked as a nice springboard for ideas she’d try to implement in her own work.

“Did you happen to see the Basquiat exhibit in town a few months ago?” a voice somewhere off to her side asked. Lia turned to see a woman standing near her, pulling books from the other side of the same shelf that she was currently looking at. 

“I, uh, didn’t know there was one,” Lia said.

“It wasn’t very big,” the woman shrugged, pushing her blonde hair back behind her ears. She had a brownish-red sundress on that seemed to hug her slender body in all the right ways. God, she was tall. The woman continued: “They just had a handful of pieces on display at the art museum downtown. I’ve seen them before, but it was nice that I didn’t have to travel as far to see them this time.”

“I wish I knew,” Lia sighed. “I suppose it’s over now?”

“‘Fraid so,” the woman shrugged. “But you never know, they might do something like that again.”

“One can hope,” Lia said, craning her neck a little to see if Brynn was still scanning through books. It looked like she was.

“Are you just a fan of the arts?” the woman asked. “Or are you an artist yourself?”

“Both,” Lia smiled. This stranger was fucking beautiful. The kind that she just wasn’t used to seeing in person. The woman looked like a model. Or an actress. And she definitely wasn’t used to people who looked like this talking to her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she carefully considered how she should act. Was it better to seem cool, collected, and unphased by this goddess in her midst? Or did people who looked like this enjoy it more when they were more obviously worshiped?

Lia opted to start with cool and collected–thinking this was the better choice if they were talking about art.

“Is that so?” the woman asked. “What sorts of mediums do you work in?”

“Painting,” Lia said, feeling her cheeks warm a little. “Acrylics, mostly. I’ve always been kind of abstract, but I’m thinking that I kind of want to try my hand at something more–I dunno–impressionist?” She surprised herself at how she offered this much to the stranger. She never liked talking about her art. The last thing she wanted was to sound full of herself–she didn’t think she was talented enough for that.

“I wish that I had that sort of talent,” the woman smiled, showing her perfect teeth. “I think that’s why I enjoy art as much as I do. I can’t make it, so I enjoy using the work of others as gateways into worlds that I couldn’t imagine myself.”

“I like that too,” Lia blushed.

“I’m Agnes, by the way,” the woman said, extending her hand towards Lia. Lia shook it automatically, noting the softness of her skin.

“Lia,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You don’t happen to have any pictures of your art, do you?” Agnes asked.

Lia briefly bit her bottom lip. “Eh, well, I do have an Instagram where I share my work with some friends but…”

“I’d love to see them, if you’d be willing to share.”

Were this anyone else, at any other time, she’d probably try to find excuses as to why she couldn’t share her art. She’d probably fumble at her phone for a few moments before commenting on how her damn phone doesn’t have a good enough connection for her to access her account. But for Agnes–with her big eyes, perfect smile, and voluptuous tits that were gift wrapped in her tight dress–she thought she could probably be convinced to do just about anything. 

“S-sure,” she said. “Let me just, uh, pull it up here.” Lia tapped at her phone and brought up the app, quickly scanning through her last few posts to make sure there was nothing incredibly embarrassing. She quickly deleted one of the photos–a piece she hadn’t ever been particularly happy with. The rest seemed good enough for now. Had she advance knowledge of this interaction, she probably would’ve culled her feed further. “Here you go.”

“Did you go to art school?” Agnes asked as she slowly scrolled through the photos. 

“N-no. Self taught, actually.” 

“That makes sense.”

“Oh, uhm…” Lia wasn’t sure if she should be offended by that or not.

“I mean that in a good way,” Agnes laughed, as if realizing how confusing that might have been. “Your style doesn’t seem bound by rules. There’s something very liberating about it. There’s something almost…” But Agnes doesn’t finish that thought, instead laughing a little to herself as she smiles. “I really like it.”

“Thank you,” Lia said. If she didn’t think it’d make her sound the opposite of cool and collected, she’d gush about how that was one of the nicest things that anyone has ever said about her work.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I follow your art, would you?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

“And…” Agnes tapped her chin for a moment as she passed the phone back to Lia. “Well, I know we just met and this all seems rather sudden and all–but I’m already thinking about how I’d like to own a piece of your art.”

“Really? I mean, uhm, I suppose any of my pieces are for sale if you see any that you really like.”

“What if I commissioned a piece?” she asked. “A new piece. Something that was only ever mine?”

Lia nervously swallowed. It was sometimes hard enough to sit down and make art that she was happy with herself–hence the little break she had taken from art in recent weeks. But she couldn’t even imagine the added pressure of creating art for someone else. Someone who was paying her. Someone who looked like Agnes.

But, again, Agnes was the kind of person that Lia didn’t think she could say no to. 

“Sure. Of course. Did you have anything in mind, or…”

“Oh, if I had ideas I’d be painting them myself,” Agnes smirked. “But if you’re not doing anything else right now, maybe you’d let me buy you a cup of coffee and we could chat about it a little?”

These things never, ever, happen to me, Lia thought. But, again, she glanced in the direction of Brynn, who was amassing a small stack of books in her arms as she continued to make her way through the shelves. 

“That sounds really nice,” she said to Agnes. “But I’m here with my friend, and…”

“Ah, of course,” Agness nodded. “I’ll tell you what–I’m going to friend you on Insta. And when I do, I want you to reach out to me there and tell me what your availability is like so we can meet again, okay? I’m very serious about wanting to commission some art from you.”

Lia’s face felt red and hot, and she had no doubt it was obvious to Agnes. Still, she managed to keep her tone good and steady as she replied: “That sounds great. It was really nice meeting you, Agnes.”

“Likewise,” Agnes said.

Lia briskly walked back towards Brynn, feeling like she was in a little bit of a daze. Had that just happened? Had one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen approached her at random and asked for some of her art? 

“Oh cool,” Brynn said, “you found a book for yourself?”

Lia realized she was still tightly clutching the Basquiat art book in her hands. She remembered setting it down when she was showing Agnes her phone, but she had no recollection of picking it up again. Had she been that distracted by run-in with Agnes?

“Oh, uh, yeah. How about you? Find anything good?”

“Ugh,” Brynn groaned. “So many books. You’re going to have to help me whittle these choices down, okay?”

“Sure,” Lia said, though she already knew she’d be far too distracted to be of any help.

***

Agnes Van Lars followed her account about two hours later. Lia noticed right away–the notification came up on her phone while she was cutting into her lunch as Brynn sat across from her. She was sure her cheeks had turned bright pink again, and she quickly stowed her phone in her purse in an effort to not distract herself anymore than she already had been.

It’d be a few hours later, when she was in her apartment’s bedroom again, that she opened the app and clicked on Agnes Van Lars’ profile.

“Oh shit.”

As it turned out, Agnes was a model–though not the sort that Lia was imagining. Lia was picturing swimsuits and fur coats. Instead, Agness was wearing skin-tight leather ensembles while holding paddles and riding crops. Her bare feet rested on a man’s very happy face in one photo, and in another she was sliding a rubber glove over her hand while a different nude man was bent over a table. 

Kink–BDSM in particular–were always a curiosity to Lia, though she felt like it was a space she was grossly uneducated on. She liked the photos on Agnes’ feed–the juxtaposition of power with good looking (and well hung) men making themselves vulnerable to her power and control. 

None of the photos were too explicit–there was an artsy tastefulness about them, she thought. They often hinted at darker scenes and situations, but without actually showing them. Agnes had been wrong when she said she wasn’t an artist–this was art. She could look at any of these photos and find herself getting sucked into a world of shameful depravity. She could hear the crack of a whip as it lashed against a bare bottom. She could smell the sweat. She could almost taste salty skin on her tongue.

The minutes melted away as she continued to scroll down Agnes’ feed. Every picture was an entirely new trip for her. Then, hundreds of posts into the past, she saw an image that made her audibly gasp. 

Whereas most of the photos–with a few exceptions–had featured Agnes exercising power over men, this one featured a young woman on her hands and knees and looking into the camera as Agnes stood tall in the background with her hands on her hips. The young woman’s makeup was running down her face. Her cheeks were bright pink and her hair was a mess. Sticking out of her mouth was a pacifier–like the things a parent would stick in the mouth of an infant. And the girl didn’t seem to be wearing much, though she did seem to be wearing some sort of undergarment that was far too thick and big to be panties.

A diaper, she thought. That girl is wearing a diaper and sucking on a pacifier.

The caption for the photo read as follows: “Poor little StephyLoo. After a particularly long session with Mommy, she couldn’t help but fill her diapers. See that sag between her legs? It’s even heavier than it looks.”

“What the fuck,” Lia said aloud. No, she wasn’t disgusted. She was almost angry. Angry that she had no idea that this was a thing that people–adults–did with each other. Why did nobody tell me about this?

But maybe she had known. Maybe it was one of those weird things that felt like a punchline to a joke whenever someone talked about it. “Yeah, well, at least you’re not one of those freaks who dresses up like a baby.”

She stared at the photo longer, taking it in and trying to imagine what that scene must’ve been like in person. What had happened to make this girl look like this? That look of pathetic vulnerability, coupled with shameful contentment. And when Agnes said that ‘StephyLoo’ had filled her diaper…what did she mean by that? Had the girl been made to piss herself? Had she…done even more than that in her diaper? That’s what a diaper–an adult diaper at that–was made for, wasn’t it?

Lia let out a little moan, not realizing that her own hand had slid between her thighs as she stared at the photo. She rubbed at her pussy through her pants, not sure how committed she was to completely getting off right now. But then she thought about herself and Agnes, back at the bookstore, and how she might’ve reacted if that conversation had gone a little differently.

“I want to put you in a diaper,” Agnes might’ve said. “I think you’d look just perfect in one.”

“R-really?” Lia would respond. “You think I’d be a good baby?”

“Oh yes,” Agnes would smile. “I think you’d be the best baby.”

“Okay, fuck it,” Lia said aloud, casting her phone aside as she pulled down her pants and panties. She was going to cum right now, and she was going to do it while imagining pissing into a diaper at Agnes’s command.

With her eyes closed, she was back at the bookstore with Agnes again. Somewhere on the other side of the store, Brynn was there too. This would be part of the fantasy, Lia thought–the idea that whatever happened, she could potentially be exposed to Brynn. She’d have to tread lightly.

Now, instead of just talking about wearing diapers in the future, Lia was actually wearing one. Fantastical-Agnes would know this too. 

“How is your diaper holding up?” she’d ask Lia.

“Shh,” Lia would nervously say. “Not so loud…I can’t let my friend know about these.”

Lia wasn’t sure what it was like to wear a diaper. She imagined the thick padding felt bulky between her thighs, and so she pulled her comforter from under her and tucked a wad of it between her legs until it was so thick that she couldn’t close them. Maybe it’s something like this?

Back in her fantasy, Agnes was grinning while looking down at her–it was very easy for her to do that when she was so much taller than Lia. 

“I need to check your diaper,” she said to Lia.

“B-but…here?” Lia asked.

The very thought of this caused her to bite her bottom lip and slip her fingers into her wet pussy. Adults–most of them, at least–weren’t supposed to be wearing diapers. They weren’t supposed to be getting them checked by other people–especially not while in public.

“You don’t want to get a rash, do you? Come here. Let me see.”

Lia wasn’t even sure what a diaper check looked like for an actual infant, let alone an adult. She can only make it up as she goes. She imagines Agnes’ hand sliding between Lia’s thighs, feeling the bulky padding of the diaper through her pants. A wet diaper, she thought, would feel different than a dry one. StephyLoo’s diaper was ‘filled,’ and hung from her hips like a sack. Maybe it was something like that. Maybe Agnes was groping Lia’s crotch in the middle of the book store in an effort to see how heavy it was.

“Young lady,” Agnes would say in a stern, motherly, tone. “Why didn’t you tell me that your diaper was this dirty?”

“I…I…” Lia stammered. Her cheeks in her fantasy were as bright pink as they were in real life.

“We’re going to have to do something about this right now,” Agness would say. “Come on. We’re going to find a public restroom, and I’m going to have to change you there.”

“But,” Lia would plead, “what if there are other people in there? They’ll see!”

“There’s nothing I can do about that now,” Agnes shrugged, grabbing Lia’s wrist. “I’m changing your diaper regardless.”

Fuck, that was good stuff. One hand pushed the wadded ball of her comforter tighter against her pussy, while she continued to finger herself with the other. 

But this scene was missing something. She considered it for a moment or two, trying to imagine what would make this even hotter. She thought of the photo of StephyLoo (whoever that was) again, wondering if there were any other details she needed to import into her fantasy. The pacifier? Maybe. It was certainly a step in the right direction. 

It suddenly dawned on her. It wasn’t what was in the photo–it was the photo itself. Someone else had to take that picture. Whatever humiliating events had transpired in that room with Agnes Van Lars, someone else had been there to witness it and capture it with a camera. 

That was what she needed in her fantasy–to be witnessed in such a state.

“I–I don’t need to be changed right now,” Lia would protest. She knew she was wrong about this, but she wanted to see Agnes react to this defiance.

“Silly girl, you don’t know anything,” Agnes would sigh. With a firm tug on either side of the waistband of Lia’s pants, Agness would pull them down to her knees–right there in the middle of the bookstore. Her diaper was completely on display. “Look at yourself, Lia. Your diaper is completely soaked! And you’re going to try and tell me that you don’t need to be changed right now?”

The other patrons of the bookstore were tittering and snickering. Whispering to each other. People were pointing. Lia’s heart pounded faster, and her fingers went into overdrive as they caressed her wet skin.

And then Brynn would approach. Brynn, of all people–who was practically a giant whiny toddler herself–she’d be the one to see Lia in a dirty diaper. “Oh my god!” she’d shout. “LIa…did you pee yourself like a baby?”

“Yes, she did,” Agnes would say. “But…”

Lia would have to wait until another time to hear what Agnes would say, as it was at that moment that she came. It was an epic climax–the strongest she had had in recent memory. She felt herself squirting into the comforter–no doubt leaving an embarrassingly large wet spot that she hoped would dry sooner than later.

It would take a few minutes for her to recover. And when she finally sat up, the very first thing she did was send a message to Agnes Van Lars.

***

When Lia went to a bar, it was always a very particular kind of bar. She wasn’t really sure how to describe them. ‘Nice?’ They were either very clean, or made to look artificially dive-y while still actually being quite clean. The kind of place with a long list of craft beers on tap and a bearded guy behind the bar wearing a t-shirt with either David Bowie or Debbie Harry’s face on it.

This was different. This wasn’t a ‘nice’ bar.

Everything here felt kind of aggressive. The electronic music. The sneering face of the pale-looking bartender. The complete lack of a cocktail menu to offer easy choices. Even the lighting seemed both too dark and too harsh. It wasn’t her kind of place, which was what made it kind of exciting.

“Thank you for meeting me here,” Agnes said as they both took a seat in one of the booths. “I know it's a little loud here, but I think these are some of the best bartenders in the city.”

Lia looked over to the bar again, where two or three ghostly barkeeps were in the process of either shaking or stirring drinks for other patrons. She could sit and watch this place all day, trying to imagine the types of conversations people had here.

“No problem at all,” she said.

“Have you been here before?”

Lia laughed. “N-no. Never.”

“Where do you like to go?” Agnes asked.

“Uh… Boot & Barrel? Main Street Brewing?”

Agnes shrugged. “Never heard of them.”

Once more, Lia took some delight in how different their worlds were. If it wasn’t for their chance run-in at the bookstore, Lia wondered if there would’ve ever been any overlap in their lives. It was a strong argument for fate. 

“So, uhm, you were interested in commissioning some art?” Lia asked.

“Indeed,” Agnes nodded. “You know, after we parted ways the other day, I went through your entire profile to look at all of your work.”

Lia blushed. Once or twice, she had considered further pruning her feed and culling the weaker pieces, but ultimately decided that was a slippery slope to go down. By the time she was done, she might’ve only been left with one or two photos on her feed. “What did you think?”

“I’m even more excited to work with you than I was before,” Agnes said. “There’s this quality about your work that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I feel like it’s always there. This sort of…energy. It’s very unique. Very special.”

“Wow,” Lia said. “Thank you so much.” Nobody has ever spoken about her art like this, so far as she knew.

“Well deserved, I assure you,” Agnes said. 

“I, uhm, took a look at your profile too,” Lia said. She wasn’t sure if she was actually going to admit this or not, but she needed to change the subject from herself, and this was the first thing she could think of.

“Is that so?” Agnes asked, smiling. “And what did you think of that?”

“It was a little surprising,” Lia said sheepishly.

“How so?”

“It’s just…you know…” She paused and thought about how she actually wanted to respond to that. “It was different. I don’t know much about, you know, that kind of stuff. So it was very eye-opening.”

“You didn’t find it distasteful, I hope.”

“Not at all,” Lia said. “Quite the opposite, really. I thought it was all pretty fascinating.”

Agnes smiled. “I’m delighted to hear that, Lira. Really. I was nervous that you’d see my content and judge me pretty harshly.”

“No,” Lia said. “I liked it.”

They ordered some drinks and the injection of alcohol helped to steer more natural conversation. While neither seemed to have much in common with the other, on the surface, they quickly found that they had more subtle similarities. Just like Lia, Agnes confessed to having insecurities about her content. And, just like Agnes, Lia thought the act of creating was often more important than the finished product. They were getting along much better than Lia anticipated.

“Now then,” Agnes said. “I want you to make me some art. What do we have to do to make that happen?”

“This is a good start,” Lia smiled. “Maybe just tell me more about what you want and when you want it?”

“What about compensation?” Agnes asked.

“Oh, uhm… I mean, we don’t really have to make this, like, a transaction or anything.”

“Stop that,” Agnes smiled. “I’m going to compensate you for your time. I’d just need to know how much.”

The closest that Lia had ever come to assigning value to her art was when she had donated a piece to her mother’s nonprofit for a fundraiser–and even then, it wasn’t her who benefited from the sale. She didn’t make art for the money. She had a job that covered her expenses. The art was just about passion. 

But she had an idea.

“So,” Lia said, taking one more sip of her cocktail for good measure, “I just wouldn’t feel right accepting money for my art. But…maybe we could, uhm, barter?”

Agnes’ eyes widened as she laughed. “Interesting. What did you have in mind?”

“Well… I could paint something for you. And then, maybe, you could take some photos with me? Like…the kind on your profile?”

Agnes nodded approvingly. “I like this idea, Lia. What kind of photos were you thinking? Did you want to stomp on some pathetic man’s face? Did you want to peg someone? Maybe you’d like to give someone a spanking. I could arrange for any of that.”

“A-actually…I was thinking that you’d be doing something to me.”

“Naughty girl,” Agnes said, shaking her head and laughing. “It’s always the ones you least expect, huh? What do you think you’d like? Need to feel a paddle on your backside? Nipple clamps? I just got this amazing straightjacket and…”

“I saw this picture on your profile that I’ve been thinking a lot about,” Lia said. 

“Which?”

It was tempting to show it to Agnes, though she knew she probably didn’t have to. All she had to do was say ‘diapers.’ Of course, she couldn’t imagine saying that out loud in a place like this–even if she was sure that the loud music would make certain that nobody else would hear her.

Instead, she offered a name: “StephyLoo?”

“Oh,” Agnes said, looking genuinely surprised. “Really?”

Lia nodded. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think that sounds like a lot of fun. But I didn’t expect you to say that.”

Lia shrugged. “What can I say? It stirred something in me.”

“Actually, you know what?” Agnes laughed, rapping her knuckles on the table. “That actually does make a lot of sense, now that I think about it.”

“How so?”

“Do you remember how I said that there was something about your art that I liked, but couldn’t put my finger on why?”

“Yes,” Lia nodded again.

“See, I think that’s exactly what it is–it’s this sense of childlike whimsy.”

“Childlike?” Lia asked, momentarily dumbfounded. She’d never once considered her art to be childish in any way. She wondered if this was how people actually saw her art. Because if so, she’d probably share a lot less of it moving forward.

“Don’t take offense to it,” Agnes said. “I don’t mean that it looks like a child painted it. I mean that your approach–your color choices and even the movement of your brush strokes–gives your art a sense of uninhibited freedom. The same sort of freedom that I may attribute to, say, a child–as opposed to an adult who’s had all the whimsy drained from their body by the world.”

The longer Lia sat with Agnes’ words, the better she felt about it. She could see where Agnes might be coming from, and now she was feeling kind of silly for not seeing it sooner herself. She always felt like her art came from some part of herself that didn’t get expressed otherwise, and she now had words to describe that part.

“Thank you,” Lia finally said, her cheeks turning pink again.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Agnes said, leaning back a little in her chair as she sips from her martini glass. “What if I give you your, uhm, payment first? I’ll give you whatever experience you want, yes? And then, after, I’d want you to paint something for me. It can be anything you want, so long as it’s inspired by the time you and I spent together.”

Lia considered this for a moment. She liked the idea of it, though she always knew that the hardest paintings to finish were the ones she went into with any sort of purpose. It just felt easier to create when she could just follow whatever whim–however momentary–she was feeling. Then again, maybe this was the shake-up her process needed. 

If nothing else, it seemed like a good idea to at least try.

“Yes,” said Lia. “I like that idea.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” Agnes laughed. “And with plenty of time to spare. Another round?”

Lia downed the remnants in her glass and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

With the details of their arrangement settled, any remaining tension and uncertainty felt by Lia seemed to fade away. Despite her concerns that she and Agnes had little in common, she found herself having a good time with her new friend. They talked. They drank. Agnes even convinced Lia to dance with her–something that Lia never did in public.

And when it seemed like they were winding down and about to call it a night, Agnes gently tapped on Lia’s shoulder while smiling.

“Hmm?”

“I was wondering,” Agnes said. “You don’t have to go home right away, do you?”

“N-no,” Lia said. “But…where else would I go?” Only after the words had exited her mouth did she realize what Agnes was asking. “Oh…”

“I won’t be offended if you decline my offer. But I’m feeling pretty good right now, and I don’t think I’m ready to call it a night just yet. You could come over to my place. The drinks are cheaper. And…I have diapers.”

Just hearing the word made Lia feel a little smaller. She bit her bottom lip, thinking about StephyLoo’s pathetic face staring into the camera, and she nodded.

***

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THE PARK BENCH

It was a bright, sunny day, as the excited buzzing of the few families and couples filled the air of the zoo, mingling with the exotic smells of animals from every corner of the globe. Normally, I hated being strapped into my oversized stroller but this time I was at least grateful for the bit of shade the extendable cover provided. If the adult sized stroller loaded down with heavy diaper bag and every assortment of infantile paraphernalia wasn’t a dead giveaway of my condition, my pastel green t-shirt sporting smiling baby zoo animals and cargo shorts with the elastic waistband—concealing a very obvious diaper bulge—certainly was. I shrunk back as best as my restraints would allow, cringing every time a new zoo guest looked my way, but Mommy didn’t seem to pay any mind. Wearing a gorgeous yellow sundress, the one that flirted dangerously with the wind every time a light breeze blew by, mommy simply beamed and pushed me along from exhibit to exhibit all the while, asking me if I liked the “horsies” or the “pumba’s.” It’s not as if I could actually respond though, what with the suffocating pacifier gag stuffing my mouth. Today’s was a special gag, as it held a secret reservoir between the teat and the button, filled with god only knows what mommy had put in there this time. All I could do was grunt my approval, and point to any new exhibit I wanted her to wheel me towards.

When we got to the elephant enclosure towards the end of the park, I felt the stroller come to a halt and heard mommy come around and into view. She bent down towards me, giving me an enticing view of her cleavage, pushed together in the sundress.

“Does baby want to see the elephants? They’re just like your stuffy at home! Only very very big.

I rolled my eyes but I was at least thankful to get out of the chair and stretch my legs. As she got to work undoing the restraints holding in my wrists, ankles, and the big buckle pushing against my crotch, a sudden gust blew past, flipping her sundress up, exposing her no doubt delicate lace panties and gorgeously heart-shaped ass to a lucky couple passing by. The guy blushed and quickly looked away and I stewed in envy of him for even that little glimpse. Suddenly I felt my lower half begin to stir and grow just from my own imagination and grimaced in pain as the cage mommy had put me in during my morning change went to work, clamping down on my poor encased cock.

After a short moment I was finally free and allowed to waddle up to the railing to look down into the massive elephant enclosure. For a brief moment I forgot that I must look like an overgrown toddler any onlooker and just enjoyed, ironically, feeling like a kid at the zoo. But as I got up on my tiptoes to lean over the railing for a better look, I got a sudden reminder that snapped me out of my reverie, as I felt mommy’s hand firmly cup the seat of my shorts, giving my diaper a big squeeze, pressing the wet padding up tightly against my skin.

“Pee-yew! Someone’s stinky! Is that the elephants or you?” She then pulled back the stretchy elastic waistband of my shorts and diaper to get a good look down my backside. I felt the cool air on my behind and wilted in the sheer humiliation of the moment but felt confident in the knowledge that I was not the odorous offender… right? I mean, I would’ve felt it… right? My control had been waning of late and now even I wasn’t so sure. I cringed in anticipation.

“Nope, all clean! That’s a good boy.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief around my pacifier gag, only to inhale sharply once I felt her prodding hand move down to the leg of my shorts, where her finger could easily slip through the elastic leg gathers of my diaper for a closer feel.

“But you are soaked. Best to change you now anyway.” Oh no! Please no. I balked in horror. I quickly looked around hoping to see a family restroom in the immediate area but there was nothing in sight. Nothing but a green park bench a few feet back. I tried to voice my muffled protest but it was too late. Before I could react, mommy was pulling me by the wrist over to the bench, stroller in tow. I stumbled to keep up, the stupid fat diaper forcing my legs apart and turning my normal gait into a bow-legged waddle.

On the bench, mommy laid down my Sesame Street blankie and gently guided me on top. I felt my diaper give a big squish as I sat. She pushed me by the chest until I was flat on my back. Wishing to get this over as soon as possible, I covered my eyes and lifted my hips as she slowly unbuttoned and slid my shorts down and off my legs. Next I heard her heave out the diaper bag and rifle around for essentials. I opened my eyes again when I heard a young woman’s giggle. I quickly glanced up just as a young couple passed by clearly on a date, the woman obviously whispering and laughing to her boyfriend about the big baby she just saw. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.

It was business as usual for mommy, though, as she quickly got to undoing the front tapes of my diaper and peeling back the wet front panel to expose my smooth, hairless crotch to the cold breeze. I shivered and sucked delicately on my paci, careful not to pull too hard and activate mommy’s secret weapon.

Quick as a flash mommy had my ankles together in one hand, pushing them high into the air as she wiped down my bottom with the other, blissfully whistling the “sunny day, chasing the clouds away” refrain from the Sesame Street theme. I felt her run the cold wipe up and down my crack and gave an exasperated wince as I felt the usual wipe covered finger plunge deep into my most private region, exploring each crevice in the name of cleanliness. As soon as my cavity was clear I quickly felt another finger deep inside, no doubt inserting a suppository to keep me regular. Just as I was getting over this current indignation, let alone the humiliation of my naked backside exposed for all the world to see over an open, and clearly soaked diaper, a man rounded the corner.

While normally the thought of any man seeing me in such a compromised and emasculated position would be a nightmare, this particular man presented a new an unexpected sensation: hope. It was a police officer! Finally, someone I could cry out to, someone to whom I could beg for help. Please, officer, she’s keeping me like this against my will! But mommy was quicker. She always is. Without breaking her practiced diaper changing stride, my legs still hoisted aloft, she reached for my face and pressed the button of my pacifier, releasing a sudden spurt of castor oil into my mouth. No longer thinking of freedom, I squinted my eyes shut and swallowed with all my might, tears bursting to the surface as I choked down the foul liquid.

“Aw, now who’s this little fellow?” I heard the man say as I grunted and swallowed, hoping to fight my way through the bitter, oily taste. Mommy told the officer that I was just her little Baby Beluga but as for myself I was enduring sensory overload and couldn’t respond.

“He’s just a little fussy right now, normally he’s so polite! Here baby, you must be gunked up. Blow!” She held a tissue to my nose and forced me to blow my nose into it, just like a real baby. The officer just laughed and moved on with his day, and any hope of freedom sauntered off with him. Mommy then got to pulling the open wet diaper out from underneath me and rolling it into a ball before producing a fresh new diaper from her bag. Just as she was unfolding the new diaper out beneath me, I heard another voice that stole my attention.

“Oh, how cute, what’s his name?” Said a young woman in her early-20s. From her short plaid skirt and college sweater, it was clear she was here as some sort of assignment for school.

“Oh this is just my little Baby Beluga! He wanted to see all the ‘aminals’ today so I took him out for some fun mommy-baby time. Normally he’s not this shy but he always gets fussy during changes.” I blushed deeply at that but that paled in comparison to the humiliation I felt as mommy began to lower my legs onto the waiting padding, revealing my shame to the world, caged in baby blue plastic, resting limply at the base of my bare crotch.

“He’s adorable” the girl cooed while mommy dusted me with powder. “If you ever need a babysitter, I’m working on my graduate degree at the university in town and am always looking to earn a little on the side! And from the looks of it, you’ve got a well behaved sweetheart on your hands.” She leaned in and gave me a little pinch on the cheek just as mommy pulled the front of the diaper up into place and I felt my cock stir again only to press futilely against the wall of its cage. The events of the afternoon combined with the sudden reminder of my emasculated state in front of these two beautiful women talking about me like I wasn’t even there this time evoked real tears as I soon found myself experiencing an honest to goodness tantrum. Mommy simply pressed the button on my pacifier once more and my wailing only increased as I fought to swallow the mouthful of terrible liquid.

“That’s so sweet of you! As you can see he can be quite a handful and I can use all the help I can get. Give me your number and I’ll give you a call sometime!” And just like that the woman was walking back to her group and mommy was sticking the last of the tapes into place and pulling my cargo shorts back up over my fat diaper, telling me all about the otters and polar bears we were about to meet.

My first messy accident

“Worthless”

I do not like the concept of someone being “worthless” in the context of BDSM, it’s not something I have ever said to a sub and it’s not something I enjoy seeing. I’ll preface all of this by saying that I can understand hypothetically why that term could be appealing to people in a humiliation context, but it’s just not for me.

If you have ever so much as glanced at my blog, or even read the title, it shouldn’t be hard to see that I am very interested in humiliation. Some of my absolute favorite things to do in a D/s context are to piss on a sub and make her make out with my ass. In that context I may call a sub my urinal or ass licker, and it might be all I call her that whole day.

So you might ask if you are willing to piss on someone and call her a urinal, then why not worthless? Two reasons:

1) Whether you are dripping in piss or you have your head shoved up my ass, that doesn’t make you less of a person. I may make her do degrading things, but I never think less of her as a person because she is doing something I want her to do, if anything those are moments where I praise her, for doing things that are difficult to endure, because they please me. That’s absolutely worthwhile.

2) I think that any good humiliation has to be rooted in some level of truth. If I call someone a urinal for example, there’s truth to that title. It might be degrading to hear for her, but that’s because she knows there is truth to that and so do I when I say it. If I were to say someone was worthless, I wouldn’t believe that and wouldn’t want her to believe it either, which is not effective in creating the mindset I want.

I get on average 4-5 messages a month from random people on here where in their first message they describe themselves as worthless. I understand that they usually think they are demonstrating that they are interested in humiliation, but it’s not appealing to me. Quite the opposite, when I first get to know you I want to know all of the things that make you worthwhile, your skills, your talents, along with your faults and flaws, but when the first thing you tell me is that you are worthless, it makes me wonder than why I should take my time to respond to you. When I look for someone, I want someone who is going to add to my life, enrich it in various ways that I might choose and that I can do the same for her.

So while I fully support others using those types of phrases in their humiliation play and can understand the appeal, it’s not something for me. I don’t think people are worthless, I certainly don’t think being a submissive negatively affects your worth as a person and if I did think you were worthless I certainly wouldn’t have interest in speaking to that person let alone considering them as a partner and/or submissive.

Nursery School Graduation - Complete Story!

Author's Note: This story is for readers 18+ only. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

I eyed the plastic potty for the hundredth time since waking from my nap. 

Set off in a corner by one of the old diaper genies they didn’t use anymore. Unused except for Friday afternoons. It was white and aquamarine with a comfy foam seat. At least Ruby told me it was comfy when she graduated last year. Stickers were plastered all over it: princesses, Transformers, Pokemon. Even a few Diaper Dan stickers. I was gonna add mine today. I’d already decided on a castle.

I looked around the room. There were a bunch of us here in Back to Basics Nursery School. Some crawling around, some toddling, some sitting together with their favorite toys, lost in their own little worlds. The teachers moved from one student to the next, checking diapers, adjusting clothing, offering gentle words of encouragement. One of the teachers, Miss Becca, was bent down, her hands hovering near the waistband of a diaper. She leaned back and waved a hand in front of her nose.

I smirked. Craig wouldn’t clog up the potty line today. And he wasn’t the only one. I spotted more than one saggy, soggy diaper. 

I sat at one of the little wooden tables, crayons in hand, sketching a picture. I’d asked for colored pencils—more precise, better for details—two years ago. Miss Susie gave me some. Then Hansen swiped a handful and dropped them in the fish tank. Mr. Goldy almost died cuz his filter got messed up or something. They took the colored pencils away after that. So, back to crayons I went. 

I set down the blue crayon and picked up the forest green. I was sketching the block tower that Rosie and I had been trying to build all year. The tower in my drawing soared to the ceiling, little people below smiling up at it. Each block was neatly stacked. Stable. I knew it was possible. The blunt tips of the crayons made it hard to tell, but each block in my sketch matched one in the big box of blocks. 

Rosie sat by herself, a concentrated look on her face as she stacked a few blocks at the base of the tower. She was always so eager, so determined, and yet… something always got in the way. Today, it looked like she’d reached that moment again—she’d built a decent base, but the tower’s height had stalled out. I could see her eyes flitting between the blocks and the taller stacks around her, frustration starting to cloud her face. 

She glanced over at me and, after a second of hesitation, got up and wandered over. Her diaper crinkled louder with each step. “Pete,” she said, her voice soft and hopeful. “I can’t make it go higher... Could you help?” She smiled hesitantly. Hopeful. The kind of smile she gave me when she wanted to remind me of the fun we had building together. “You always make it work, and it’s more fun when you help.”

I scanned the room again. I wasn’t scoping out the potty competition this time. I was looking for him. 

Hansen. If I so much as thought the words that came to mind when I saw his piggy little face Miss Roberta would soap my mouth and then spank me till bubbles popped out. He was making a show of building something of his own—a half-hearted effort at a block tower, probably. He didn’t have any ideas of his own. His hands were all over it, awkward and flailing, like he was making a mess on purpose. As always, he was loud and disruptive, knocking into anyone who got too close. 

“I’d like to, but…” I glanced over at Hansen again, feeling a tightness in my chest. “You know how it is with Hansen. He’ll just wreck it like he always does.” I shook my head, giving Rosie a half-hearted smile. “Sorry.”

My stomach grumbled, a deep, low sound. It had been like this since lunch, a gnawing reminder that I hadn’t been able to hold my stinkies all the way from nap time until the end of the day since…well, ever. My attention flicked back to the picture I was drawing, focusing on the tower I could never build. 

“Besides, I’ve got other things to focus on,” I muttered quietly, my hands gripping the crayon tighter, trying to ignore the discomfort.

“You’re going to remember me when you graduate and go to preschool, right?” Rosie asked. Her gaze flicked to my diaper, still clean and dry for the moment. 

“Of course,” I said. “I’m dry, see?” I looked around the room, glancing at the other students who were playing, some of them rolling around in their diapers, others chatting with the teachers or distracted by toys. Most of them seemed so carefree, so comfortable. None of them had been stuck here as long as I had. Hansen’s eyes met mine. 

Dangit. 

He sauntered over. He also looked dry, I noted. “Oh, look,” he sneered, making sure the room heard him. “Petey Pampers. I’m surprised they haven’t named the nursery after you yet.”

“You’re in diapers, too!” Rosie shot at him. Hansen ignored her. “How long’s it been? Two years? Three?” He let out a mock laugh. He leaned close, his breath smelling like apple juice and Cheerios. “I’ll send you a postcard from preschool. They let you use markers there.”

Miss Maryam looked up from putting away the tubs of playdough. Her face scrunched in disapproval. “Hansen, that’s enough. Don’t be mean.” 

“But it’s true!” Hansen said. “He’s been here longer than anyone ever. He’s never getting out of diapers.” 

Miss Maryam chuckled. “Every little diaperboy and diapergirl graduates when they are ready. I’m sure Peter will too, someday.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. 

Hansen rolled his eyes at me and wandered off. 

The other students in the coloring area had quieted. A few looked my way. I wanted to defend myself, to shout, to lash out and tell them I’d seen their saggy, stinking diapers too. But I swallowed my words. I didn’t have to justify myself to them. After today, I’d never see any of them again.

Rosie smiled softly at me, brushing a strand of black hair from her face. “I don’t care if we build the tower or not. We can just hang out. Wanna play cars instead, Pete? We can make a loop and a jump this time. Or something else?” 

I sighed. Set down my crayon. “Maybe we can work on the tower for a few minutes. I have an idea for—” I stopped. 

Hansen had sidled up behind Rosie’s tower, that grin of his stretched wide. He nudged the base with his foot, sending the blocks tumbling in one swift, careless motion. 

Rosie gasped, her hands going to her mouth as she stared at the collapsed structure. “No!” 

I opened my mouth to say something, to defend her. Before I could, Miss Susie called out to the whole nursery. “Everyone, line up. It’s diaper check time.” 

My eyes were on Miss Maryam. They were always on Miss Maryam during the Friday afternoon diaper check. She picked up the training potty and carried it into the middle of the open play space.

Students started to shuffle into the play space, looking expectantly at the plastic training potty in the middle of the room. The excitement in the air shifted, the playful atmosphere transforming into something more serious, more pressing.

I got in line next to Rosie. She was still looking at the remains of her tower. Tears welled in the corners of her big brown eyes. 

I squeezed her hand. “You’ll get it next time.” 

She didn’t respond. 

The teachers worked their way down the line. Pulling back waistbands. Squeezing. Poking. Sniffing. Making their little remarks. 

“Looks like someone got a visit from the sog-monster.” 

“That’s one saggy diaper there, sweetie.” 

“Pee-yeew!”

The ones who weren’t clean and dry—most of them, I was encouraged to see—were led away by teachers. Some cried. Most didn’t care. They were shuffled over to the row of changing tables with soft reassurances about how ‘they could try again next year’ and how ‘a fresh, dry diaper would make them feel right as rain.’ 

I wouldn’t miss this one bit. Checks and changes. Sitting in soggy diapers—or worse. Smelling like baby powder and pee. Preschool had pull-ups, and pull-ups were practically big boy underwear. 

Just a little longer. 

Miss Susie stepped in front of the few of us who remained. “Does everyone remember what today is?” 

“Bromsday!” Lily shouted. She had a big, dopey grin on her face.

I rolled my eyes.

Susie chuckled. “Good try, sweetie. Today is Friday, which means you get a chance to prove you’re ready to graduate and move on to preschool. But this Friday is extra special. It’s the last Friday of the session. Your mommies and daddies need to renew tonight or sign you up for preschool. So if you haven’t proven you’re ready to use the potty, you’ll get to spend another year with us. Yay!”

I could feel the weight of her words. I knew how important today was. I didn’t need any reminders. I just needed to hold my stinkies a little longer. The discomfort in my tummy was 

growing harder to ignore, though.

Miss Susie held the list of names on a clipboard. They assigned the order randomly. At least that’s what they said. I was always at the back. Well, nearly always. It’s why I hadn’t graduated.

“Lily,” Miss Susie called. 

Lily jumped up, brown braids flopping around like she’d won the lottery. Which she basically had. She stood so close to the plastic potty her bare toes touched it. 

“Derek,” Miss Susie said. 

With each voice she called out, my hopes sank. 

Finally, they called Rosie. Then me. And then, at the very back of the line, there was Hansen. He was fidgeting, clearly impatient, his hands on his hips as he muttered to no one in particular. “This is so unfair,” he complained. “I should’ve gone first! Why do I have to wait behind all these losers?” His words drew a few eyes, but the teachers only smiled politely and ignored him, focusing instead on the rest of the students. 

I wished I could be happy Hansen was last, but all I could think about was the number of people in front of me in line. I’d never make it. Never. Rosie was beside me, her eyes bright with optimism, her hand brushing against mine just briefly. 

“Alright, get ready to start the timer for five minutes,” Miss Susie said to Miss Quin. Miss Quin nodded and held up the stopwatch so everyone could see it. 

I groaned quietly. “We know, we know. It’s always five minutes.” 

Hansen leaned close. “Not everyone has been here a million years, Petey Pampers.” 

I stared straight ahead, doing my best to ignore him.

“Lily,” Miss Susie said.

Lily stepped forward, her face bright with excitement. Miss Susie pulled the tapes off her diaper and removed it. The room was silent as she gave the diaper one last check, then nodded. Lily plopped down on the potty, and everyone cheered. Everyone except me and Hansen. 

Lily leaped up when the timer dinged five agonizing minutes later. She beamed with pride, pointing at the potty. “I peed like a big girl!” 

Miss Susie peered down into the potty and nodded appreciatively. “Good job, Lily! Preschool is gonna be so lucky to have such a sweet, clever girl. Now pick out your sticker and show the class. That way, they can all remember what a big girl you were every time they see it.” 

Lily plucked a sticker from the sheet and showed it to the classroom. “A Zoonicorn!” 

Hansen snickered. 

“That’s a very cute unicorn,’ Lily,” Miss Susie said. “Now run on over to Miss Peggy for your very first pull-up.” 

Lily scuttled off, half running, half skipping. Her proud daddy greeted her, gushing over her new, pull-on undies. 

Come on, let’s keep it going. No one liked Lily, anyway. She ate the playdough. 

Next came a diaperboy named Derek. He was tall. Tall enough I thought if we ever got our tower almost to the ceiling, we could ask him to reach up and put the last few pieces on. He had been in the nursery school for a while. Always quiet. But nice enough. 

He froze halfway to the potty. 

“Derek?” Miss Susie asked. “Did you just wet your diaper?” 

He shook his head vigorously, his messy blonde hair flopping all around and covering his face. 

Miss Susie approached and gave the front of his diaper a squeeze. His face turned red, tears welling up in his eyes as he hunched over. “I—I couldn’t hold it,” he stammered through his sobs, his hands shaking. Miss Susie hugged him. “Aww, that’s alright. Run along to your daddy. He’ll help you get your pants on.” 

Derek ran off crying.  

At least it was only pee, I thought. At least he hadn’t pooped. That was something, right? The tension in my gut was still building, gnawing at me as I watched the boy being led away, tears still falling. 

Hansen, of course, couldn’t resist a jab. “Pathetic,” he sneered loudly. “Can’t even make it five minutes. Maybe you should just go back to nursery school.” 

I turned around to give him a dirty look and stopped. His face was all screwed up. His jaw clenched. Fists balled. 

He has to go, too, I realized.

I turned around and smiled to myself. I was going to make it. Not only that, I was going to make it and Hansen was not. Maybe Mommy would get ice cream tonight to celebrate. Cookie dough! 

They let Derek’s timer run the full five minutes. Those were the rules. They were dumb rules, but I’d stopped sharing that opinion a couple of spankings ago. Besides, every second longer was a second Hansen would have to squirm, too. I was going to watch him when they sat me on the potty. Make sure he saw me relaxing and doing my business like a big boy. Comfy. Confident. On the way to preschool.

Marta was next. A petite girl with a shy smile. Her diaper was clean and dry, and there was a momentary hush in the room as Miss Susie planted her on the potty. She looked back at the rest of us, ready to prove she could do it. 

Rosie would be next after Marta, her usual chipper energy still intact despite the failed tower. She leaned toward me, her voice soft. “It’s okay, Pete,” she said, giving me a warm smile. “You’ve got this. I know you do.” 

Appreciation washed over me even as the pressure in my stomach was growing unbearable. My mind kept returning to the tower, to the fun we could have, but the thought of the potty made everything feel more pressing. I shuffled a little closer to her, feeling a connection between us. “You too. We’re gonna have so much fun in preschool together. I bet they have even better blocks there. Legos!”

As the timer continued ticking, the tension in the room grew thicker. My stomach churned again, and I let out a toot. It was louder than I thought it would be. Hansen snickered. 

I shifted, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Not that I didn’t toot in my diapers all the time, but not when the room was quiet and we were all lined up. Not when Rosie was right next to me.

Rosie turned to me. 

“Sorry,” I winced. 

She waved it away. “I pooped my diaper this morning, right before snack time. Remember?” 

I giggled. I did remember. It was really stinky, too. 

“Can I see your sketchbook,” she asked. 

“Why?”

“I wanna see your tower drawing. So I know what to do after you’re gone.” 

I hadn’t shown it to anyone yet, not really, but I didn’t hesitate. I handed her my sketchbook, and it flopped open to a different page with a picture of a sailboat. 

She started flipping through the pages the smile on her face growing. “These are amazing, Pete. You’re so talented!” 

My face flushed with heat. “Just go to the tower one. It’s on the last page.” 

She stopped, her fingers hovering over a page with a different tower drawing. This one was the two of us building a tower that stretched all the way to the ceiling. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Is that… me?” she asked, her voice small, almost a whisper. “You made me look really pretty.”

My face flushed. I snatched the book back, a wave of embarrassment flooding over me. “It’s nothing.”

Rosie opened her mouth to say something.

Tiinnggg

I heard the gentle ding of the door chime. Mommy. She was still in her work clothes: a long brown coat and a blue skirt, her long blonde hair flowing behind her. Her heels clicked on the tile as she walked over to the other parents and the teachers. She exchanged a few words with Miss Becca, their voices low and friendly. 

Our eyes met, and she gave me a wave. Miss Becca said something to her. I could barely make it out. “...really trying…another year...potty dance.” They both chuckled.

I realized I’d crossed my legs at some point and was holding my tummy. My stinky-diaper dance, as my Mommy called it. I felt a pang in my chest, hearing them talk about me like that, as if my failure was inevitable. 

Hansen’s potty dance was worse than mine, at least. He clutched the back of his diaper, his forehead all scrunched up. He was getting desperate. He was on the verge of messing himself. Hansen didn’t say anything now; for once, his arrogance had faltered. 

Marta’s timer dinged. 

I nudged Rosie. “It’s almost your turn.”

She looked up at me, sad. 

“What’s the…oh.” I saw the sagging, yellow front of her diaper.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. Her eyes shimmered with the threat of tears. “I—I tried. I really did.”

“It’s alright. You’ll get it next year. You won’t be stuck here in diapers forever.” 

Rosie shrugged. “I like it here. Teachers are nice. There’s loads of fun toys and activities. I like feeding Mr. Goldy.” 

“So…what’s the matter?” I asked. 

“I really thought we could get the tower all the way to the ceilin’.” 

“Come on up, Rosie,” Miss Susie called out. 

Rosie suddenly wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight, her head pressed against my chest. “Have fun at preschool,” she whispered. 

She thinks you’re going to make it. She’s certain of it. 

She let me go and walked up to Miss Susie, who checked her diaper and found it wet. She consoled her, offering the usual assurance of ‘that’s what diapers are for,’ not realizing the real reason she was so sad. Then Rosie shuffled over to her daddy as her five minutes ticked away. 

I was sweating now. My stomach a hurricane of cramping pains. Time crawled. 

Finally, a light ding. 

“Come on up, Peter,” Miss Susie called. 

I shuffled forward slowly. Carefully. Hands on my aching tummy. 

The teachers and remaining parents gave a half-hearted cheer, their voices soft, polite, but without the energy I’d seen them give to the others. 

A few of the students chuckled, including Hansen, who made no effort to hide the amusement on his face. “Look at Petey doing his little potty dance,” he teased, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Bet he won’t make it.” 

Mommy didn’t laugh. At least, I didn’t think so. But some of the other mommies and daddies did. 

My eyes met Rosie’s. She dabbed away the tears in them and was smiling. Hopeful. Happy for me, even though she knew it meant we wouldn’t hang out anymore. Wouldn’t finish our tower together. 

I glanced over at the jumbled pile of blocks. I wanted to finish that tower together. Desperately. And maybe, if Hansen were gone, we finally could. 

We didn’t get to make many choices in nursery school. Not like preschool. They told us when to have snacks and when to take naps and how long to wash our hands after we fed Mr. Goldy. But I could make this decision. 

I stopped right in front of the potty. “Sorry, Miss Susie,” I said. 

“What for…?”

I dropped into a squat and let the stinky mess push out into my diaper like I had a million times before. Like I probably would a million times again.

“Oh, sweetie,” Miss Susie said. She sighed. 

I stood up when I was done. Everyone was silent. Even Hansen.

Miss Susie put her arm around me. “It’s alright, Peter. We will love to have you for another year. Run along, now.” She gave the back of my diaper a light swat, smooshing the stinky mess I’d deposited there. 

I didn’t care. Not really. 

Mommy’s smile tugged at the corners of her mouth like it did when I spilled juice on the floor or forgot to empty out my diaper pail. Soft, patient love mixed with exasperation. She didn’t look surprised, though. She pulled me tight against her and kissed the top of my head. “It’s alright, sweetie. There’s always next year.” 

I nodded. 

“Ice cream?” she said. 

I smiled. “Can I get cookie dough?”

“Of course.” 

I looked over at Rosie, whose daddy was helping get her coat on. 

“What’s the matter, babycakes?” Mommy asked. 

“Can I have a bit more time?”

She patted my diaper. “I’m sure they’ll let me change your stinky britches before we go. Let me just get your diaper bag from the car.” 

I shook my head. Glanced at Rosie, who was almost out the door now. “Somethin’ else.” 

Mommy looked at Rosie. Nodded. “Of course. Take your time. I’ll talk to Miss Susie about getting you signed up for another year.” 

I ran over to Rosie. 

She stared at me, her eyes wide in shock for a moment. Then, as realization dawned on her, she smiled softly, the corners of her lips curling in understanding. She didn’t say anything, but I saw it in the way she looked at me—there was no judgment, just quiet support.

“Do you want to finish our tower?” I asked her.

She looked up at her daddy, who nodded. “Of course, darlin’. I’ll catch up with the other mommies and daddies for a bit. Have fun.”

I took Rosie’s hand in mine, and we crossed the room.

“Sorry I’m stinky,” I whispered.

She squeezed my hand. “I don’t care.” 

We’d just started the third level of the tower when Hansen screamed. “Yes! I’m going to preschool!” he shouted, the noise grating in my ears. “You see that, Petey? That’s how you do it!”

I ignored him, slotting a big blue block into place. He could have his pull-ups and his Lego blocks. 

I had my friend. 

---

Big thank you to my friends @diapergirlstories and @batarangaroo for their feedback on this story!

If you enjoyed this short tale, you'll love my full-length stories - check 'em out on Ream! There are 42 stories there, several of them novella or novel length, and I add more every week.

Easter is a time for celebration. For young 20-something Hester that meant going out with her friends for a wild night of reckless carefree partying since no one would have work or college to get up for in the morning.

The play bunny outfit had seemed like a brullent idea. Bunny ears at Easter time, it was sure to get a laugh, although the outfit was harder to finalise than she had anticipated. It came down to a question of commitment. At first she had been willing to wear bunny wears and dress. Then she swaped out for a shorter more hugging dress but it still wasn’t the right ‘look’. She just looked like a girl wearing bunny ears. What was it that made the playboy girls so eye catching? They were lingerie models. It was the most daring and exposing thing she had ever done in public but she steeling herself with the knowledge it was a ‘costume’, after all Wondermen essentially thought crime in a leotard. After getting her first 'up and down’ look from a grinning taxi man arrived to deliver her to the venue, she felt empowered by her bold choice and text her friends to let them know they’d soon get to see the outfit she’d been working on secretively.

Needless to say the next day was effectively written off with a horrendous hang over. She tried to sleep through most of it but while she lay in bed she frequently checked her social media feed which was ablaze with pictures and comments from the night.

The next day she had drive round to her Mom’s, it was a family tradition to get together and have a roast.

“Hi Mom. Hey am I early? We’re is uncle Stevie and his kids?“ she asked. Uncle Stevie lived just down the road and Mom was always babysitting his kids so it was surpprising they weren’t already here painting eggs.

Hester’s mother looked up from the breakfast counter with a troubled expression.

“No one is coming this year. I cancelled. Its just gonna be us this year.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. How come? ” Hester anxiously rubbed her arm. She could sense a subtle hostility, her mother was annoyed at something.

“Hester we need to have a talk. Let’s go sit in the living room. I’ll make some tea.”

Hester’s mind was reeling as she sat at one end of the sofa. She could hear the kettle froth and the tinkle of her mother stirring tea cups. She dreading hearing some bad family news but she thought it was stranger that her Mom hadn’t called her straight away.

It wasn’t too long before her mother returned with a tray and sat down beside her.

“Is everything okay Mom?“

"Not really hun.” her mother paused, exhaled and drowned. “Hester were you at a party on Friday night?“

"Yeah, all my friends went. Why?“

Her mother had taken her phone out and was peering down the end of her nose through her glasses as she scrolled and found what she was looking for. She passed the phone to Hester. It was the online version of the local paper. There was photo of Hester from the party. She hadn’t been named but she knew local people would recognise her. Hester felt her a lump rise in her throat as she read the defamatory comments in the article about how today’s youth were 'bad eggs’. The pun was bad but the rest of the visceral language effectively labeled her as a slut. It was really upsetting, all she had wanted was to have some fun, she hadn’t even gone home with a guy that night.

"Mom, I can explain.”

“No. Just drink your tea sweetie. I want to say something first.”

Hester’s mother rubbed her back but the lecture she rattled off was hard to stomach and Hester found herself in tears.

“Mum I’m sorry I disappointed you but its not like that…” she sobbed but her mother wouldn’t listen, she continued to berate her.

“… I love you and I know you’re a good girl at heart. Which is why i’ve decided you need a second chance. We both need a second chance. I’m going to be a good mother a re-raise you from the start.”

“Mom what does that mean?“ Hester asked but she noticed her words were slurred and she felt sluggish. "Mom, I don’t feel good.”

“Shhh sweetie. Just close your eyes. Why don’t you take a nap?“

By the time heavy eyelids opened again her mother had already carried her up to the spare room, now an adult sized nursery.

Hester didn’t need to repeat her earlier question about what her mother had meant. It was now obvious. As she flex her exhausted legs she heard a crinkle from the thick disposable diaper she’d been put in. She tried to protest but the blub of a huge pacifier sealed the words in her mouth. She couldn’t seem to think straight and simply spit it out.

Her mother smiled pitifully at the confused expression on her daughters face.

"I know this is confusing for you. How about we get you out of these adult clothes and into some of your cute new baby clothes. That’ll help you adjust to your new age sweetheart.”

A year of drugged regression passed.

To the outside world it seemed like Hester had had some kind of mental break down. There had even been a follow up in the local paper after she spotted at the supermarket being wheeled on a pushchair by her mother. Her close family knew the truth of course and so sometimes she received small kindness in acknowledgement that she was still an adult. Uncle Stevie for example would usher his kids and himself out of the room if Hester’s Mother decided to change her on the floor rather than up in the nursery. Her aunties however would usually just keep gossiping and talking over her even as she lay naked in front of them, limply kicking her legs.

Hester’s adult mind came in and out of what she thought of the 'fog’ the chemical concoction which made it hard to think straight and rendered her effectively incontinent.

Around Easter time, Uncle Stevie had come around with a present for her, a larges stuffed bunny to mark the season since she didn’t have the dexterity to sit patiently and paint eggs with her 'older’ cousins.

The easter period had stirred something of a rebellion in baby Hester. Over the course of the year she had gradually seemed to become more accepting and happy in her role as an adult baby, even when her adult thoughts surfaced, she deluded herself that she should continue to be a good girl and act like a baby for her Mommy. However with Easter came a clearer memory of what her Mother had done to her and a stronger sense of what she had lost.

Her mother had noticed her daughter sulked more, laughed less and refused her babas. She devised a solution.

On Easter Sunday Hester woke feeling particularly clear headed. She recalled that for whatever reason her mother had forgotten to feed her with her usual nightime bottle.

Her mother appeared shortly, lowering the crib bars and popping a couple of the snaps at the crotch of her onsie to feel the wetness of her soaked night time diaper.

“You look bright eyed today Baby…” she got to work setting out changing supplies. “Can you understand what Mommy is saying?”

Hester nodded behind the pacifier she rhythmically sucked on, whilst her mother wiped clean her mound and bare bottom with a cool wet wipe.

“Good… Do you remember what we talked about at Easter last year?“

Resentment burned behind Hester’s brown eyes. She remembered, that like now, it had been a onsided conversation. She nodded cautiously.

"Good.” her mother looked wistful maybe even reproachful but busied herself folding Hester’s clean nappy over her midrift and smoothing the strong adhesive tabs against her abdomin.

“You’ve been a good little girl. Mommy’s thinking maybe you are ready to be a good big girl again?”

Hester nodded vigeriously and moaned wordlessly behind her pacifier. Her mother smiled.

“First a little game to check that your not too far gone as my little baby girl to come back to being an adult again.”

Hester gulped.

The game was simple. All she had to do was find all the Easter eggs her mother had hidden in the room. Her mother even helped her out by reaching down any eggs from places Hester pointed at buy couldn’t reach because she wasn’t able to stand for very long without assistance.

“Hewy!“ Hester lisped as her mother cheekily ate one of her eggs in front of her.

"Don’t worry baby. It still counts as one you found. I think that must be all of them now. Why don’t you count them up for me?“

Hester’s mother changed the adult babys top, which had been drooled down the front, and left her to count eggs while she took the laundry basket down to the washing machine.

Hester frowned in concentration

'One. Two. Um?’

Her mind was clearer than it had been year but she was struggling to recount her numbers. Then she had a brillent idea. If she ate some of the eggs, there would be less to count.

When Hester’s mother returned after making a descreet trip to the bathroom. She found Hester has eaten only three of the laxative chocolate eggs but she seem could smeel the lumpy mess the adult baby had excreted into her diaper. The poor girl was in tears.

"Aww. I’m sorry little one, it looks like I was wrong about you being ready to be an adult again. Oh well, we can try again next year.”

Easter is a time of celebration. For two-year-olds like Hester that means being dressed in an adorable Easter dress and being fussed over by all the realitives at the Sunday roast.

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I hope you all enjoyed my caption and have a great Easter break!

Please reblog.

I’ll try to do more of these long muti-picture captions but they are likely to appear around holidays or on patreon because they much longer than usual to plan, gather images and to write.