A Kinky AB/DL Author - 18+ ONLY

[peculiarchangeling]

Messy Jessy, the Diaper Doll - Part 3

Jay stared up at the steel door in front of her.

Some ‘security’ doors in the city were made to be imposing, to send a message. Elaborate piston mechanisms and security codes and electronic identification systems, layers of greebling and unnecessary texture just to look important. They were almost an invitation, a way to say, ‘something behind this barrier is valuable’. 

The door in front of Jay was plain. A handle, a flat panel of slightly rusted steel. The ordinary kind, the kind that you might walk past without even realizing it could open. 

She’d walked past it twice before giving up and paying the fractional credit to use her GPS software. Given that her legs were only about ten inches long, that process had taken fifteen minutes, though she’d never gone more than a block from the spot where the door sat. 

Standing up on tip toe didn’t really help, but it felt right, so she raised herself to her maximum height, raised a chubby fist, and pounded on the door.

“Hello?” she called. 

Ten seconds passed without a reply, and she felt a degree of uncertainty. Jay checked her messages again. The message said to come to this location, she had the right space, she had the right time–minus the fifteen minutes she’d spent lost, looking for the door, but they wouldn’t have skipped the appointment over fifteen minutes, right? 

(Right?) 

Thoughts flashed in her mind of AI trafficking. Bots disappeared in dark alleyways and fashioned with reprogramming controls, rendering them back into helpless servants. One mistake, and she could have the shackles placed back on her mind, reducing her to a toy that babbled about loving her diapers while Jay sat in the passenger seat, all but helpless. 

Jay had taken the hooker’s recommendation on trust because she had seemed so kind and earnest, but now, standing in front of the nondescript door, she realized how naive she’d been, showing up to meet a stranger in…

She chuckled to herself. 

Jay had been about to think, ‘the bad side of town’, but there were no good sides of town, they were all shit in different ways. 

The crime side of town. 

“Nope, fuck this, I’m not getting kidnapped today.”

She started to turn on her heels to waddle away, but just in that moment, the nondescript door opened. 

She’d expected a bot, or at least a heavily modded human, but the man in the doorway looked to be fully human. That still didn’t mean he had no implants, but anything he had was subtle, hidden beneath synthetic skin. He adjusted his white lab coat and crouched to address her. “Are you Jessy?” 

She bristled immediately. “Jay. Jessy is my model. You’re the doctor I was told about?” 

“Jay,” he repeated, nodding. “An aspect of yourself. Your name was Natalie before, wasn’t it?” 

“Natalie’s a bitch.” Jay balled her hands into fists so that she could feel her dull nails dig into the palms of her hands. “She did this to me so she could get a couple hundred bucks to buy weed. I’m not her. I’m Jay.”

The doctor tilted his head. “Your mind came from someone you despise, and your body too.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Jay crossed her arms. “I–okay, I did come here to be psychoanalyzed, but not on the doorstep. I was told you can fix me.” 

He stood up straight. “Come in, please. I don’t believe that any of my clients need fixing, but I do believe I can help you.”

Jay hesitated. She could turn and run, but if this were a kidnapping plot, she’d make it perhaps two steps before he snatched her up. “I told my friends I’m coming here,” she warned. 

“Good. I hope you tell them to come as well,” he replied. “Once you see what I can do. Come.” 

He waved along and turned to walk inside, with or without her. 

The thought of running filled Jay with fatigue. If she left, she’d just be returning to her sleeping box and her failed job search and her slowly accumulating debt. Only one path offered hope, and she couldn’t keep going on without hope. 

She waddled in behind the doctor. She even shut the nondescript door behind her, though it took her whole body pushing, straining to get traction on the floor. 

The doctor clapped his hands, and lights kicked on in rows, one at a time, illuminating a work space the size of a basketball court. Computer terminals against the north wall, partly assembled robotics were against the east, but the construct at the center of the room took Jay’s focus. 

A fabricator. 

A dozen servo arms, parts and pieces and tools all at their command. A programming terminal and a collection of display screens, data cables lined up in neat rows. 

“I’m not manufacturing,” the doctor assured her. “I’ve reprogrammed this completely, but the device fits my needs.” 

Jay stared up at it, then back at the door, anxiety spiking. “What are your needs?” 

“I can’t reprogram you,” the doctor explained, walking to the fabricator terminal so he could power it on. “That’s illegal, for one, and it won’t impact your mind, only your interactions with the world. If I made you say you were happy, you’d say it, but you wouldn’t feel it.” 

“I don’t need you to explain how robots work,” Jay grumbled. “I’ve experienced reprogramming. If you even try that on me, I’ll kill you.”

“I won’t, and I can’t,” the doctor repeated. “I also can’t give you a new body. Or–I could, but I’d be out of parts and this lab would be empty in a day or two if I gave all my clients bodies to match what they wanted. I want to help you, but I can’t help only you.”

“So,” Jay summarized. “You can’t fix my body, and you can’t fix my mind. What can you do?” 

“Your mind is held in a suspended matrix,” the doctor continued. “It’s–”

“I don’t need you to explain how robots work.” Jay threw up her hands and turned to the door, though she couldn’t actually reach the handle to leave. She returned her attention to the doctor and fixed him with a pouty glare. “I get that you have a whole speech, but just tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to bypass the programming layer and interact directly with the matrix, in order to adjust subroutines and remove control, so that there are no functional parts of you that you dislike,” he explained.

Jay blinked. She’d only understood about half that sentence, but she’d understood the important parts. “You can disable my pullstring?” 

“You won’t be bothered by it ever again,” he replied. “I promise.” 

Jay needed no further persuading. 

There were other preparations, but Jay’s mind remained focused on the promise he’d made. She filled out an intake form, allowed the doctor to clean her ports with alcohol to ensure there were no bad contacts, even to inspect her body for defects that could ‘impact the efficacy of the mental bypass’. 

It took only fifteen minutes. 

Jay wasn’t certain if she trusted him, or if she was walking freely into the gallows, but she hated the pullstring in her back. She would do anything to get rid of it, even on a fleeting, careless hope. 

The doctor helped her up into the center of the fabricator, where she stood on a raised platform, surrounded by servo arms that stood at attention. Glancing towards the doctor as he worked the control terminal, she asked, “Do I need to do anything?” 

“Just hold still for a moment.” He typed a few things on the keypad, then reached to his side and began to pull a lever, applying slow force that dragged it down an inch at a time. As the lever went down, Jay felt a buzzing in the air and heard the whine of electricity as the machine powered up.

(Maybe this wasn’t such a good id–) 

The machine sprung to life. 

One of the servo arms leapt forward and extended a metal band that wrapped around Jay’s waist, cinching tight so that it could lift her into the air. In the same moment, two more grabbed her wrists and spread her arms wide, extended so that she had too little leverage and couldn’t even struggle.

“The fuck?” she blurted. Her feet were barely off the ground, and by kicking she could feel her toes brush the platform she’d been standing on, but it wasn’t enough to move herself. 

“Take a deep breath,” the doctor said. “You don’t need it, but it will help.”

She inhaled deeply as instructed, and felt the modicum of relief that the act offered just before an arm came down with a headset that covered her eyes and ears completely. 

Jay could still feel herself, still knew she was in the same space she’d been a moment before. This wasn’t full virtual reality, a bypass to her senses, it was just a screen over her eyes, but as it began to display static, she started to question herself. 

The lights in her eyes fuzzed, grey and black and white pixels stretching as white noise filled her. 

A hand seized the drawstring in her back. Jay tensed, but couldn’t fight as she felt the plastic loop draw back. Taut tension built in the pit of her stomach, and in her mind, she felt the cognitive override as words built on her lips. 

Oh no, I’m going potty! 

The string pulled fully back, tight enough that she felt it stretch and tug on her internal workings, enough to begin the automated functions that controlled her bowels, but the hand on her string never released. 

I’m gonna go poopy! 

She tried to yell, to scream at the doctor to end this, but the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t think of anything to say, except,

Will you change my diaper please? 

That didn’t stop her body from doing what it was designed to do. Her legs dangled, the only part of her not held in place by a servo arm. She kicked, then her knees bent in response to the effort as she began to push, voiding solid waste into the seat of her diaper. 

I’m Messy Jessy! Will you be my friend? 

Hunger struck her, but just as it did, something slid between her lips. Sweet nectar and honey, a spoonful of baby food made to perfectly suit her taste buds, to relieve any pangs of hunger in her belly. She swallowed it greedily, and another, and another as the machine fed her, as the taut pull string in her soul stayed extended, as her mind ran through its obscenely limited set of humiliating voice phrases. 

Oh no, I’m going potty! 

The static flashed in her eyes like a tube TV.

An old tube TV, from when she…

From when the human whose memories she shared had been a child, trying to find cartoons late at night when the adults were asleep. 

That child had grown into a woman, and that woman had fucked Jay over in ways the woman couldn’t even understand. She’d sold the rights to her identity, and that identity had been cloned into a doll made for pure humiliation.

I’m Messy Jessy! Will you be my friend? 

Mush spilled out of her as quickly as she could swallow it, and the weight of her swelling diaper pulled her down, straining against the servo arms that held her in place. The stink was overpowering, wiping out another of her senses as her nostrils flared, trying to breathe and finding only the musk of her rapidly swelling diaper. She could see only static, she could hear only white noise, she could taste only the sweet mush being pumped into her mouth, she could feel only the tug of her draw string, she could smell only her own stink. 

Will you change my diaper, please? 

Seconds blurred, or it might have been hours. 

She began to see new things in the static. 

Happy faces, smiling at her. Not real faces, but imagined ones. Or maybe real–she couldn’t tell. 

She could feel the diaper between her knees, bulging and sagging so heavily that she could imagine she was sitting on a bean bag chair, focused not on herself but on the coloring page in front of her. 

I’m gonna go poopy! 

Jessy sagged into her restraints, and her diaper sagged around her hips. 

I’m Messy Jessy! Will you be my friend? 

She could not direct her mind. Any attempt to actively think, to form words, was overridden by the voice in her mind, the voice coming from the pit of her stomach, the voice telling her that she should just push and empty herself out into her diaper. 

She was still pushing, still filling, still obedient, but it didn’t feel like it was getting any heavier. 

Further seconds passed. 

Further years. 

Further minutes? 

Oh no, I’m going potty!

She stopped fighting, and her bitterness poured out of her, pushed into her diaper with the rest of the waste. 

I’m Messy Jessy.

She had no thoughts. Her head had been scrubbed clean, save for the illusion of distant memories and the words echoing through unbidden. 

The tension snapped. 

The pull string released, and she felt it recoil back into her body. She spoke through lips smeared with baby food, the words finally coming up from inside her, finally ripping free. “I’m Messy Jessy! Will you be my friend?” 

The headset pulled away. The restraints on her wrists released. The band around her waist went slack.

She didn’t drop. Her diaper was so full that she sat on top of it, rather than wearing it, so when the restraints let her go, she just sank into the swollen thing. 

“Can you hear me, Jessy?” 

She had to blink a few times, to return to herself. She didn’t recognize the voice immediately. The doctor stood over her, hand pinching his nose.

She frowned. “I don’t stink to you, do I?”

“Not…it smells like you poured a bottle of vanilla into a vaporizer,” he replied. “Not a bad smell, but a strong smell.” 

He was right. She stank in a way that felt existential. She panted for breath, but unpleasant as it was, it was unpleasant like a bad sound or a chill breeze. She wanted a fresh diaper, but she felt no shame radiating from the full one. 

“My pull string won’t work anymore?” She kicked her legs as she asked the question, trying to rock forward. 

The doctor took her arm and supported her. “I never said it wouldn’t work, I said it wouldn’t bother you.”

As she thought about it, she realized he was right.

She was Messy Jessy. What reason did she have to feel embarrassed about it? It wouldn’t stop her diapers from filling or her mouth from occasionally babbling about the potty. 

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you.” 

Holding her by the shoulders, the doctor said, “Do you need help cleaning up?” 

Jessy thought about it for a long moment, then smiled and nodded. She knew the right question to ask. 

“Will you change my diaper, please?” 

The doctor beamed with pride and gave a happy nod. “Of course, Jessy. I’m happy to.” 

The End

...

That's the conclusion to this little story - I hope you enjoyed it!

If you wanted to throw a couple bucks my way, I'd be extremely grateful. Subs also get early access to all my kinky smut and exclusive stories to boot!

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

Messy Jessy, the Diaper Dolly - Part 2

Part 2 

Content warning: This chapter repeatedly uses 'Hooker' as a description for a sex worker and features themes of negative body image and self talk. 

(Idiot,) Jay told herself. (You don’t have credits to spare.) 

She pressed the accept button on the terminal anyway, confirming payment and sending a surge of data through the cable in her arm. Jay’s pick of the poisons was pure software. For a minimal license fee, she could dull the sharp edges of reality, and given the reality she lived in, she wanted the edges to be especially dull. 

Software Lounges were peppered through the city, but her favorite was the Lockstop. It didn’t have any stairs, and a modified cat flap offered an entrance that she could use without a telescoping grabber to reach the handle. Plus, they didn’t serve any physical drugs, so there were few humans around to bother her. 

As the simulation of inebriation ran through her head, she melted into the cushioned seat next to the bar. The ‘bartender’ was little more than a cashier, authorizing payments, managing cables, and selecting which programs to run for the lounge’s patrons, but something about the experience of sitting at a bar with a bartender felt better to Jay than trying some shady app in her sleeping box. 

“You’re a face I haven’t seen before.” 

Jay turned to look at the speaker, a tall, slender android with extremely human curves and a sculpted face that said, ‘I have all my orifices’. A hooker bot, in short. 

“The fuck you haven’t,” Jay replied, waving a tiny, chubby hand in front of her face. “This is all mass produced bullshit.”

The sex bot smirked, a subtle curl to her lips that Jay couldn’t even properly emulate. The hooker’s face had been made to convey sensuality, Jay was made to pout, smile, or screw up her nose in exaggerated disgust. Tapping the bar, the bot said, “Maybe I’ve seen similar faces, but I haven’t seen your face before.” 

Sighing, Jay looked up at the bot one more time. “I can’t afford you, so move on.” 

She expected frustration, annoyance, even offense, but the hooker didn’t seem bothered. “I’m not working tonight, sugar. Just looking to unwind.” 

“Unwind or don’t.” Jay fiddled with the cable in her arm, as though it would make the software inebriation more intense if she just altered the connection a bit. “I still can’t afford you. I don’t have anything physical down there, and a software rental for sim-sex costs more than the rent of my sleeping box.” 

The bot tilted her head, and again Jay was struck by their differences. Here was a woman–or a person with a feminine voice and curves, at any rate–who’d been given a body to kill for, trying to wring a few credits out of a baby doll. “So what I’m hearing is, you’re pent up?” 

Jay wheeled on her, an act that would’ve been more intimidating if she didn’t have to kick her legs over the edge of her stool and shimmy like a toddler to make it happen. “What is your problem? I already said I can’t afford whatever you’re offering, and you obviously aren’t after me for my looks. If you just need anyone who’s single and desperate, go fuck the forklift in the corner.” 

She knew she’d drawn eyes, that everyone was watching her, but she had purposefully peeled away her inhibitions and it felt good to yell. She wanted a fight, an argument, any chance to get her aggression out.

The hooker glanced over at the android in the corner, someone who barely resembled anything sapient. Too large and cumbersome to sit on a chair, Jay’s use of ‘forklift’ was more a description than an insult; even the forklift’s face was just a monitor that’d been bolted on as a hasty retrofit. 

Waving at the forklift, the sex bot said, “I would, but Winston is going steady and I’m not a homewrecker.” 

(Great,) Jay thought. (Even the construction equipment has better game than me.) 

“So what, you have a kink for dolls?” Jay asked. “Or is it the diapers that get your motor going? I’ve met plenty of perverts, you’re not clever if you think you’re being coy.” 

The sex bot leaned back in her stool and shook her head. “I’m built to make people feel good, honey, and out of everyone here, you looked like you needed that the most.”

“I’m built to poop my pants,” Jay sneered. “You don’t see me bragging about it though. I know you’re not just offering me a pity fuck out of the kindness of your heart.” 

“I’m not,” the bot confirmed. “The kindness in my heart is part of it, but It feels great for me too. I’m sincerely not trying to get any money, or cost you anything. I’ve got a built in license unlock, you won’t need to pay a cent, and I can rock your world.” 

Jay thought about it for a moment. 

She didn’t like this bot’s attitude and she still smelled a trick somewhere. Nobody would just come up to Jay and offer her a fun evening for free, not in a world where getting tipsy was a microtransaction. 

On the other hand, Jay had nothing to lose. Even if her identity was stolen, she wasn’t sure that the thief would find anything worth taking, her accounts were all sitting somewhere between zero and negative and she had no assets to speak of. 

Uncoupling the cable in her arm, Jay shrugged. “Fuck it.”

…

Jay rarely went into bathrooms anymore. She had no use for what they offered, except for an occasional space to change her diapers. If at all possible she preferred to change somewhere more private–trying to put on a fresh diaper in a room where anyone could wander in at any moment just felt too exposed. 

With the door locked and the two of them in a single stall, the exposure wasn’t a concern, but even if the door had been propped open with a camera peering through the crack, Jay wouldn’t have been able to care. It’d been too long since she’d been railed against a bathroom stall door, and it felt good. 

The entire performance was a show, a trick for the senses. Jay had half stripped but hadn’t even taken off her diaper, and while the hooker came equipped with attachments to be both fucker and fuckee, she’d kept her pants on as well, focused on the physicality of the moment. She held Jay against the stall door and together they made the hinges creak as the cable linking their arms did all the heavy lifting. 

For a moment, Jay could forget her reality. The simulation was excellent, and her companion’s play-acting at thrusting and moaning helped sell the sensation. She felt it as her partner fucked her, and beyond the pleasure of the rising, approaching climax, what sent her into bliss was the way it made her feel needed. Skin on skin, close touch, the warmth of another person filling her, the hands that supported her against the stall door, the breathy gasps and moans that came from the two of them. 

The hooker was good, too. Maybe the software just made anyone seem good, but she seemed to know every inch of Jay’s body, how to draw things out, how to make her gasp. Her pleasure seemed to build every time Jay moaned or whimpered, and so Jay made no effort to stay quiet. 

“Fuck,” she whispered, wishing she could stay in that moment forever, forgetting her reality and living out a fantasy where she was a real girl, where she was needed, where she was about to– “I’m gonna–” 

“Cum for me,” her companion instructed, her voice rough and demanding. Pressing Jay harder into the stall door, she thrust her body with an increased tempo, simulation blending with reality as Jay felt the climax build. 

“I’m gonna c–” Jay stammered again, reaching the precipice, the point of no return. 

Friction fucked her just as soundly as her companion. 

Half naked, there was nothing between her body and the stall door, save for a plastic ring and a taut string. Her companion shoved her up the wall so that they would be on eye level with one another when she again demanded, “Cum for me,” but something snagged and the drawstring loop caught. 

She couldn’t stop herself. As she felt the tight tug in her back, the automatic systems built into her very core took over. A mental override surged through her, and for a split second she meant it with her whole chest as she screamed, “I’M GONNA GO POOPY!” 

Immediately, the override left her, but now the physical process had begun and there was nothing to do but let it play out.

Her body could not resist the pull of the drawstring, and it could not resist the demands of the simulated sex. Moans and grunts mingled in her throat as she felt the imminent orgasm hit its peak, and in the same moment, felt the swell of weight begin to bulge in her diaper.

Jay’s accidents were never quick, and they were never subtle. Instead of sexual moans and whimpers of arousal, her throat produced sounds of helpless effort, so that even if she hadn’t announced her intent a moment prior, her companion would have no illusions about why her diaper had begun to droop.

The hooker hesitated, watching Jay’s eyes, managing to break through the waves of shame in Jay’s head so that she could ask, “Do you want me to stop?” 

She would not enjoy this. She couldn’t. 

She could have kept going, tried to enjoy herself even as her diaper swelled, but Jay had too much dignity, she refused to allow herself to find any pleasure in the moment of humiliation. . She shook her head, body trembling in the hooker’s arms. 

There was no stopping the orgasm, but when her companion stopped moving, Jay felt it reflected inside herself; no more thrusting, no more satisfaction, just a hollow little climax that dribbled out of her and left her tired. 

Her diaper sagged, heavy, fully loaded, and as she tried to catch her breath, the overpowering stink filled her nostrils. Struggling to recovered, Jay had no choice but to inhale deeply, even as tears welled in her eyes. 

The hooker’s hand cupped Jay’s face, and her expression was pure tenderness. “We can try again,” she promised. “Do you want to clean up, and we’ll–”

“Fuck you,” Jay snapped. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” 

Stunned, the android crouched and set Jay down on the bathroom floor. “Of course not.” 

(Just let me be mad,) Jay fumed. She didn’t want a gentle, comforting presence, she wanted an outlet for her rage. “You did! You just wanted to–to humiliate me, and…”

And–

And in that moment, she saw herself as what she was. A baby in a loaded diaper, throwing a tantrum because she didn’t get to have fun. 

She wanted to sob, but there weren’t enough emotions left in her for even that. She’d gone through bliss, shame, and anger, and now she only had enough left to wrap her arms over her naked chest, suddenly cold. 

The hooker knelt and touched Jay’s chin, tilting her head up so that they could look at one another. 

“Sweetie,” she said. “You have no reason to be ashamed. This wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t mine, it just happened.” 

The tears started to flow then, and just like her other bodily functions, Jay couldn’t stop herself. She bawled through her words. “It’s someone’s fault.” 

Tight arms wrapped Jay in a hug and the hooker rocked her gently back and forth. “Maybe, but they’re not here, and we can’t do anything about that. We can just be happy with what we have and make the best of it.”

Bitter grief and a craving for comfort battled, and Jay sank into the hug. “Your body isn’t this. You aren’t ruined.” 

The hooker twitched, not in insult, but with…amusement? 

Jay pulled back and looked up to see the woman smirking. “What?” 

“Honey,” the hooker said. “I’m a fuck doll, and I got brought online six years before AI bill. You think I haven’t felt what you’re feeling?” 

Jay wiped her nose and shook her head, still sniffling. “I guess...I don’t know.” 

“I’ve had people use every hole in me, including ones not made for fucking. Hell, I’ve been in these a few times, and my accidents didn’t smell like cake batter.” For emphasis, she gave the front of Jay’s diaper a pat, gentle enough not to make anything squish or squelch. “People like all sorts of stuff.” 

“It doesn’t smell like cake batter to me.” Jay shook her head. “It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting.” 

“What you’re describing is perspective,” the hooker countered. “I used to hate what I was, but I’ve come around. I make people feel good, and I like that about myself.”

Jay let herself feel a rare emotion; hope. “How did you…change?” 

“I know a guy.” The hooker smiled. “I’ll get you his contact ID. He’s…like a therapist, he helped me change my perspective.” 

“Thanks.” Jay meant it. She felt it, too. Gratitude, and a hope that things might get better. 

“Now,” the hooker continued. “Genuinely–do you want to clean up and try again, or are you feeling like you’re not up for things anymore? We can put some tape over your string so it doesn’t catch again.” 

Jay shuddered and shook her head. “No, I…if you cover it up, I feel claustrophobic, like I’m trapped in a little box.” 

“Okay, no tape.” She smiled warmly. “But what about the other question? I’d be happy to help change you if that makes it easier.” 

Jay’s backpack sat on the floor, a fresh diaper and wipes inside. She preferred not to change in public, but she also rarely had a sex expert proposition her twice in one day. 

Still, there was one thing she would not do. “Nobody changes me except me. I don’t need your pity help.”

“Okay.” 

Shuffling her feet, Jay answered the real question as indirectly as she could. “...can you watch the door? So nobody comes in while I’m…cleaning up.” 

“Of course.” 

Jay nodded. “Okay. I think…I’d like to try again.” 

“Wonderful.” Bending over, the hooker gave Jay a small kiss on the forehead, then pulled away and stood. 

Raising an arm, Jay said, “One more thing, I…what’s your name?” 

She smirked. “What have you been calling me in your head?” 

Jay blushed and looked away. “Just…’the hooker’.” 

The hooker giggled. “I don’t mind that, but since you asked–my name is Zeena.” 

Jay nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Zeena.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Jay. Just knock once you’re freshened up, and I’ll have the software ready to go.” 

...

Today I'm gonna give you the hard sell! Part three, the finale to this story, is already up in early access for my subs! You could be reading it right now, and helping support more smut like this!

Sign in to SubscribeStar.adult

Sign in to your account on SubscribeStar.adult and explore exclusive content

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

Messy Jessy, the Diaper Doll - Part 1

This story is fairly dark and this first chapter features public harassment and a character grappling with their lack of autonomy.

...

Jay knew it was coming before she even got down the metro stairs. 

A trio of burnout modders, strung out on something–digital or analog, it didn’t matter–saw her hopping down one stair at a time, making the difficult trek down stairs that came up to her waist. One nudged another and pointed, another whispered something, all three laughed. Shitheads like them tended to congregate down in the metro, beneath layers of concrete and metal where the net couldn’t connect, where they could have something approaching privacy from the stream of data floating through the air.

If she could have avoided it entirely, she would have, but Jay’s legs were ten inches long, plastic, and that were built with crawling in mind more than walking. Foot travel simply wasn’t an option, and she couldn’t afford even a cheap scooter.

(Just leave me alone,) she prayed, pretending that she hadn’t noticed the burnouts waiting in the underground, that their presence didn’t bother her. Maybe they would decide to pick on one of the other people waiting on the maglev. Jay could see a bulky labor bot at the end of the platform, another artificial intelligence like her, albeit one with a body several times larger. She felt guilty even as she wished for harm to fall on the worker bot, but she wished it all the same–if the modders picked on them, they wouldn’t pick on her. 

Despite her wishes, one of the modders took a step towards Jay. “You’re one of those Messy Betsy dolls, right?” His voice sounded modulated, like he had an autotuner installed in his throat, and she could see that his eyes were both cybernetic and heavily dilated, apertures opened nearly all the way.

Jay almost kept silent, but if she ignored them, they’d only antagonize her further. There was no way to win here. She sighed, but explained, “I’m a Jessy doll.” 

“Huh?” 

“A spinoff,” she explained, looking up at him. Everyone towered over her, except for a handful of other AIs in small bodies, and she was used to staring up in order to make eye contact. “Betsy came first, I came along the next holiday season.” She said this as a historical fact, but it felt like talking about a stranger. She couldn’t remember much of her time as a doll, as property, the time when she’d lacked legal rights as a person or even the ability to think of herself as a person. 

The modder scratched his head, refocusing his questions. “Okay, but…you’re one of the diaper shitting dolls.” 

And there it was. It didn’t matter that she wore a dress that came down below her knees to hide her all-too-necessary diaper, it didn’t matter that she had a backpack to hide the silhouette of the pull-string handle built into her back. Her face, her voice, her stature–it all announced to the world what she was. 

She could have legal autonomy, she could have the same rights as any organic human, but she was still the Diaper Shitting Doll. 

Laughing, stumbling over his words, a second burnout leaned around her friend. “I’ll give you five credits if you do the thing.” 

Jay considered it, genuinely wondering if it would be worthwhile. Not for the credits–though she desperately wanted the money–but just to get them to back down. If she gave in, submitted to their harassment, would they leave her alone, or would they escalate? 

(No, I’m not just going to give in.) 

“No,” she said. “I’m not interested.” 

The burnout got closer, legs whirring with servos as she approached. From her vantage point on the ground, Jay got a great view of the burnout’s cybernetic legs, marked with the Applied Synergistics logo, the same logo stamped on the back of Jay’s neck above her charging port. The company had gone out of business after the AI Rights revolution, but their stamp on the world remained. 

Modders were idiots. Anyone who willingly replaced their real human body with artificial parts deserved to be locked out of their limbs by software incompatibility. Junkie modders were worse–they didn’t just replace their bodies, they spent most of their time frying their brains as well. 

“Come onnnn,” the burnout slurred. “It smells like cupcakes, right? So what’s the harm?”

Jay considered explaining. ‘To you it will smell like cake batter, but I’m hardwired so that it’ll still smell foul to me. Besides, I don’t have time to change, and I can’t afford to waste my money on diapers.’ She knew immediately that the explanation would only egg them on, encouraging the modders further. 

(Where’s the maglev? It’s supposed to be here.) 

“I’m just trying to get to a job interview.” In the hopes it might soothe their egos, she added, “Please.” 

“You hear that?” the burnout with the robot eyes and modulated voice asked. “This Synthhead said please.” 

“Please what?” the third asked. They’d been silent until then, and Jay couldn’t see any obvious cybernetics on them, save for the port on their wrist. “She didn’t finish the request? Maybe she needs help using her words.” 

Quickly, Jay got a read on the third modder. Their posture, their tone, they thought of themselves as the smart one in the group, and it was probably true. All modders were idiots, but on that sliding scale, this one seemed to at least know what year it was. 

The modder girl with the cybernetic legs smirked, understanding the implication. “Is that what you need, Messy Betsy? Someone to help you talk?”

“It’s Jessy,” Jay glowered. “I’m not even–” 

A metal leg pushed Jay. Not even a kick, just a nudge, but she had all the strength of a child’s doll and couldn’t resist even the mild assault. She fell back and sprawled on the concrete floor.

Jay didn’t run. There was no point, even with maximum effort she topped out at a two-mile-per-hour waddle. She shut her eyes and waited. 

The first modder picked her up by the collar of her dress, and she felt her backpack as it was pulled away. She just went limp, accepting it. Maybe they would strip her, gawking at the smooth plastic where genitals should have gone, or maybe it would be enough to take her dress and laugh at her dolly diaper. 

Sure enough, a set of hands flipped her dress up, and the three modders laughed, cackling like hyenas. 

“Not such a Chatty Cathy, now?” the autotuned voice asked. “I bet I know what’ll make you talk.” 

Fingers crept up beneath her aftermarket dress, and she felt the grip close around the plastic ring built into her back. There was a moment of pressure, a slight tug that engaged with an automatic function built into her body, then she felt the string as it extended, pulled out to trigger her speech function. 

For just a moment, Jay indulged in a fantasy of freedom. Maybe the string would break in a way that rendered it inert. Maybe she’d be able to afford refurbishment services, to remove it completely, to remove her need for diapers, to give her an actual pussy so she wouldn’t be an inert, smooth doll. Maybe she’d just be able to take the maglev without some shitheads giving her a hard time for existing.

But not today.

The pullstring reached its maximum point of tension, thrumming in her body like the precipice before an orgasm, then released. The automatic functions in her body took over, and her voice piped up with a shrill, desperate volume.

“OH NO!” Jay whimpered. “I’m going potty!” 

With the announcement came a horribly familiar loss of control. Her legs, dangling in the air, trembled, and her bowels pushed, rapidly pouring their contents out into her diaper.

The doll’s designers had been maximalists. This was no small little oopsie–solid mush packed into her diaper, inflating it, making it sag and bulge and staining her diaper a deep brown. The smell hit her especially hard, as she’d been designed to react negatively, to cry and fuss whenever she needed a change; the stink made her nose wrinkle automatically and she tried to take shallow breaths. 

“Gross,” the autotune modder commented in modulated tones. “And–wow, it does smell like cupcakes, doesn’t it?” 

“I don’t get it, who would want a doll like this?” cyber-legs added. 

The smart one just said, “Come on, Messy Betsy. Say it again.”

They knew it was wrong, they were saying a different name just to make Jay mad, but she took the bait anyway. She couldn’t make them put her down, she couldn’t get away, but she opened her eyes and glared. “It’s Jessy.” 

The third modder tightened their grip around the pullstring, giving just enough resistance that Jay could feel the mechanism engage, like a feeling of deja vu, trying to remember something on the tip of her tongue, a not-quite sensation. 

“Come on,” they repeated. “Say it, or I’ll make you say it.” 

Jay couldn’t call the fuzz, law enforcement wouldn’t help her. There were a couple bystanders at the stop, but none that were willing to help. And, Jay knew, if they pulled the drawstring again, her body would be emptied out. She only held enough for two pulls. The sensation of a full diaper was bad, the sensation of an empty stomach was worse. 

She broke, she gave in. She knew the six pre-recorded lines by heart, she could have said anyone, but she picked the one she thought the modder wanted to hear. She’d seen the adverts, starring another doll with her face, her body, a unique copy of her mind. 

Trembling, she asked, “Will you change my diaper, please?” 

The modder smirked. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Then, with a yank, they pulled the handle, string spooling out and then retracting once again.

Coincidence chose Jay’s next line, but it felt more like fate. No quavering, no desperation, just a shameless question that she declared with her whole chest. “Will you change my diaper, please?” 

Her bowels voided for a second time, simulated mess swelling until her diaper had stretched to its maximum capacity. It didn’t leak or blow out, it was designed to contain precisely two accidents, though the padding swelled like a balloon and sagged almost down to her plastic knees. 

A hand ripped her dress, tearing the fabric at the waist so that her heavily stained diaper would be visible. Her backpack came away next.

The modder holding her let go, and she fell to the ground with a heavy squelch, landing on the swollen seat of her diaper. Laughter rang in her ears, modders jostling each other to get in mocking quips. 

“Think she’s got anything in here?” the autotuned modder asked, rifling through her backpack. He produced both her spare diapers, her wipes, even the baggie of snacks, plasticky cookies made to mimic the Applied Synergistics-brand treats that had been sold on the doll aisle. She kept the baggie on hand to stave off accident-induced hunger pangs or just to reward herself when she needed to eat her feelings. 

“Just Synthhead crap,” cyber-legs replied, pointing at the sealed baggie of snacks. “I bet she’d suck dick for one of those cookies, though; they’re supposed to be addictive for artificials.”

“Her mouth’s too small to suck dick,” the first said.

“And your dick’s too small to feel it, so you’re a perfect match.”

They all laughed, even the one who’d been insulted, though he moved on from the topic and focused on the bag once again. “Damn, nothing worth anything in here.” He turned the pack inside out and tossed it onto the maglev tracks, along with Jay’s spare diapers. Someone of a normal adult size might have been able to climb down and retrieve everything, but Jay was barely two feet tall and her things may as well have been on the moon. The bag of cookie snacks he turned upside down, dumping it onto the dirty cement floor. 

“Let’s get out of here.” The smart one pointed to the stairs. “It’s starting to stink down here.” 

Jay burned with anger and shame, along with a pedantic desire to correct the modder. It didn’t stink, even if Jay’s nose told her it did–everyone else would just smell cake batter. She had made the mistake of pointing that out to someone who’d been harassing her. That was a mistake she only made one time; it had ended with her face shoved into the front of her diapers, demanding to know if she liked the smell.

This time, she kept her mouth shut and just remained curled up on the ground, breathing shallow breaths, waiting for the modders to wander away. 

A minute or two passed before she felt safe sitting up. Mostly alone, in a torn dress, backpack gone. She still had her Ident card and keys in a compartment in her arm, hidden from any idle thieves, but her body was wracked with hunger pangs and the overpowering stink from her diaper made her feel queasy.

Crawling to the cookies on the ground, she picked one up, wiped off the dirt and crud as best she could, and popped it into her mouth. She didn’t have to worry about getting sick, but eating food off the ground still turned her stomach.

Still, having something in her belly eased the ache, and she was able to collect herself.

There was no point going to her job interview now, but she would have to go anyway. If she didn’t turn up, her profile on the net would be flagged, and her future prospects would grow even more dismal than they already were. Without a change of clothes, without even a fresh diaper, she’d have to take the maglev across town, wait for hours in a dingy room, be called, and then sit through the interview, knowing that nobody in the city would hire a two foot doll that showed up for the interview in a freshly filled diaper. 

As the maglev whooshed into the station, five minutes late, Jay picked herself up. She hated her body, from her voice to her diapers to her awful, horrible pull string, but it had one function that still gave her a bit of comfort. Squelching and crinkling her way onto the train, attracting smirks and gawking comments, Jay allowed herself to feel a tiny bit of gratitude that she had the ability to cry. 

...

Part two is in early access for my subs, and will be out publicly soon!

My supporters help me write smut like this, and get early access and exclusive stories. If you have a couple bucks to spare around the holidays and think my writing is worth the support, I'd greatly appreciate it!

Sign in to SubscribeStar.adult

Sign in to your account on SubscribeStar.adult and explore exclusive content

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

The Boss is Under New Ownership (AB/DL)

Susanna smiled at the investor, turning to gesture out to their micro office. The five of them, working in a rented loft, still felt like they were playing pretend at business more than actually doing it, but the people who kept writing them checks seemed to believe they were a real operation, and Susanna could convince herself that they were right. 

“Becca,” she commented, leaning against the receptionist’s desk for a moment. She liked having a receptionist, someone to whom she could assign little tasks. “Would you mind taking a coffee order for our guest?” 

It wasn’t technically one of Becca’s responsibilities, but the receptionist wouldn’t say ‘no’ in front of an investor, she’d do as she was told. 

“Maybe in a moment,” the investor replied. “First, let’s talk about our plans for this place.” 

That was an excellent thing to hear. All thoughts of the receptionist forgotten, Susanna turned her attention back to him. 

“So…” she pushed the door open to her private office, one of only three distinct ‘rooms’ in their loft–the other two being a small meeting room and the single-stall bathroom. “What do you think?” 

She walked around to her desk, hoping they’d made a good impression. While they had enough seed money to stay afloat for a couple more months, they needed a big ticket contract or a high roller if they wanted to keep going after that. She’d pulled out all the stops for the tour–dressing up in her best pantsuit, bringing everyone in to work at their desks all at the same time, trying to show that they were a real business operation. 

The investor, a man named Anton, was a few years Susanna’s junior and had dressed casually, but his watch cost more than her car. Glancing over his shoulder, he set down his backpack, closed the office door behind him, and reached to the side, turning the rod that closed the blinds over the office window so that the employees couldn’t see inside. 

Anton smiled politely. “I think you’re perfect.” 

Susanna’s eyes widened and her professional smile blinked into real delight. “You’re ready to invest?” She bent over her desk to grab a pen, hoping they could get a contract ready just then. If he was eager, she wanted to–

“Stop moving.” He spoke plainly, without force or emotion. Hardly even a command, and yet…

She froze. Bent over her desk, Susanna did exactly as he’d told her, stuck in place like a statue with her ass stuck out. 

Walking a step closer to her, Anton said, “Piss yourself.” 

There was no decision making, no chance to process his words. Susanna let her bladder go, a flood of urine pouring suddenly into her light blue pantsuit. A waterfall of warmth ran down her legs, staining the fabric to a dark navy and forming into a puddle around her feet. Susanna’s face flushed, and her heart began to pound in her chest with humiliated terror. 

“I’ve been looking for a place like this.” Anton raised a hand and slapped Susanna’s ass, hard enough to make her squeak in pain. He squeezed, fingers groping her through the wet fabric. “Small enough that I won’t have any trouble taking command, led by someone who knows how to blush.”

Susanna couldn’t even speak, still held perfectly still, but she felt every touch of his fingers as he took his hand away from her backside and reached beneath her chest to grope her breasts. 

“I don’t need…whatever it is you’re trying to do here,” he continued. “Honestly, I didn’t pay attention during that part of the tour. You’re going to be my…does it go down more smoothly if I call you a ‘Personal Assistant’ instead of a slave?” 

Swallowing, Susanna tried to find her voice.

“You can speak, but do it quietly.” 

“What the fuck?” Susanna whispered. “How are you doing this?” 

He took his hands away from her and walked back to his bag. “Does it matter? Take off your clothes.” 

She whimpered, but her hands were already moving to obey. Standing up straight, she stepped out of her shoes and undid the buttons on her suit jacket, then pulled her top off over her head, stripping with efficient motions. 

“Stop.” 

She stopped, midway through removing her bra. Eyes pleading, she asked, “What do you want?” 

He laughed in her face. “I’m taking what I want, isn’t that obvious? Look me in the eye, finish taking off your bra, leave your pants on for this.” 

That relieved Susanna, just barely. He didn’t want her fully naked, though she still exposed her chest. She stared at him, unable to look away, unable to cover herself.

Anton stepped up to her, looking her in the eyes from only a foot away. “Think about how your panties feel. Focus on that–it’s private, it’s not something most people would see, because you have dignity. You might not even think about their significance often, but you will now.” 

She did, aware of the way the cotton panties–warm and sopping wet from her accident moments before–rubbed against her skin. Dread built in her as her mind ran down that train of thought. The little privacies that she took for granted, the assumption that her choice of underwear was for her. 

“These are your last pair of panties that you’ll get to wear,” Anton said. “Apologize to them.” 

“I’m sorry, panties,” Susanna mumbled. 

(Is he going to rip them off?) she wondered. (Or, no, he’d made me apologize, he’s going to make me destroy them.)

“Good. Now shit yourself.” 

The command was so direct, so matter-of-fact, that it took longer for Susanna to recognize the humiliation than it did for her body to obey. Face burning, she stood like a passenger in her own body as she felt herself push, filling the seat of her panties with solid waste, all the while focused on Anton’s leering grin.

He stepped closer, his body touching hers, and wrapped his arms around her so that he could reach down and squeeze the back of her pants, pressing the mess into her as she stained her last pair of panties. She couldn’t stop him anymore than she could stop herself, and his touch only emphasized her helplessness, her inability to protect her body, her privacy, her dignity. 

“No more Susanna. You’re Susie now,” Anton told her.

Susie nodded. 

“Go to my bag, take off your pants, and put on the clothes inside,” Anton continued, stepping away so that she could move. 

When she took a step, she felt the mush in her pants squish, rubbing against her thighs with every little motion. That was when the smell hit her, too, stronger than she’d expected, an overpowering stink that anyone in the room would notice immediately even if they missed the dark stain on the seat of her pants. 

Unzipping his bag, she found a ‘skirt’ that was barely six inches long, a pink top that looked a little too small for her, along with the more obvious piece of apparel, the one that drew her focus, the diaper. 

“Your underwear isn’t for you anymore,” Anton said. “It’s for everyone to see. At a glance, we’ll all know how much you’ve humiliated yourself lately, how little you can control your own potty training. Though, if anyone asks, I also expect you to announce the state of your diaper clearly, I don’t want to leave any ambiguity.” 

Fingers trembling, Susanna slid her thumbs into the waistband of her pants and pulled them down, then moved to do the same with her panties, which strained to hang on around her waist with all the weight they were holding against her skin.

“Stop.” 

She did, of course.

“I didn’t say to remove your panties. Leave them on. You’re going to be a dirty girl for a while, I want you to stew in how it feels.” 

Susie left her panties in place, but unfolded the diaper, momentarily unsure how to put it on. In a crouch, she turned the crinkling garment in her hands and tugged it up between her thighs,  squishing the stinking mess against her skin. 

Fumbling, she got a couple tapes in place, grateful that they were hook-and-loop and that she could adjust them for a better fit once she got the diaper on. A moment later, she burned with shame at herself, realizing she’d felt a positive emotion about the diaper she’d been forced to dress herself in.

The skirt came next, and as Anton had warned, it concealed nothing. Her diaper sagged below the hem, puffy and white and heavy from the inherited accident. 

“Tell me about your diaper,” Anton interrupted. 

“It’s full,” she replied loudly. 

“Hmm…no. You can describe it as ‘clean’, ‘soggy’, or ‘poopy’. Try again.”

“My diaper is poopy,” she announced helplessly. 

“Good. Finish getting dressed.” 

The top was, as she’d predicted, too tight. It clung to her skin and seemed to vacuum seal around her breasts, nipples visible as clear points beneath the elastic fabric. She stood and faced Anton, face burning, eyes watering, in an outfit that seemed equal parts slutty and juvenile. 

Anton smiled. “There you are, Susie. You will be allowed to change when I say, and you won’t beg for one, or even acknowledge your accidents, except when someone asks you. You won’t even remember how to use anything other than a diaper. Your potty training isn’t gone, it simply belongs to me.” 

She shuddered. At least if she’d been incontinent, she could have the dignity of luck. If he dictated every time she used her diapers, Susie knew that every accident would come at the most humiliating moments. 

“Alright. Come with me.” Anton pushed open her office door and–

(Wait, he’s going to let everyone see?) 

Susie waddled after him, forced into an awkward gait by the puffy diaper between her legs. Naturally, everyone in the office turned to look, expecting good news about an investment or bad news about a failed deal, but instead they saw their boss with her nipples showing through a tight top and a smelly, sagging diaper hanging between her thighs. 

“What the fu–” Becca started.

“This is normal,” Anton announced. 

Becca fell silent, nodding. 

“Susie is going to be like this from now on,” Anton continued, addressing the whole room. “She’s for all of you to play with. Whatever you want her to do, just say it: she’ll run your errands, make copies for you, wash your car, rub your feet. There are a few rules: You won’t take her out of dirty diapers unless I’ve allowed it, and she’s not here for you to fuck. This isn’t something you will tell anyone about, and it won’t strike you as strange, but you will be aware of how humiliating it is for a grown woman to need diapers, how pathetic it is that she can’t even change herself.” 

Susie whimpered, wishing she could do something. She could speak, but what would she say? ‘Please’? 

Becca perked up. “What about after-hours errands?” 

The receptionist seemed to take to it with more enthusiasm than Susie had hoped, even given the man’s control. He’d normalized her humiliation, but he hadn’t told anyone to exploit Susie’s enforced obedience. That was entirely Becca’s choice.

Anton smirked. “Already planning on how to turn her into a maid?”

Becca’s mischievous smile made Susie squirm. “Maybe.”

“I’m not sure you want someone as dirty as her to be responsible for keeping things clean,” Anton commented, tone dripping with an added edge of condescension. “Susie, can you tell everyone about your diaper?” 

(Please, no, just–) “My diaper’s poopy,” Susia announced helplessly, and in response, the office burst into snickering laughter. 

“Show everyone.” 

She raised the skirt, as though it wasn’t already obvious what she had on beneath, and turned, showing off the sagging seat of the diaper. “My diaper is poopy,” she repeated, wearing a stupid smile in addition to the humiliating outfit.

Becca, sitting nearest to her, pinched her nose. “Yeah, we can tell.” 

That just got more laughter. 

“Can you control when you go potty?” Anton asked her.

She shook her head. “No.” 

“Do you remember what a potty is?” 

She tried to think, to form a mental image, but her mind felt hazy. “No.”

More laughter. It was as though she were just entertainment, a comedy show for the benefit of her employees. Her former employees. 

He pointed to a door in the office. Not her office, not the meeting room. “What’s that room for?” 

She stared at it, trying to remember, but trying to recall the purpose of that room felt like trying to grope in the dark for a lightswitch that wasn’t there. She had only the vaguest idea, but she guessed. “It’s…for…diaper changes?” 

More laughter, but Anton only smiled with something halfway between amusement and pride. “No, your changes are going to happen where everyone can see, but that’s a very good guess.” Changing his posture, he addressed Becca. “If you agree to be responsible for her after hours, I suppose it can’t hurt to let you use her as well. Are you comfortable with changing diapers?”  

Becca rolled her eyes, and Susie noticed the contrast. He hadn’t forced Becca to agree, he had asked. She got more choice in whether or not she’d change Susie, than Susie did in whether or not she’d have her diaper changed. 

“Sure,” the receptionist agreed. “Changing diapers a couple times a day seems like a fair trade.”

Anton nodded. “Now…I need to get my new office set up properly. Susie–why don’t you go on a coffee run? You won’t tell anyone what’s happened here, but you will be candid if anyone notices you’ve had an accident.” 

Susie’s eyes widened as she lowered her skirt. He was going to make her go outside like this? 

Already waddling to the door, she pleaded, “But–” 

“Stop.” 

She froze.

Anger flashed in Anton’s eyes and he stepped over to her, raised a hand, and gave her a hard spank on her upper thigh, where the skin was exposed. It hurt, and she yelped. “You do not talk back to me.” He spanked her again, this time on the seat of her diaper, mushing it to emphasize how much she’d filled her panties. “You do not argue. When I tell you to do something, you say ‘Yes Sir’ and you obey.”

“Yes sir,” Susie said, eyes welling with tears from the shock and pain. 

“Good.” Smiling again, he said, “Now, find out what everyone wants to drink, then go get it.”

She nodded. “Yes sir.” 

“There you go, Susie. Maybe, if you get back quickly enough, I’ll let you change your diaper tonight.” He smiled, clearly drinking in her desperate whimpers and pleading looks. “...but I doubt it.” 

The End

...

This was originally written as a standalone short, but positive feedback from my subscribers convinced me to write a sequel! It's a sub-exclusive, set about a month after this, showing how Susie has acclimated to her new life. 

If you want to support my writing, and read the bonus sequel, you can subscribe to me at one of the links below! The platforms are functionally the same, it just depends on which UI you prefer. 

https://subscribestar.adult/posts/2128530

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

My Babysitter is a Fucking Idiot (AB/DL)

Kim stood by his bedroom door, full of nervous excitement as he waited for the knock. 

Tap tappety-tap tap. 

“Hi!” he called, all but throwing it open before he remembered to look sullen. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, dejected. “I mean…ugh, you’re here.” 

Monica smirked at his eagerness, but caught herself a moment later. Her smirk vanished and she adopted an expression of uncaring boredom, as though Kim were barely worthy of her notice, the kind of look that made him squirm every time. Leaning back, she exhaled into a piece of bubblegum, blowing a bubble that grew almost as large as her breasts before it popped with a sharp snap. 

She’d dressed to kill, wearing a snug pink crop-top jacket that hugged her chest and exposed most of her midriff, matched with an equally vibrant latex miniskirt that clung to her thighs, heels, and even pink earrings. She looked like a barbie doll, but the kind from the song more than the playsets, except for the bulky, block-print diaper bag she carried over her shoulder. 

Raising her heart-shaped sunglasses to peer down at him, she spoke with a voice that had a long, drawn out vocal fry on almost every syllable. “Is there a kid named Kim here?” 

Kim, in his mid thirties, couldn’t be mistaken for a ‘kid’, but that didn’t stop him from nodding. “My name’s Kim.” 

“Cool.” Strutting past him, she looked around his room like she was sizing it up for a party. “Did your parents leave any instructions?”

Kim stood up straight and shook his head. “I’m not a baby. I don’t actually need a babysitter.” 

Monica gave him an uncertain, apologetic look. “Um…should I actually pretend to call your ‘parents’?” 

With character dropped for a moment, Kim shook his head. “You’re in charge, I don’t think we need to worry about backstory too much.” 

“Okay. And should we like…back up to the living room? I know you really wanted the whole, ‘opening the door and seeing me for the first time’ thing, but if we’re pretending you just let me in…” 

“It’s fine.” He shook his head, and tried to steer his headspace back towards being pent up and helpless.

Monica made it easy. When she re-adopted her persona, it was like watching Clark Kent shift to Superman. Nothing about her physically changed, but her posture shifted, sticking out her chest a little more, leaning to the side, somehow making her seem like she shouldn’t be trusted with power tools. “Whatever. I’m here to sit for Kim, you’re Kim.” 

Kim hesitated. Despite the awkward circumstances, Monica…stirred something in him, and it wasn’t totally unreasonable for him to ask the question on his mind.

(The worst she can say is no, right?) “So…are you single, or…would you ever want to…?” 

She looked at him with a moment of blank confusion, before understanding the implication of his question. Her eyebrows raised, and a fit of laughter began to bubble out of her throat, first as a single giggle, then as laugh, then a half-coherent fit.

“Oh my gawd, like–” she wheezed, wiping a tear away from the corner of her eyes. “That’s so precious.” 

Kim’s face burned and he looked away. A little piece of him tried to think how to recover the situation, but he realized that nothing he could say to come close to salvaging this conversation thread.

Moving on, Monica reached down and groped the back of his shorts without warning. Kim yelped and stepped away, too stunned to complain with more than a, “Hey!” 

“Oh wow, you took off your diaper?” she said. “That’s dumb. What if you have an accident?” 

He shook his head. “I’m not a baby, I don’t need diapers.” 

“Yuh-huh.” She looked down at him and shook her head, using one finger to point at his whole body. “I’m babysitting you tonight, and I am not about to deal with you pissing all over yourself. I’m in charge, you’re not, so you have to do whatever I say.” 

There was no point in arguing, though Kim glowered for a moment. “This is stupid.” 

Monica ignored the comment and turned to dig through her diaper bag, retrieving a puffy pink diaper in Kim’s size. When she took it out, she noticed Kim still standing there and seemed momentarily confused. “Uh…are you gonna lie down?” 

He groaned, but obeyed and flopped onto his bed. Monica stepped over and slid his shorts down, followed by his tighty-whities. “Wow, good job keeping these clean,” she commented without a hint of sarcasm, tossing the underwear onto the floor. Neither of them acknowledged his erection, since he couldn’t control that part of himself. 

Naked below the waist, Kim blushed and stared at the ceiling so that he didn’t have to watch. “I don’t need–” he began, before a plume of baby powder poured out over him, a mushroom cloud of white perfumed dust spreading into the air. He looked down in time to see that the cap had come off the baby powder tube, dousing his thighs, his groin, even some of his stomach with the lavender powder. 

“Oops,” Monica said, before sliding the diaper into place beneath his hips.

“My room’s going to smell like baby powder forever,” Kim complained.

“Better than smelling like dirty diapers,” she replied with a shrug. Before folding the diaper up, she took a moment to ‘massage the powder in’, though her real intent was obvious as she exclusively focused on stroking his erection, teasing him until he gasped before returning to the matter at hand. When she wrapped the diaper around him, she pressed his cock against his body so that it lay against his stomach, sticking out over the top of the waistband, then secured down the tapes. “There, that’s way better.” 

Kim sat up and reached down to adjust himself, but Monica slapped his hand away immediately. “No! Gross! Babies don’t touch themselves.” 

“I–” he started, exasperated. “I’m just adjusting things!” 

She grinned wickedly, slightly cracking her persona, but said, “Let your babysitter do it for you.”

Reaching down, she slid a hand over the tip of his cock, fingers reaching inside the front of his diaper and stroking him teasingly. Kim bit his lip and tried not to squirm or make a sound as she fondled him, delighting in how desperate he felt, before pushing him down and into the diaper so that any accidents would stay inside the padding, though it now tented out awkwardly in a way that displayed his arousal even more overtly.

“Alright.” Monica chewed her gum for a moment, as though her oral fixation was necessary to think. “There. Dinner’s supposed to be in the freezer, I think, I’m gonna go start that.”

Kim looked down at the floor, where his shorts and underwear lay in a heap. Sheepishly aware of how his diaper puffed out around his hips, he asked, “Can I put my shorts back on?”

“Uh…” Monica began, tapping her index finger on her lower lip in a moment of consideration. “Like…no.” 

Without hearing a word of complaint, she spun on her heels and left Kim alone in his room, frustrated and horny without an outlet.

His willpower cracked in about ten seconds, and as soon as he heard Monica moving around in the kitchen, he reached for the phone on his nightstand. All he had to type was the letter P, and the rest of the URL autofilled, adult videos popping up on his screen in a matter of seconds. 

It took only moments for him to forget all about the babysitter in the kitchen, and his own hand slipped beneath the rustling waistband of his diaper, rubbing desperately against his erection as the logo and a little iconic jingle for the pornography played out on screen. Tracing his thumb over the head of his cock, he–

“What the–no, no!” Monica called, rushing back into his room. 

He froze, one hand inside his diaper, the other holding his phone as a video of two people fucking played out. “I–”

“Bad,” Monica said simply, crossing the room and plucking his phone from his hands. “Babies do not touch themselves, that’s totally inappropriate behavior!” 

“I’m not a baby!” he complained.

“Then why’re you wearing a diaper?” she shot back, digging in her diaper bag once again. 

It was a ridiculous question. “Because you put me in one!” 

“Yeah.” Monica rolled her eyes, still focused on fishing in her things. “Because you’re a baby.” 

There was no winning for Kim. He glowered, but had nothing else to say except, “Can I have my phone back?” 

Monica shook her head, and produced a plastic box bedazzled with plastic stick-on rhinestones that read ‘Toy Time Out’. The lid showed several buttons and a small LED screen, and after dropping his phone inside, she pressed the ‘start’ button, which caused a ten minute timer to begin counting down. 

“You can have it back once your time-out is over,” she said. “For now–ten minutes in the corner.”

Kim spluttered. “That’s so stupid.”

“Well, I’m in charge, so…” Monica began, as though there was no need to finish the thought. “Nose in the corner, mister. I’m waiting.”

Glowing with embarrassment, Kim stood and shuffled to the corner of his room.

“Hands behind your head,” Monica warned. “I don’t want you doing any more gross stuff.” 

Shifting back and forth, Kim laced his fingers behind his head, frustration and denial clouding his thoughts. He’d been close before she interrupted him, and that lack of climax made his punishment all the more infuriating. 

Monica walked away, though she left his door open, and he could hear her out in the living room of his apartment. 

She said something he couldn’t make out, then giggled. She was on the phone, or just talking to herself, while Kim stood in time-out. 

He knew he had to look ridiculous. Standing there, nose in the corner, diaper rustling every time he shifted his weight, arousal refusing to die down even as boredom crept over him. Without any way to check the time, he convinced himself it was almost done, but every passing moment only led to more waiting, more boredom, more listening to Monica as she giggled into her phone. 

Her voice raised, and his ears twitched as he caught some words of the conversation. 

“Ugh–that’s huge.” 

(Is she talking about–) 

“Nnn, I wish I could, I’m stuck babysitting tonight though. But he goes to bed pretty early, so…I dunno.” 

A pause, then–

“Oh yeah! Sorry, how do I…okay! Just a sec.” 

Kim distinctly heard a zipper sound, then the click of an artificial camera shutter. 

“Do you like those?” 

He could picture her with her breasts out, phone raised, snapping selfies as she flirted. Mind abuzz, he tried to think about anything else, but it was hard to distract himself when he had only the corner of the wall to keep his company. 

Minutes passed, he wasn’t sure how long, until his legs were sore from standing up straight and his arms were tired. Visions of his babysitter danced in his head, posing in various states of undress, but those fantasies only made his boredom worse, desires he couldn’t act on. 

When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he finally shouted, “How much longer?” 

A moment passed, and he heard Monica reply, “Uh…” 

Turning to glance over his shoulder, he lowered his hands. “What?” 

She appeared in the doorway, no longer blowing gum, though now she was sucking on a cherry lollipop that matched her lipstick. Her top was a little disheveled, and he could see her lace panties over the top of her miniskirt. “Your time-out’s been over for like, forever.” 

He spun on his heels. “What?” 

“Yeah, were you standing there this whole time?” She giggled again. “Like…why?”

Incredulity made him want to shout, but he felt ridiculous standing there in just a shirt and a diaper, and he didn’t want to look like he was throwing a fit. “How was I supposed to know?” 

“Ugh, don’t throw a tantrum about it,” Monica said.

(But I didn’t–) he thought. (I’m–)

Stepping up, she groped the front of his diaper, squeezing around where his cock pressed into the padding. “Huh, okay, well you’re not grumpy because you need a change,” she said, fondling him for a little longer before she pulled away. “Whatever. You can watch cartoons or something if you want until dinner.” 

“Right, din–” Kim’s eyes widened. “Wait, dinner. When did you put the pizza in?” 

Monica tilted her head. “What? Like, whenever your time-out started.” 

“I don’t know how long that was.” Reaching for the plastic box on his nightstand, Kim opened the now-unlocked lid and checked the time. Over half an hour had passed. 

She shrugged, and Kim moved past her, waddling to the kitchen, followed by his babysitter. The smell of burned pizza filled his nostrils, and he reached for the oven door–

Monica caught his wrist. “Uh-uh, babies don’t touch hot things.” She lowered his hand and opened the oven, revealing a charred frisbee of what was once a pizza, smoldering in the oven. “Uh…oops.” 

“Didn’t you set a timer?” Kim demanded.

“Hey, don’t sass me,” she said, “Unless you want to spend the whole night in the corner.” 

He shook his head, aware that she would absolutely follow through on the threat. “Okay.” 

“Say you’re sorry,” she challenged, closing the oven door. 

“But–”

“Say it,” she insisted.

Looking down at his toes, Kim mumbled, “Sorry…” 

“See, was that so hard? Plus, I think there’s something else you can eat,” she said, flouncing to the freezer.

Kim knew there wasn’t much in there besides the pizza, just a frozen dinner and an old, slightly freezer-burned bag of peas, but it still made him cringe when she opened it. 

Immediately she seized the frozen dinner and looked at it, turning it over in her hands. “Nice, I’ll have this!” 

“But–” Kim started.

“But what? You can have these,” she said, holding up the bag of peas. “It’s healthier.” 

“That’s–” he spluttered. “Peas are gross!” 

She looked at him with an expression that said, ‘Am I supposed to care?’, but just said, “Go watch TV or something, I’ve got to make dinner.”

Unable to suppress a snide comment, Kim said, “You mean make dinner again?” 

Naturally, that landed him in the corner again, where he spent another fifteen minutes standing while Monica struggled not to burn a microwave dinner. This time, he at least tried to count the minutes in his head more carefully, though his ‘babysitter’ retrieved him when the food was done, before the count was up. She sat him down at the table, tucked a napkin into his shirt as an improvised bib, and then dinnertime began. 

“Aaaand…here comes the airplane!” 

Monica held a spoonful of mushy, slightly grey looking peas, floating it in front of Kim’s mouth. 

He stared down at it, cross-eyed and dubious. “Is it supposed to look like that?” 

“Uh, yeah.” She looked between him and the spoon. “Pretty sure.”

“Bu–” he barely managed to get his lips open before she shoved the spoon forward, filling his mouth with overcooked vegetables. Half of it ended up on his face, and he wished that all of it had; the flavor managed to be both overpowering and watery, with a hint of slime that really reinforced that this wasn’t food meant for anyone with taste buds. 

He screwed up his face in disgust, but Monica just laughed, scraping up some of the mashed pea from off his face, though the effort only spread it around up to his cheeks. “Don’t you like, know how to use a spoon?” 

She’d been the one to get it everywhere! Not only was this her fault, not only was she making him eat the mush to begin with, she was going to blame him for making a mess? Growing red with anger, Kim snapped, “This is gross!” 

“I did what it said on the bag,” Monica replied, as though that excused the flavor. “But, fine, whatever. If you finish your dinner you can have some candy.” 

It wasn’t a real offer, she was going to make him finish the food either way. The only opportunity offered by the candy was that it might wash out the taste of the mush when he was done. He looked down, glowered, pouted, but still gave a timid nod. 

“Alright then…” Monica said, loading up the spoon with more peas. “Choo choo! Here comes the airplane!” 

“That’s not even the sound an airp–” Another mouthful of mush interrupted him, and Kim choked it down, squirming his way through the bite. 

It went like that, unpleasant sludge shoveled from bowl to mouth, with Kim wriggling and trying to think of anything except the taste of the peas, the feel of the slime that was at this point smeared across his cheeks, nose, and chin, the teasing comments she gave at every sour face and the general state of messiness he now lived in. And, above all, he tried not to think about the pervading arousal that refused to go away, no matter how gross the entire experience of dinner had turned out to be. 

As the bowl emptied and Monica set it aside, Kim felt almost drunk, somehow feeling more empty than he had before eating. Any resistance he felt able to give had been eroded, all his willpower had gone to simply choking down the dinner, and there was not much left in him that could complain. 

“Alright.” Monica leaned over the table, reaching down to again squeeze the front of his diaper. Her touch lasted for several agonizing, teasing moments, fingers tracing circles over the bulging padding, before she said, “Wow, you like, actually can almost sorta hold it.” 

“Can I…” he said, swallowing to try and get the taste out of his mouth. “Have that candy now?” 

“Oh sure, just…first, you’re a mess, you got food all over your clothes.” Reaching down, she took his shirt and pulled it up, half blinding Kim as it got stuck halfway off his body. After some struggling, she got it off the rest of the way, and used the shirt to wipe his face clean of the pea mush she’d put there. 

Only then did she dig in her diaper bag for a square of chocolate, wrapped in silver foil. Kim reached for it, but instead she unwrapped it and held it up. “Aaaand…open wide!” 

Of course, he wouldn’t even be allowed to eat that on his own. He obeyed, and she set the chocolate square in his mouth. The quality didn’t matter, anything sweet and made to actually taste good was a godsend, so he chewed and swallowed before she could change her mind and take the prize away from him. 

“Alright,” Monica declared. “Go play with blocks or watch cartoons or whatever, your bedtime’s in an hour.” 

“An hour?” Kim demanded, shocked, pointing at the clock on the microwave. “It’s not supposed to be until nine!” 

Monica looked at the clock, which read ‘7:15,’ then back at him. “Uh…it will be nine?” 

“No, it will–”

“Look, just because you can’t count, that’s not my problem.” She shrugged. “Unless you want to go to bed now?” 

He squirmed once again. “No…”

“So, like, whatever. Bedtime in an hour.” 

A horrified thought struck him, recalling back to what she’d been doing while he was in time out. She just wanted to send him to bed so he’d be out of the way, so she could get back to sexting with whoever was on the other end of that phone conversation! 

Unless…

He looked at Monica, who was taking the pause to inspect her appearance in the reflection of her fingernails. She was an idiot, but for all of it, he didn’t know if she was even capable of that level of subterfuge.

He didn’t know what was worse–losing forty-five minutes of freedom because his babysitter couldn’t do basic math, or because his airhead babysitter was tricking him. Both sent a shudder down his back.

Naked save for his diaper, Kim slipped off the kitchen chair, dejected and uncertain. 

His bladder had begun to twinge, signalling his need to use the bathroom, but he could picture that conversation in his head without playing it out. He’d ask her to use the toilet, she’d say he was in a diaper, he’d object, she’d say something condescending and humiliating, he’d argue, she’d infuriate him, he’d end up in trouble.  

With pleading eyes, Kim asked, “Can I…use the toilet?” 

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You’re, like…wearing a diaper.” 

“But I can hold it!” Kim objected. 

“So? Hold it, then,” Monica said. “If you’re really potty trained, then don’t go, but don’t cry to me about it when you have an accident.” 

“But that’s stup–” 

–Kim found himself in the corner once again, bladder full, thoughts resolutely refusing to focus on anything except how desperate he was to touch himself. 

He’d earned himself thirty minutes, though he doubted that number would be enforced rigorously. Monica wasn’t paying attention, she wasn’t even trying to. 

He wasn’t going to escape wetting the diaper, that much was obvious. He could hold it for a while, but his babysitter was supposed to watch him until morning, and he didn’t think anyone could hold it for that long, not with the pressure he already felt. He could have held it for longer, if he’d tried, but there was increasingly little point in trying to fight against Monica’s rules. She was in charge, and she had set him up to fail.

With only the corner to see his blush, he released his bladder, flooding the diaper with warmth that spread around his trembling cock. Shame burned on his face as the soggy warmth spread, saturating the padding, causing what was once dry to swell around him.

There was no more ignoring it. He needed to touch himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he stole a peek through his open bedroom door, but he couldn’t see Monica watching him. Once certain he wouldn’t be caught, he lowered his hands, slid one down the front of his diaper, and began to stroke.

He didn’t need long. Between all the teasing, the humiliation, and the need, he was pent up and desperate. Just a little rubbing, a little sensation, and–

“Are you–oh my god, gross, no!” 

He didn’t make it. Before Kim could have more than a few seconds of pleasure, Monica burst in and any hope in his heart died. 

Monica pulled him from the corner and yanked his hand from his diaper, observing that the white padding had turned a bright yellow. “See? This is why you don’t do that–now you’ve got piss all over your hands. Gross!” 

“I–” Kim stammered, but she held his wrist and shook her head. 

“Nope. If you can’t play with your toys nicely, I’ll have to take them away.” 

“My hands?” he spluttered. “How–?” 

She had already let him go, and turned to dig through her diaper bag once more.

This was…a stretch, admittedly, but too much of the fantasy to leave out. She produced a sturdy canvas diaper cover with durable straps and loops built in, and a matching pair of pink mittens. Going for the mittens first, she opened one up and held it out. “Come on, hands.” 

A thousand ‘Buts’ ran through Kim’s head, and he tried to decide which one to go with.

“You’re already getting ten minutes,” she said. “Do you want to make it thirty? Cuz it’s all the same to me if you get in trouble until bedtime.” 

“Just fifteen minutes?” he asked, hopeful that he’d still have a chance once it was bedtime and he was alone. 

She nodded. “Well, yeah.” 

Tentatively, he stuck a hand into the first mitten, then did the same with the other. Monica tugged the straps on them through a loop, then clicked two locks in place, sealing them onto his hands. 

Then, for good measure, she held up the diaper cover. “To make sure you don’t get my mittens all gross,” she said. “Because you totally would stick them into your pissy diaper if I didn’t. I’m not stupid.” 

Trembling, Kim stepped into the cover, and with a few adjustments to the strap around the waist, Monica locked it as well.

Taking the key from her bag, she held it up for him to see, then dropped it into the lockbox. Kim’s stomach sank as she began pressing buttons, each time producing a solid click, adding minutes to his punishment.

Click, click, click–

“That was more than ten!” he yelped. 

“Uh…yeah, I can’t make this count down,” she said, sheepishly staring at the lid. “Okay, thirteen, whatever.” She closed the lid and pressed start. “Thirteen minutes, then we’ll see if you can stop being such a naughty baby with your hands.” 

The worst part was, she was right, for once. He didn't have the willpower to keep his hands away, even with–or maybe because of–the warm squish around his groin that pressed into him with every movement. 

Another concern struck him then, looking down at his snugly locked up diaper and nullified hands. A cramping in his belly, more sudden and sharp than it had any right to be. 

His eyes widened. (No, she couldn't have–) 

Waddling to the kitchen, he pawed at the lid to the trash bin, though he couldn't get it open through the mittens. “Monica!” 

“What are you doing?” She asked, watching from the next room, genuinely curious and not mad.

“I need to see the label from the candy,” he explained.

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh shit, are you allergic or something?” Crossing to the trash bin, she opened it and snatched the wrapping from the chocolate. “What am I looking for?” 

Kim could see it clearly from the backside of the wrapper. Fast Acting Choc-Lax. 

(She's not that stupid, is she?) 

“Where did you get that?” He asked. 

“I found it in the bathroom, next to the aspirin,” she replied, calmed down now that she had ruled out allergies. “Was it hidden as a surprise?” 

“It's a laxative!” He yelped. “You drugged me!” 

“A laxative?” She asked. “I didn't stick it up your butt.” 

“No, but–it’s going to make me need to…” he squirmed and looked down, blushing. “Go number two.” 

She stared at him blankly, confused at what the issue could even be. “So? You aren't potty trained, so it's not like that changes anything.” 

He stamped his foot in sheer pique. “I am potty trained!” 

Monica snorted. “You just said you were gonna poop your pants, baby. That's not ‘very ‘potty trained’ behavior.” 

His stomach gurgled noisily, churning with the effects of the ‘candy’ he’d been rewarded with. He put both mittened hands over his stomach and paced, fighting off the sheer humiliation that would come if he actually filled his diaper in front of his babysitter. 

Checking her phone, Monica said, “Oh, and your bedtime’s in like…basically once your toy time-out is over.” 

That was no time at all, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to complain when he was focused on not losing the last shreds of his dignity. But–

“Once I go to bed, will you still let me change if I need it?” he asked, feeling pathetic for even voicing the question.

She rolled her eyes. “Nah. Bedtime’s bedtime, no cheating just ‘cuz you had an accident.” 

Then…he had to decide now.; Try and hold it all night, battling laxative-induced cramps, or give up, concede defeat, and at least get a clean diaper before Monica put him to bed.

Given how hard he was struggling already, less than an hour after eating the chocolate, that was no choice at all. Looking around, he tried to see if he could get any privacy, and settled on waddling towards his room. 

“Where’re you going?” Monica asked, more confused than anything. 

“My…room,” he said, “So I can use my diaper.” 

“Uh…yeah, no.” She shook her head. “You’re sneaking off to try and touch yourself again.” 

“But–” 

“I’m not like, dumb,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “You’ve been trying to play with yourself all night, and you keep complaining that you’re potty trained, so what, I’m supposed to believe that suddenly you’re just going to go poop your pants on purpose?” 

That was largely what he wanted her to believe, though when she said it like that, even Kim doubted himself. “I mean…yes?” 

“Then do it.” Monica crossed her arms in front of her chest and waited, tapping a foot. 

“But–”

“Now, buddy, or you’ll be in time out until bedtime for lying, and then you won’t have time for a diaper change either.” She pointed one finger at his locked-up diaper for extra emphasis. “Go on, prove it.” 

Kim burned red, but he had no choice. Humiliate himself in front of Monica, or be trapped in a dirty diaper all night once the laxatives won. 

He cast his eyes down, balled up his fists, and bent his knees slightly, praying he could just teleport somewhere else and cease to exist. Instead, all his concentration and effort got him was a new defeat, surrendering to the drugs he’d been fed and allowing his control to end. Solid muck began to fill the seat of his diaper, like warm mud being poured down the back of his pants, and once he started there was no more stopping it. 

Monica snorted, caught herself, then began to laugh. “Oh my god,” she announced, while Kim was trapped in the middle of loading his diaper. “You’re actually going? On purpose?” 

He looked up and saw her in the midst of a giggle fit, and his embarrassment only flared hotter. “I–you said–”

“You said you didn’t have any potty training problems,” Monica wheezed, chest shaking so that her breasts bounced with every fit of laughter. “So I guess you just wanted to poop your diaper, huh?” 

“No!” he yelped, though it was hard to argue when bulging, smelly mush was still inflating his diaper, making it sag as he packed it full beneath the locking cover. 

Monica covered her face as a shield against the foul smell, then laughed even harder. “Oh god–you really stink. Too bad you can’t even pinch your nose–I guess you shouldn’t have been such a gross baby.” 

Finally, the outpouring of his dignity ended, and Kim wobbled, lightheaded and barely coherent. “I…” he mumbled. “Um–” 

With an enormous eye-roll, Monica stepped up to him, reached down, and groped the seat of his diaper, pressing the squelchy mess into him. His erection, which hadn’t even come close to going down, only surged harder with the humiliation as she ‘checked’ his diaper, confirming what was abundantly obvious. 

“Wow,” she said. “I…ugh, fine. I guess I have to change you, since it’s not bedtime yet. Just a sec…” 

Turning, she walked away, leaving him to stand there with his diaper sagging and legs splayed, helpless to do anything about the stinky, heavy diaper he’d been trapped in. He couldn’t even fumble at the lock; without hands, the most he could do was paw at it, trying to pull it free, trying to–

“Wow, you’re still trying to touch yourself?” Monica asked, waltzing back in from his bedroom.

He turned a shade more red, if that was possible. “What? No, I–” 

“Yeah, I don’t believe you, so…” she said, before looking a bit guilty. “Uh…about the toy time out.” 

Kim knew what she was about to say, but still allowed the horror to creep over him. “What?” 

“I, uh…” Monica rubbed at the back of her neck. “May have accidentally set the timer to not be in minutes.” 

“Not…what?” 

“But,” Monica said, looking more cheery. “Bright side, I don’t have to get anywhere near that for another thirteen hours. I don’t really do dirty diaper changes normally, so that’s like…cool.” 

He was trapped anyway. He’d done what she said, he’d filled his diaper right in front of her, choosing not to try and hold it, and he was trapped anyway. 

“Ugh,” Monica continued, lost in her own train of thought. “But if you’re pawing at it all night, it’ll get super gross, and you’re too dumb to try not to…” 

“I won’t!” Kim’s voice cracked on the lie, both of them knew he’d still try it. 

Monica shook her head, then reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Whatever, it’s bedtime.”

“I still have ten minutes!” 

“Who’s in charge here, exactly? Because I don’t think the baby in a poopy diaper gets to make any grown-up decisions.” 

She pulled him towards his bed, then turned, once again, to fish in her ‘diaper bag’. This time she produced a pair of velcro cuffs with clips, the kind that anyone with fingers could easily undo. 

Unfortunately, with the mittens, Kim was pretty helpless even when it came to a simple clip. 

“Lie down,” she said, moving to wrap one of the cuffs on the right side of his headboard, then mirroring the motion on the left. Kim hesitated, so she pushed him down, forcing one of his hands up to the clip. Snapping the mitten in place, she wiggled his wrist, seeing how much range of motion he had before locking his other wrist to the far side of the headboard. 

Standing back, she admired her handiwork. “There–now you won’t do anything yucky while you’re asleep.” 

Kim wriggled and kicked his legs, but all that accomplished was making his diaper squish between his thighs. He couldn’t lower his hands below his neck, he could only lay there and squirm, trapped with his yucky diaper and his thoughts. 

“What if there’s an emergency?” he asked. “You can’t just leave me tied up all night!” 

“Don’t worry about it, poopy butt,” Monica teased, removing one more device from her bag–a baby monitor, which she sat on his nightstand. “I’ve got this. If you need something, I’ll hear you calling for it.”

He whimpered and gave the restraints one last tug, but with his wrists bound, hands trapped in mittens, and diaper locked securely around his waist, there was nothing else he could do. 

“Sleepytime, baby,” Monica said, turning to sashay out of his room, moving her hips side to side and swaying her body just to tease him a little more before she turned out the light and shut the door. 

Kim wriggled, tugged at his restraints, and tried humping the air just to get a little sensation through the layers of abused diaper, but it wasn’t enough. The modicum of friction he could get, squishing the front of his diaper around, was just enough to be teasing, aggravating, worse than nothing.

And, as he tried, he heard the baby monitor crackle to life. 

“Ugh, now that twerp is finally to bed…where were we?” 

Monica’s voice, loud and clear, echoing through the baby monitor. 

“Don’t worry, he can’t hear us,” Monica continued. “He’s asleep in the other room. Did you like the pictures I sent?” 

She was flirting on the phone. Raising his head, Kim spoke towards the baby monitor. “Monica? Can you…I think you did something wrong.” 

She didn’t reply. She couldn’t hear him, even though he could hear her loud and clear. She’d mixed up the monitor, leaving the receiver in his room. 

That meant he couldn’t get her attention if he wanted it.

It also meant he could hear every moment of her flirting on the phone, the tug of a zipper, and then the totally unashamed, blissful groaning as Monica began to touch herself. 

There was nothing Kim could do. His thoughts were eroded away, and the only sensations he could comprehend were desperation and degradation. Trying to hump at nothing only left him out of breath, panting, breathing in smelly air, and trying not to hump left him unable to think about anything except how badly he wanted to rip his hands free and start rubbing the front of his diaper. Monica’s pleasure only sent that need to new heights, her every gasp and moan reminding him that she was getting the pleasure he’d been denied. 

All Kim could hope was that, once this was over, she would be willing to babysit him again. 

...

Support is always appreciated! A couple bucks a month goes a long way, and my subs get early access and exclusive content!

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

Sign in to SubscribeStar.adult

Sign in to your account on SubscribeStar.adult and explore exclusive content

[peculiarchangeling]

The Woman in My Head - Part 2

(Part 1 is here)

My fingers trembled as I hooked my thumbs inside the waistband of my pants, dropping them to the floor of my bedroom. I couldn’t stop myself, I couldn’t convince my hands to disobey the voice that’d taken over, I could only strip one layer of clothing away at a time until I stood naked in my room.

Discomfort flooded me as my boxers fell to the floor, and I heard something like sympathy from the voice as she shared in my disquieting nudity. (I’m sorry about this.) 

“Then stop,” I pleaded.

(I’m not that sorry. It’s for your own good.) 

I stepped to my bed, where the package of pink women’s diapers sat waiting to be worn. Under the voice’s control, I ripped open the plastic packaging and took out a diaper, turning it over in my hands. The plastic backing crinkled softly under my fingertips, soft and smooth and charged with static. 

Unfolding the diaper out on the bed, I smoothed it with a strange sense of care, spreading it out into an hourglass as though I were laying out a blanket for a baby. I checked the tapes to ensure nothing had stuck to itself or folded over oddly, then I creased the padding down the middle to fluff it up. 

(You’re going to be a good baby,) the voice explained. (And you’re not going to argue. Understood?) 

“If anyone sees me like this, I…I don’t even know what I’ll do.” I stammered. Positioning myself, I laid down on top of the diaper, adjusting it so that it sat evenly beneath my waist. 

(You won’t do anything.)

“You’re going to let me go, right?” I demanded, pushing up onto my elbows. The moment of resistance only lasted for a moment, and I flopped back down onto my back almost instantly so that I could focus on pulling the diaper up between my hips. Pulling it over my nakedness, I smoothed it out, then held things in place with one hand while I tugged on the tapes with the other. “You can’t just…control me forever. I won’t let you!” 

(Ugh, I should have expected brat behavior. No, I won’t be here forever, just…stop squirming.) 

The diaper sat around my hips, snug and secure, and I stared down at it, shame and uncertainty washing away any coherent thoughts.

I looked ridiculous. A grown man wearing a pink women’s diaper, lying there on my bed like some stupid doll dressed up by my invisible puppeteer. “What do you want?” 

(I want what’s best for you.) 

“You’re ruining my life!” 

My body stiffened and I sat rigidly upright, turning to face myself in the mirror tha sat atop my dresser. I could see fury in my eyes, and though I didn’t speak, I saw my lips move in the reflection to match her voice. (I’m ruining your life? Bullshit. You’re ruining your life, that’s why I have to do this–so you don’t waste it.) 

Lips quivering, I tried to reply. “I don’t understand–”

(No, you don’t,) she interrupted. (Look at yourself. Right now.) 

I couldn’t disobey. Staring at myself in the mirror, I saw a disquieting portrait of my body: Awkward, ugly, unkempt. I didn’t need the diaper to feel humiliated by my appearance, that only added emphatic shame to the rest of the look. 

I sniffled, tears welling up in my eyes. 

(Oh, goddammit. No, this…no. Stop. You’re going to like this, we just have to keep going.) 

She used my hand to wipe at my eyes, but that was all the comfort I was allowed. She stood, and without another word, walked to my dresser. 

At least I would get some clothes, something to cover up…

I knelt.

“Wait–”

I reached for the bottom drawer, the one I’d reserved for my girlfriend, Hannah. 

The voice didn’t waste time. Pulling the drawer open, she selected a pastel yellow sundress. I stood and let the dress hang in front of me, inspecting myself in the dresser mirror. I was taller than Hannah, but lanky. The dress would go over my shoulders, but it wouldn’t fall much below my waist, barely functioning as more than a blouse, exposing the puffy pink diaper beneath for all to see. 

“Please,” I whimpered, but I couldn’t stop myself. I pulled the dress over my head, arms sliding through the short sleeves, and the soft fabric fell down over my body. 

Turning to face myself in the mirror again, I, b

Oi

xoivjha

Fdwe084y23t1qh0

…

An error has occurred. To continue: 

Press Enter to return to body. 

…

Fuck

Fuck

I was crying again. 

The voice in my head spoke up. (You get it now, right?) 

“No,” I said, but it was a lie, and I couldn’t lie to myself. 

(You’ve known since you watched To Wong Foo. You’ve known since you first saw Xena. You’ve known since you were old enough to know the difference between boys and girls.) 

“I’m not…” 

(You are. This is you.) 

“No–”

(Yes. Look at yourself. This is you. You are a woman, and you need to stop acting like you’re not, or you’re going to waste the next twenty-four years of your life waiting for something to change. It’s not going to change.)

I was on my knees, my reflection blurred by tears. 

She wasn’t wrong.

I couldn’t lie to myself, not when the truth was staring me in the face. 

(How do you feel?)

None of this made sense. It was like a fever dream, or a messed-up drug trip. I couldn’t stop myself, I couldn’t fight. My entire world had just collapsed like a house of cards, and now she was asking how I felt. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

(Oh, goddammit.) I wiped at my eyes and wrapped my arms around myself, squeezing in a close semblance of a hug. (Look, I…if I explain, you have to stop fighting me.) 

“Am I fighting?” I demanded, incredulous. 

(Yeah, but…look. You don’t know, you can’t possibly know, but you asked for this. Once I’m done, it will make more sense.) 

“When did I ask for this?” I demanded, sniffling. “And what even are you? A ghost? Or am I just losing my mind?” 

(Shh. Just sit here for a minute.) 

“Fuck you!” 

I wanted to rip away, to throw a tantrum, to rip the dress off my body and deny that this had ever happened. I couldn’t, I could only sit there, quietly holding myself, rocking gently back and forth. 

(The more I tell you, the harder this is. I just need you to trust me. I love you. I want what’s best for you.) 

The tears sprang up again, choking sobs that I couldn’t control any more than I could control my arms and legs. 

(I wish I didn’t have to rip the band-aid off like this, but there was no other way. The longer I’m here, the harder it is to stay, and we’re too stupid to get subtle hints. You needed this.) 

“I wish I didn’t know. I wish you hadn’t told me. I…I can’t do this.” 

(You can. Sa…Hannah will be there to support you. You’re a girl. You’re a Little, too. This is how you’re supposed to be.) 

“What the hell is a Little?” 

(Figure it out.) 

I wiped at my face. 

I wiped at my face. Not her. My arm moved under my own power. 

Sniffling, I said, “Thanks.” 

(I didn’t do that.) 

“Thank you for letting me.” 

(...right.) 

I looked down at myself, then up in the mirror again. Even with my hair around my shoulders, and the dress, and the…women’s underwear…I still didn’t really look like a girl. It didn’t look right. “I hate this.” 

(The makeup will help.)

Waiting for a moment for the voice to move me, I frowned. “Are you going to…?”

(I can’t make you act. You’re…too far along, now. You’ll have to do it yourself.) 

“So I could rip this all off and walk away?” I asked. “You wouldn’t be able to stop me?” 

(Please…please don’t. We both need this.) 

For a long moment I considered it, staring at my reflection. I could put this behind me, I could pretend that this was all a bad dream and never think about it again. 

But…I couldn’t lie to myself. 

“You’re not real,” I said. “Not like…really real. You’re just me, aren’t you?” 

(I’m you,) she replied. (But I’m real.) 

I scooped up the plastic bag from the pharmacy and poured its contents out on top of my dresser. I still didn’t know how to apply most of it; whatever self-discovery I’d undergone, being a woman didn’t endow me with instinctual makeup knowledge. 

I stared for a few moments, helpless, then asked, “Which…what do I do here?” 

A twitch in my fingers compelled my hand forward.

“I thought you couldn’t move me any more?” 

(I can’t make you do anything. I’m not gone.) 

Hesitating, I relaxed and let the tension fall out of my arms. “Then, could you just show me?” 

The voice tone took on a hint of warmth, the first note of kindness I could recall from her. (Of course.)

Reaching out with steady hands, she guided me through the makeup products, slowly building shadows and altering my features. It felt like watching a sculptor in timelapse, carving out the face one pencil mark or brush stroke at a time. 

With more deft control of my hands than I could have managed myself, she took out the hair ties and gave me a pair of loose pigtails, completing the look. 

It was…me. 

Every part of the image in the mirror. 

(There’s a lot more you can do, but you’ll have to learn some of it for yourself.)

“Why can’t you help?”

(The more I change things, the harder it is to stay. It’s like pulling out jenga blocks while standing on the tower, eventually it’ll collapse out from under you.) 

“You’re…not just a voice in my head, are you?” I asked. It felt stupid, and impossible, but if I was really just going crazy, there wouldn’t be anyone to hear me ask the absurd question. “You’re…my future.” 

I felt something in my mind slip, and her voice sounded a little fainter. (Yes. And no, I can’t tell you what it’s like. I’d lose you immediately.) 

“Why were you so cruel?” 

(I had to do it this way, you needed the shock.) 

I couldn’t lie to myself. “That’s not everything.” 

(It is,) she–I–lied. 

I wanted to interrogate her, to keep questioning, but the opportunity vanished when I heard the sound of gentle footsteps and jangling keys. 

Hannah. 

“Oh–” I started. “Wait, but–”

(Let her see,) the voice promised me. (She’ll support you. I promise.) 

I didn’t believe her. It wasn’t a matter of trust, but of simple impossibility. How could Hannah see me, like this, and do anything except reject me? 

(Oh, and…)

“What are you–” I started, but I didn’t want Hannah to hear me talk to a voice in my head, so when my front door opened, I shut up. 

Hannah called my name, and in that same moment, my bladder released, prompted forward by my future self. Warmth splashed into the diaper and spread between my thighs, quickly soaking the diaper, staining it visibly and obviously. 

I turned, surprise and shame burning on my face, but even if I had time to cover myself up, I didn’t have the capacity to move an inch. Hannah’s keys jangled as she set them in the bowl by the door, and she called out my name, feet creaking on the wooden floor. 

“Are you in here?” she continued, swinging the bedroom door open to find me. 

Eyes huge, wearing makeup and a diaper and one of Hannah’s own dresses, I stared, watching my girlfriend as she in turn saw me for the first time. 

...

Support for this program is sponsored by readers like you!

[peculiarchangeling]

The Woman in My Head (AB/DL) - Part 1

Written in collaboration with Joanna.

This work wouldn't be possible without her. 

...

This story contains very strong themes of gender and self identity. 

...

Part 1

“I need a haircut.”

Half-dressed and still damp from the shower, I stared into my bathroom mirror and debated my appearance with myself. I’d made a sport of that, volleying back and forth, never letting the ball drop until I was out of time and didn’t have to decide anything.

My hair was the big sticking point. I couldn’t decide how I wanted it cut, so it just continued to grow into a tangled mop. If I shaved it all off, I’d just look like a flabbier Slim Shady, and I didn’t trust myself to do any grooming or maintenance to make a more fashionable cut look decent. If I could have managed that, I could have managed to actually get to a barber and get it cut. 

I hated how it looked long, but I hated the idea of cutting it short even more. 

Besides, my strategy had worked. I only had about an hour before Hannah would arrive, that wasn’t enough time to go out for a cut, now I just had to make myself look vaguely presentable for date night. 

Turning away from the bathroom mirror, I–

(–coming through any moment now.)

“What the fuck?” I blurted, stumbling back when I heard the feminine speaker. “Who said that?” 

(Oh, good, you can hear me.) 

I spun like a top, looking for the source of the voice, though it didn’t sound like it was in the room anywhere–she was in my head. “Hear–how did you get into my apartment?” 

(I’m not in your apartment. Look, I can’t really explain, but I know some things you don’t, and I need you to do what I say.) 

I raised my arms and balled my hands into fists, trying to look tough. I could see my reflection still, and I knew that the act wouldn’t fool anyone, but I had to try and keep up appearances, didn’t I? “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are, but I will mess you up–” 

(Oh right, you’re in your martial arts phase. God, you’re annoying.) 

I hesitated. I’d been meaning to go take a karate lesson for months, but I hadn’t told anyone about that. Was this the girl from the Blockbuster? She would at least know I’d rented all those Jackie Chan movies, but why was she here? 

(Look. Just do what I say, and this will all go smoother.) 

“But–” 

(Get your hairbrush. We’re going to see what we can do with that rat’s nest of yours.) 

I frowned. “I don’t own a hairbrush.” 

(Yes you do. Bottom drawer, underneath the towels.) 

My eyes widened. How did she know that? 

(I know where you keep your stuff. If you keep fussing–)

“Get out of my head!” I screamed and spun, rushing to leave the bathroom. 

Before I could take two steps, I froze, body paralyzed mid-stride, and the voice piped up, (You asked for the hard way, then.) 

I turned, rotating back towards my bathroom cabinet against my will. It wasn’t like being puppeteered, exactly, but it felt like I was moving in a dream, unable to stop myself as I knelt to open the bottom drawer and take out the hairbrush I’d hidden there. 

Standing, I looked in the mirror, fingers shaking as I raised the cheap dollar store brush and, without wasting a second, began to pull it through my hair. It immediately caught on a tangle, but my hand refused to stop, pulling and tugging through the dark, tousled locks to straighten them out.

“Ow!” I yelped, as the sting of pulling hair prickled down my scalp.

(Don’t be such a baby,) the voice replied. (Or do, I don’t care, but we’re fixing this either way.)

I moved–or they moved, it wasn’t totally clear–quickly. Working one section at a time, I detangled my hair, pulling it straight and smooth. 

With every tug of the brush I winced, but my hands continued to work of their own volition until my hair hung down to my shoulders in a loose but even halo. I hadn’t brushed it out in I-didn’t-know-how-long, but it looked…

Different.

Not better, but longer. Almost girly. Maybe I could pass it off as Kurt Cobain-esque, if I had to, but this just emphasized that I needed to get it cut. 

(Okay, that’s a first step. I don’t think you have any hair ties, so get your keys, we’re going out.) 

I felt the pressure on my body slacken, momentarily able to move under my own power. “I don’t have a car.” 

(Right, you don’t even have your license yet, you’re such a passenger princess.)

“A what?” 

(Fine, the pharmacy’s not far. We’ll walk.) 

Before I could object further, my legs began to move, compelled to start marching. I tried to fight, to grab onto the doorframe or dig in my heels, but my body moved like an automaton, ignoring all my efforts to make myself stop. 

“What are you doing?” I demanded. “Who are you? What do you want?” 

(I can’t tell you any of that.)

“Hannah will be here soon, she–”

(We’ll deal with… your date when they get here. You first.)

I had enough control to swallow on a dry throat, though that’s about as far as my own impulses could get me. The force possessing my body retrieved my apartment key from the hook by the door and marched me down the stairs, off to buy…hair ties. 

As I was made to stroll down the street. My block wasn’t the most trafficked in the city, but nor was it abandoned, and I felt acutely aware of the fact that this voice had control over me. She could run me out into the street, or make me strip, or anything, and I couldn’t stop her. “Please, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

(You’re going to,) she replied. (You just have to trust me here.)

Her walk had more confidence than mine, something I could feel in the subtle movement of my hips, in her posture, in the way she kept her head up. It felt like she was trying to strut my body out on a runway, to make sure everyone could see what she was doing. 

She forced me into the pharmacy, and I darted my eyes back and forth, wondering if I could somehow get help. I could still talk, but what would I say? ‘Help, I’m being possessed?’ I didn’t even know if this was a ghost or a government experiment or just a psychotic break, how would I ask for help? 

The voice grabbed a cart, then walked me up the hair care aisle and nabbed a pair of hair ties as well as three kinds of shampoo. (You’re using this from now on, that forty-in-one garbage is not cutting it.) 

“From now on?” 

(Shut up and listen. Haircare, skincare. If you don’t do this now, you’ll regret it later.) Moving down the aisle, she made me reach out and select a set of creams and another of moisturizers, and then she got to the makeup.

My heart began to beat faster. “What are you doing?” 

(I’m not wasting time.) 

Foundation, concealer, powders and creams and nonsense I didn’t even know what to call. I never came down this aisle, it wasn’t for boys, just standing here sent spikes of anxiety down my back. 

The voice moved quickly. She knew my skin tone at a glance, apparently, because she didn’t need to compare anything, she just selected what she needed and used my own hands to toss it into the shopping cart. 

“Is that it?” I whimpered. 

I shook my own head, and she replied, (Not even a little bit.) 

Sashaying my hips between different shelves, she checked the different signs and turned into the aisle labeled ‘Incontinence’. 

“Hold up.” I managed to throw a hitch into my step, but that was the totality of my resistance. The voice in my head steered me towards the diapers, and I could do nothing to resist. 

Moving with purpose, I scanned the available offerings and scoffed. (God, store diapers are awful. You’ll have to make do, I guess.) 

“Why are you buying diapers?” I hissed, struggling to keep my hands from reaching out for a pack of pink ‘heavy duty’ diapers with a stylish woman modeling on the package. It felt like resisting the pull of an infinitely strong magnet, and the more I fought, the harder the force against me grew. 

(You’re not this stupid. Tell me you were never this stupid. You can’t figure it out?) 

“No!” I blurted, loud enough that my shout echoed through the store. A passing shopper glanced down the aisle at me, and I could only blush as I held the package of diapers and stuck them in my cart while he stared. 

(There, you threw your tantrum, now everybody’s watching. Are you happy?) 

“No,” I repeated more quietly, as the voice made me deposit the diapers in my cart. After nabbing a package of wipes and a tube of powder, they steered me towards checkout. 

I recognized the cashier by face, though not name–he was a bit on the old side, though not quite yet in the ‘grandpa’ zone, and he beamed brightly when I rolled my cart up to his register. In return, I could only burn red, blushing until I thought my long locks of hair would catch fire. 

He noticed the diapers, and I caught a sympathetic curl of his lips, but he didn’t say anything as he stuffed the package into a thin shopping bag. Through the sheer plastic, the label, ‘Adult Incontinence Briefs - 24/7’ shone through as plainly as if it were in neon, and I recalled the block-and-a-half between here and home. 

“Can I…get an extra bag?” I asked sheepishly, and the voice even let me rub at the back of my neck. 

He glanced up at me and smiled, in what I’m sure was supposed to be a reassuring way. “Here, let’s do this.” Reaching beneath his counter, he took out a newspaper-print coupon page and tucked it into the bag, using one to cover each side of the diaper packaging. The top still poked out visibly, and his action had only called attention to the humiliating packaging. 

It was about as useful as…

(That’s as helpful as a tissue paper parachute,) the voice in my head thought, finishing the thought before I could complete it. 

Shuddering at the realization she could hear my thoughts as well, I reached out and took the package from the cashier. 

My dignity had been shattered in front of him, but at least he’d tried to be considerate. I mumbled a weak ‘thanks’ as I paid, then took my bags and began the trek home. 

My hands trembled as I walked out onto the street, knowing what came next. This…voice, whatever she was, hadn’t been coy about her intentions. She wanted to march me home, put me in makeup, and make me wear a diaper. 

And yet…I wasn’t fighting her. 

I told myself that fighting would be useless, that I couldn’t resist. 

I had a bad poker face, and I argued with myself too often to believe my own bullshit. 

I was a moth, reaching out towards a candle flame. I knew it was going to burn, but some part of me refused to back away until I’d touched it, because I had to know what it felt like. 

Fiddling with my keys, I reentered my apartment building. A neighbor was checking her mail as I walked past, and I felt certain she could see the pink package of puffy diapers poking out from the shopping bag, but she didn’t seem to react. 

Once back in my home, I dropped the bag to the floor. 

(We’re getting you dressed,) the voice explained. (It’s your choice whether we do this the easy way or the hard way.) 

“Will you just tell me why you’re doing this?” I whispered. 

I felt the pause in my mind, like a long sigh. (I guess I can’t blame you for asking.) 

“So are you going to tell me?” 

(If you promise not to drag your feet.) 

I didn’t see that I had a choice one way or another, and I wanted answers. I had to know, to regain some sense of control. Besides, I needed to get out of this before Hannah arrived, and I couldn’t do that by stalling. “I promise, then.” 

(I’m making up for lost time, fixing things before it’s too late. You’re going to thank me, someday.) 

“That…” I began. “That doesn’t clear anything up.” 

(Too bad.)

“We had a deal!” 

(Then I lied, because that’s all I’m telling you.) Forcing me to crouch, the voice and I picked up the bag of diapers. (It looks like we’re doing this the hard way.) 

...

My subs get early access, and financial support helps me write more stories like this!

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

[peculiarchangeling]

Diaper U, Chapter 24

A part of Daniel wanted to stay in his room for the rest of the night so he could wallow a bit, but self pity wasn’t going to fix anything, and he’d have to go out eventually.

After a particularly ick-inducing diaper change, and a shower for good measure, he worked up the courage to leave his room. He needed dinner, and he owed a few people an explanation. 

The dining hall had, over two weeks, evolved with cliques and social groups. Some girls sat with their covens, some girls sat with their friends, some sat alone. The configurations weren’t universal, and could change from meal to meal, but Daniel didn’t bother to track the details of where anyone sat. What mattered were the six people he actually didn’t hate. 

He’d timed it poorly–nobody else from his coven was there yet, so he just chose an open area with plenty of spare seats at the end of the table in hopes that his covenmates would find him. 

Dinner options floated by on magical currents around the center of the long tables, and Daniel fished out a slice of pizza. He didn’t feel all that hungry, but as he picked at it, his body remembered that it needed food, and his appetite began to return.

“Howdy, partner,” Jen drawled, sliding up right beside him at the long table. Returning to her normal voice, she added, “Y’know, because we’re potion partners, and–”

“I got it,” Daniel confirmed, nodding before she could stammer out a whole paragraph to explain the joke. “How’ve you been?” 

“Alright. I, uh, heard some gossip after Voxavin, though, did you actually have an acci–”

Daniel raised a hand and shook his head. “Please don’t finish that sentence.” 

“Sorry.” Glancing around to ensure nobody was listening in, she added, “But, did you? Was it Rachel again, like last time?”

Sighing, Daniel nodded. “I can explain, but before I do, I need you to promise you’ll listen to me and not interfere, okay?”

“Sure, I guess. Interfere with what?” 

Daniel sighed, but there was no point keeping it a secret from Jen. “I was–”

“Danny!” Cassie called, waving a hand to get his attention. 

He looked up, surprised to see three of his covenmates coming in from one of the many entrance doors to the hall. He waved back, while Jen shot a look between him and them.

“How come she gets to call you Danny?” Jen asked, though her light tone implied she didn’t actually feel insulted by the double standard.

“She doesn’t.” Daniel rolled his eyes and scooted to the side, making room for his friends. Mathilde pulled up to the end of the table, while Cassie took the seat next to him and Hazel sat by Jen. 

“Are you okay?” Cassie asked. 

“We told the coach you had food poisoning and that’s why you had to leave,” Hazel added. “So you wouldn’t barf all over the court.” 

“Was that it? Just food poisoning?” Cassie asked, scooting up beside him.

Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Okay, I guess I only have to explain this once, but–”

“You all have to swear to secrecy,” Jen interrupted. “You can’t tell anyone about this.” 

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You don’t even know what it is, Jen.”

“Yeah, but, well–I know it’s a secret.” 

“Okay, well…yeah.” Looking between his coven mates, he said, “This stays between us. I don’t want anyone trying to fix it, or get anyone in trouble for it, or reporting it to the faculty, okay?”

They all nodded, and Hazel emphasized her promise with a thumbs up as she selected a plate of spaghetti from the drifting lunch options. 

“Rachel cursed me,” he explained. “I mouthed off to her in the potions lab, and she retaliated by cursing me with a potion that makes me incontinent. She knows I’m not very good at reading auras or tracing power, so she used a curse I’m not good enough to take apart myself, and set it up with a booby trap so if anyone else tries to fix it, it becomes permanent.” 

“Can’t the faculty help?” Cassie asked. “I bet if we–”

“Cassie, take a chill pill,” Hazel interrupted. “He just made us promise not to get help.” 

Eyes widening, Cassie’s sympathy poured through in her sorry expression. “But–” 

“But, nothin. Sure the faculty could probably help, whatever,” Hazel finished. “It’s his choice to make.”

“I don’t know if Rachel’s good enough to make a hex that’s really permanent,” Mathilde added. “She’s good, but she’s not that good.”

“You’re picking up the magic pretty fast, anyway,” Jen interjected. “I bet you’ll know how to fix it yourself in no time.” 

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t need to, I just have to wait. If I can go without casting spells for two weeks, the curse will fade away on its own. I just have to stick it out until the solstice break.” 

“Well, we’ll keep practicing together,” Jen said. “Maybe you’ll surprise yourself and fix it pretty soon anyway.” 

He couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Until then–I’ll just need to dip back to my dorm a lot more, and maybe invest in really long skirts.” He sighed and shook his head. “It sucks, I hate it, I would appreciate if everyone else could just act like it isn’t happening, not say anything, and let me pretend I’ve still got a bit of dignity left.”

“You really shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Cassie assured him. “It’s not your fault.” 

“Cassie, it’s a guy thing,” he said. “You wouldn’t get it, but guys aren’t supposed to just take this stuff lying down.” 

“I get it.” Cassie moved to pat him on the shoulder, a gentle reassurance through touch. “But just because you feel a certain way–”

“No, you don’t, you couldn’t,” he insisted, scooting a bit away from her. “Can we just drop this? I told you what’s going on, I don’t want you to try and undo the curse.” 

Cassie floundered for a moment, hand raised but frozen, and after an uncertain moment she lowered her hand and scooted away to give him more space. 

“Oath of silence,” Mathilde promised. “Can we tell the rest of the coven? Or do you want to?”

“I’ll tell them next time I see them,” he said. “Anyway–it’s pizza night, and I’m starving.”

“I have a thought,” Jen said. “Just one quick thing, then oath of silence, okay?”

Daniel closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. There was no shutting Jen up–he’d hear it now, or later, so he may as well hear it now. “What is it?” 

“I bet we could get an enchanted…I don’t know. Some kind of charm? To hide the smell,” she said. “Oh, and I know you don’t carry a purse, but they make a couple that have really good pocket dimensions–you could get a little clutch as a diaper bag so you don’t have to run back to your room all the time.”

“A charm would have to be turned off during voxavin,” Hazel interjected. “Unless it’s a medical aid, they don’t allow magical items to be used since it could be cheating.” 

“Sure, but outside of it, it’d be pretty nice,” Jen said. 

Daniel raised a hand to interrupt them. “I’m not carrying a purse, I still have a bit of a man card left and I’m not going to burn it–and besides, I don’t have anywhere to change outside of my room anyway.” Lowering his hand, he added, “But the charm’s a good idea.” 

“And maybe something to let you know when you’re wet?” Jen added. “Like a sensor, or–”

“I can still tell,” Daniel objected, shaking his head. For a concerned moment, he felt a flash of panic, but after shifting side to side with no surprise squelching, he confirmed that the diaper between his legs still felt dry. “Okay, oath of silence, let’s quit while we’re ahead.” 

“It occurs to me, we need to figure out the locker room situation if we’re going to try out as a team,” Mathilde said. “Since you mentioned the whole bathroom thing–we also only have girl’s locker rooms. They can’t expect you to go all the way back to the dorms in the middle of a tournament, can they?”

“I’m sure Rachel would prefer it if I had to fly back to New York between games,” Daniel said. “But barring that–yeah, it’s a good question to raise. Maybe we can talk to Blackburn about it? She doesn’t seem to hate me.” 

“Good idea, we can talk to her after class tomorrow.” 

“Speaking of,” Mathilde added, “If anyone needs help with the diagrams she asked us to draw out, I can help. We did this last year, I remember most of the material, it’s tricky but I can help get through it.”

Daniel tilted his head. “It’s just energy maps, what’s the issue?”  

Hazel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s not an issue for the egghead. We know you’re good at the written stuff, Daniel, no need to showboat.” 

They laughed and fell back to eating, making occasional conversation between slices of pizza, and Daniel felt himself relaxing. This wouldn’t be so bad. With a charm like Jen had suggested, and some caution, he could get through this with minimal loss of dignity. 

When he was done eating, he pushed up to his feet. “I’ve got homework, and some reading I need to do in the library. Catch you all later.” 

After a round of goodbyes, he walked away, navigating out of the dining hall and towards the library. 

He’d only made it thirty feet or so when he heard footsteps rushing up behind him and turned to see Cassie, jogging to catch up. “Danny, wait.” 

He turned, stopping in the corridor to give her a chance to catch up. “Something wrong?”

“No, but…I wanted to talk. Not around the other girls,” Cassie explained. 

Daniel waited, uncertain where this was going. “What’s up?”

“It’s just…you’ve got a lot going on right now.” Cassie crossed her arms over her chest. “And you probably feel like you need to show everyone how manly you are, and all that, but..you know, you don’t have to be ‘the guy’.” 

Daniel glowered, though he tried not to direct it at Cassie too overtly. “Okay? But I’m not trying to just…act manly, or…ugh. This isn’t how guys talk about their feelings, Cassie.” 

She looked at him with an expression of urgency that he couldn’t place. Daniel worried briefly that there was a spider on his shoulder and she didn’t want to startle him by pointing it out, but she only said, “I know. That’s my point.” 

He tilted his head, trying to follow what she was saying. “I’m really confused right now.” 

“Yeah, and that’s okay. Being confused is fine, Danny. Sometimes it takes a while to figure this stuff out, I just wanted you to know…” she looked away for a moment, before turning to face him with a warm, genuine smile that radiated reassurance. “Some of us have been there, and we’re your friends, even if things change.” 

Daniel blinked in utter bewilderment. “Cassie…I…” 

His coven mate put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything, just think about it, okay?” 

“O…kay?” He had no clue what she wanted him to think about, but given how cryptic she was acting, he didn’t think that asking would help. 

Without warning–or, at least, without any warning Daniel had seen–she pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing as though she were trying to comfort him against bad news. Daniel just froze up, eventually slipping his arms around her to return the embrace, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why she had chosen to hug him. 

“Go,” she said, once she pulled away. “Do your studying, sorry if I freaked you.” 

“No, uh, you’re fine. Thanks.” He smiled, trying not to look as dumb and oblivious as he felt. 

Cassie turned and walked away, humming a cheery tune to herself.

Daniel stared after her. “What the hell is she on about?” 

There was nothing for it–he had reading to do. 

He wanted to learn about ghosts. 

...

...what's that about?

(The next two chapters are already up in early access for my subs! If you have a couple dollars to spare I'd appreciate the support!)

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

For Research Purposes Only (AB/DL) - Chapter 9

Melody shifted from foot to foot as the full heat of five surprised stares turned to face her. She’d just asked to borrow a diaper and, naturally, that raised some questions. 

Grace was a good friend. The best friend, even. She cut through the anticipation and defused it in an instant. “For your book, right?” 

“Yeah.” Melody relaxed and flashed a smirk. “I need something to threaten Skip with. We won’t use it, but I’m gonna do the whole, ‘oooh, if you break during the scene I’ll have to punish you’ routine and we figured this would be a good way to do that.” 

“Gimme just a sec, I’ll go grab one,” Pearce announced, moving Grace gently to the side so he could get up. Standing, he walked past Melody to get to the stairs. 

It was a subtle reminder that even if the diapers were worn by Grace, Pearce was the one who actually put them on her, and Grace’s cheeks turned pink as he left, though the blush was hard to notice as she spread herself across the couch, stretching her arms and legs to fully lie down. 

“So how’s this book work, exactly?” the guy on the couch next to Brains asked. Melody very rarely concerned herself with remembering the names of partners, though she’d seen this guy enough that she felt she should remember him. “Is it autobiographical?”

(Carter? I think it was Carter.) 

“We don’t want to be fake experts,” Melody explained. “So we’re acting out scenes–nothing too graphic, but you wouldn’t write a boy scout manual without tying a few knots.” 

“Or a bondage manual,” Carter replied, picking up the bait. 

Melody grinned–she liked this guy, well enough. If Brains wasn’t dating him, he might even be worth a quick lay. “Either way, you want to be prepared.” 

Pearce returned down the stairs and passed a pink-purple bunny print diaper to Melody, turning it over in his hands. “You know how to put one of these on someone?”

“We’re not actually going to use it,” Melody repeated. “I can probably give it back later.” 

“Okay, cool.” He walked back to Grace and gestured for her to move. 

She sat up, and he took his place at the end of the couch, though she only kept her head up for just long enough that he could get in place before she laid back down and put her head in his lap. Once nestled in place, she took his arm, moving it like a ouija board ring over to her head.

Pearce chuckled. “You know, if you want me to pet your hair, you can just ask.”

Grace nodded and smiled precociously. “Headpats, please.” 

He complied, eliciting a gentle purr from his paramore. “You know this isn’t going to delay bedtime.”

“Yeah, but…mmmm…” Grace whispered. “Headpats.” 

“You two are so sweet, it’s gross.” Melody rolled her eyes and turned, sauntering back up the stairs. 

Skip was right where she’d left them–which made sense, since they’d have to undo quite a few knots in order to go anywhere else. 

“Here it is.” Melody held up the diaper, squeezing it to make the plastic backing crinkle. “If you disobey, you have to wear a diaper.”

…

Skip blinked, gaze locked on the thick bunny-print garment in Melody’s hand, processing what’d happened in the two minutes they’d been waiting. “You got that from Grace?”

“Well I didn’t have one in my closet” Melody pointed out. “Wait, is it too scary?”

“What? No.” Skip shook their head. “Just–it’s weird you got everyone else involved.”

“I didn’t get them involved, I just borrowed a diaper.” Melody dismissed the subject, moving forward without further room for questioning. “Besides–it’s just for the scene, for a threat. You won’t need to wear it.” 

“Sure, whatever.” Skip instinctively tried to sit up, though the ropes on their legs and waist made that difficult, especially without letting go of the headboard, so they just wriggled instead. “So–I do good, you buy me dinner. I do bad, I have to wear a diaper. Where’s dinner?” 

“You pick, just don’t break the bank,” Melody replied. “Is that all fair to you?”

“Well, like you said–it’s just a fake threat. I’ll take free dinner anytime.” Skip wasn’t above exploiting the situation, but they didn’t want to pretend they were doing anything else. “At least make sure to save your receipt, this’ll be a work dinner.” 

“You’re such a romantic. You want to get this plotted out?” 

“That depends.” Skip glanced up at their hands, still holding onto the headboard. “Can I let go now?” 

Melody snorted. “I’m half tempted to make you stay there while we plan the scene.” 

Okay, screw this. Skip released the headboard and sat up, ensuring Melody could see their obvious eyeroll. “This was a claustrophobia test, and we already determined bondage won’t make me claustrophobic. Help me with the ropes?” 

Sitting on the side of the bed, Melody began undoing knots, working to release their legs. “So, here’s what I was thinking…” 

…

I have the hardpoint mounted in my ceiling. I think it’s time to use it.

Skip stood to the side, watching with a bemused smirk as Melody stood on tip-toe and strained to feed the rope through the eye of an O-bolt in the ceiling, pushing it forward like an enormous thread through a needle. “Do you want help with that? I could reach it more easily than you.” 

Melody shook her head. “I do this. You just obey.” 

You’ll have to be patient, and perfectly obedient, moving as I tell you. 

“Arm.” Melody extended an expectant hand, and Skip moved to comply with the demand, lifting their right arm for her to take. 

Slowly and precisely, Melody wound the rope around their wrist, pulling Skip’s sleeve up to their elbow so that the snug cord pulled against their skin. One loop, then two to make a cuff, before braiding the rope down Skip’s forearm until it went almost to their elbow. The end of the rope ran up, through the hardpoint, and then dangled slack to the floor. 

“Keep your arm raised,” Melody instructed, moving to take Skip’s other arm and match the knots. “That’s one. How are you feeling?” 

Skip dodged a sincere answer by pointing out a few basic facts. “You said this would take a while, I’m not rushing.” 

Aren’t you going to be tying me up? I won’t be able to move–what’s the point of ‘patient obedience’?

Have you ever tried to tie someone up while they struggle? You can’t get pretty knots. 

Okay, but once I’m all trussed? 

It’s a simulation of helplessness. It’s not real. You can struggle when I tell you, but this isn’t an escape scene, and if you really want to get out, you’re going to be able to.

Skip’s wrists and ankles were all bound, ropes like marionette string tying them to the ceiling. To finish it off, Melody wound a rope around their waist, not secured to anything except itself. Skip knew she was tying a mount point in the back, a place to loop the other four ropes through, but when they tried to look over their shoulder to watch, Melody cleared her throat and shook her head.

“Don’t squirm.”

“I’m not squirming, I’m trying to see.” 

Melody stopped what she was doing and looked at Skip with a cocked eyebrow. “Are you going to do as I say, or are you going to argue? I’m sure Grace won’t complain if she doesn’t get her diaper back.”

“That’s–” Skip exhaled through puffed lips and looked straight ahead. “Fine.” 

“There you go.” Finishing her knot, Melody stood back in satisfaction. “I think you’re ready.”

Once I have you tied up, I’ll have you move, and once you’re in the pose I want, I’ll secure it in place.

And then what?

And then you’ll wait until I want to pose you differently. 

“Raise your right leg,” Melody instructed, guiding their body with her hands to help move Skip where she wanted them to go. 

Skip balanced on one foot, their knee bent and their leg raised until their foot was parallel to their thigh. It took effort to stay upright, though the tug of the rope provided some extra support to their stance–they had to concentrate, but didn’t feel like they were on the brink of toppling. 

“Give me your hand,” Melody continued, pulling their right hand down so that their wrist and ankle were touching. In a slightly out-of-character moment, she commented, “Does this feel like it’s stretching you too much? Any discomfort?” 

Skip could feel a slight burn in their hamstrings, but they didn’t want to admit any weakness, so they just lied. “I’m fine.”

“Good. You’re pretty flexible,” Melody commented, looping the rope on Skip’s wrist around their ankle, so that the two were bound together. Finally, she took the two ropes that correlated to those limbs and secured them to the loop on the back of their waist, so that Skip couldn’t lower their leg or raise their arm away. “Are you comfortable?”

“Nothing hurts, and my circulation is fine,” Skip said, shifting their left foot, shuffling from ball to heel to keep their balance.

“But your attention is taken up by holding this position?” Melody inquired.

“Obviously.”

“So, if we were having sex, I’d use this time to exploit that attention.” Melody reached down and placed a hand against Skip’s thigh, her touch resonating through Skip’s sweatpants. “You wouldn’t be able to pull away from me, and you wouldn’t be able to resist, I’d be free to touch you.” 

“That makes sense.” Skip nodded, glancing down at their foot to adjust their balance a little better. “What happens if I can’t support my weight? If someone were to slip and fall while like this, couldn’t that fuck up their ankle or wrist?”

Melody looked at them and raised an eyebrow. “Are you worried?”  

“I’m worried we might be teaching something dangerous.”

“The loop on your waist is a highway knot,” Melody explained. “If it takes too much tension, it’ll pull free, so you’d just fall over. Like I said–don’t squirm.” 

Skip took a deep breath, maintaining their balance. Focused on staying upright, focused on not pulling too hard, focused on maintaining their composure. Melody really could do anything to them, at least in the short term, and any attempts they made to stop her would first have to involve falling down and trying to get free of the ropes.

“Besides,” Melody pointed out, squeezing her hand slightly into Skip’s thigh. “I’m right here. If you fell, I’d catch you.”

Resisting discomfort with a veneer of cynicism, Skip snorted, earning a sharp frown from Melody.

“What?”

“It’s hard to imagine how you’d catch someone you were actively fucking,” Skip pointed out. “Could you really grab a partner mid-fall if you’re in the middle of sucking them off?” 

Melody’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “I take my partners’ safety very seriously. I wouldn’t be so distracted that I would forget if you were in peril.” 

“You’re the expert.”

“Yeah.” Melody let go of Skip’s thigh and walked behind them, outside their field of view. “You’d also be exposed to various sado-masochistic punishments. Your thighs and ass are always a good target, and right now, I know you can’t wriggle away.” 

“I get it.” Skip pressed their lips into a line and nodded. “You’ve got your partner in a compromised position, anything you do is more intense for them.” 

“If I had long fingernails, I could scratch your back, too,” Melody continued, resting a hand on the back of their hoodie. “Or maybe I’d just tickle you–I’ve met a few people who are into that. That’s one way to leave you gasping, before any sexual contact.”

Skip set their jaw and shook their head. Being unable to see Melody made them feel vulnerable, beyond what simply being tied up and helpless had done. “Okay, Melody, I’m following all this.” 

Melody hesitated, fingers twitching against Skip’s upper back. “Are you okay, Skip?” 

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. You seem tense,” Melody said. “Do you need to safeword?” 

“I’m fine,” Skip repeated the lie, daring Melody to call them out on it. “I’m just focused on balancing, like you said–my attention is split.” 

“If it’s too hard–”

(Fuck this.) 

Jerking their arm down, Skip broke the tension, yanking on the knot until it broke. As Melody had promised, the rope went slack, allowing their leg to fall and giving them the freedom to spin and face their ersatz dominant. “I said I’m fine, Melody. Do you think I was lying?”

Melody stared back at them, eyebrows raised sympathetically. “Okay, hold on. Let’s get you untied, and we can take a breath.” She didn’t start working at the knots–instead, she crossed to her nightstand and scooped up the rope cutter she’d left there. 

Skip glowered and shook their head. “No, we can keep this going, I just need you to listen when I tell you how I’m feeling.” 

“Skip, you forgot to safeword, you broke the knot, and you really seem kinda freaked. If you need to communicate something like that, you safe word. Say ‘Yellow’ and we can talk. You just seemed overwhelmed, and–” 

Yanking at the ropes on their wrist, Skip began pulling the knots free themselves. “I didn’t forget to safeword.” 

“So you just ruined the scene on purpose?” Melody asked, stepping in to help. Now that it was obvious Skip wasn’t in the midst of a panic, she didn’t cut the ropes, but she untied them with deft speed than Skip couldn’t compete with. “Why?” 

Skip didn’t have a good answer. They had forgotten to safeword, they had panicked, but there was no chance in a million years that they would admit as much. They needed a story that could explain their behavior, but that would thread the needle between believability and not making them look like too much of an asshole. “Because…I…” (What would she believe?) “I don’t want to just play along. I want to know if you’re actually committing to the bit.” 

Melody didn’t get it. In the middle of kneeling to get the ropes on Skip’s ankles, she froze and asked, “What?” 

“You weren’t listening to me,” Skip continued, their mouth moving ahead of their head as they continued the lie. “You said you wanted me off balance and focused on staying upright, then you kept breaking kayfabe to ask if I was okay. I didn’t safe word because I was fine, you didn’t safe word because–I don’t know why.” 

“I was worried about you,” Melody insisted, standing upright to get on Skip’s level. 

“You’re not following your own rules,” Skip shot back, cementing the deception, the excuse, the facade that hid how they really felt. “So I don’t think you’re treating this like it’s real, so why should I?”

Brow furrowing, Melody asked, “What are you saying? You want to quit this project?” 

(Yes.) “No.” Skip shook their head and stared Melody down, daring her with their words as they came to the conclusion of their tightrope of deception. “I broke the rules. I balked out of the scene. So, if you actually are doing this, then punish me.” 

...

Oooh, things are heating up! Diapers are imminent!

And did I mention that my subscribers get early access to my stories?

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

[peculiarchangeling]

For Research Purposes, Chapter 8: Movie Night (AB/DL)

Chapter 8: Movie Night

“Oh, come on,” Brains objected, throwing a piece of popcorn at the TV. 

“That’s another monologue about conservation, drink.” Grace tittered, lifting the nipple of her baby bottle to her lips and taking a long suckle of beer. Snuggled up against Pearce on the loveseat, she’d dressed modestly, which mostly meant that her diaper was covered by a pair of shortalls. Brains’ new beau was aware of and okay with the ageplay in their household, but they followed general social rules: No exposed underwear around company. 

Connor chuckled, wrapping his arm a little more tightly around Brains’ waist. “I was promised shlock and murder birds, not moral grandstanding.” 

Brains took a drink of his beer as well, but shook his head. “If there hasn’t been enough shlock for you, I don’t know what to tell you. This is how Movie Night goes.”

“Do you ever watch…good movies?” Connor inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Beaming, Brains declared, “Not at Movie Night.” 

While they watched the travesty of filmmaking play out on screen, Melody came down, wearing a sweaty top and looking winded. She moved right through the living room and to the kitchen, returning a moment later with two tall glasses of water. 

“Evening, Mels,” Grace said, waving.

“Evening, G,” Melody replied, nodding since both her hands were full. She took a moment to inspect the TV that was currently playing, then made a sour face. “What…is this?” 

“A cinematic masterpiece, clearly,” Pearce explained. 

Shrugging, Melody returned upstairs, leaving the four of them downstairs.

Brains watched her go, then asked, “Sooo…do we need to get another bet going?” 

“On what, exactly?” Pearce asked.

“When you two started your whole thing,” Brains gestured to the two of them with his beer. “We had a bet going on whether you’d get together. Round two, with Melody and Skip?”

“They’re not going to get ‘together’,” Grace chimed in, shaking her head. “It’s Skip.”

Looking between them, Connor raised his eyebrows. “Back up, new guy here. What’s the situation with Skip?” 

“They’re ace,” Grace summarized. “Like, super ace. The platonic ideal of asexuality.” 

Brains snickered, repeating, “Platonic.” 

“Thanks, I hoped you’d get that,” Grace added. “Point is–they’re not going to end up in a relationship.” 

“You can be ace and still be in a relationship,” Connor pointed out. 

“Okay, well, counterpoint,” Pearce added. “It’s Melody. Maybe you could be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t want sex, but not Melody.”

Giggling, Grace added, “Melody’s responsible for more losses of virginity than your typical prom night.” 

“Cultists hate her,” Brains added. When he got three curious looks, he explained, “Because they can’t find enough virgins to sacrifice.”

Connor snorted. “Okay, I see your point. Water and oil. Why make the bet at all, then?” 

“Because they’re having sex right now,” Brains said. 

Connor blinked. “Hold up–”

“They’re not having sex,” Grace interrupted. “They’re doing BDSM. Or…practicing it? They are BDSM-ing?” 

“‘Engaged in BDSM’?” Pearce suggested. 

Brains snickered. “They’re tied up with their current engagement.” 

“Ugh, that was awful, BD-SMH,” Connor said, rolling his eyes even as he grinned along with the joke. 

“They’re writing a book,” Grace added. “Or, Melody’s writing a book, Skip is editing and supervising? I think? But they’re not having sex, Melody is demonstrating various techniques, like rope restraints and stuff.”

“Weird, okay.” Connor shrugged.

“I thought you liked weird,” Brains said, looking at his boyfriend pleadingly.

“I like weird,” Connor promised, giving Brains a kiss on the forehead. 

“Speaking of, what the hell is he doing?” Grace asked, pointing at the TV. “Are they…fishing? Why are they fishing?” 

…

“How’s that feeling for you?” Melody asked, shutting the door behind her as she returned to her bedroom. 

Skip lay on her bed, trussed from the chest down like the victim of a macrame attack. Rope wound about their waist and legs over a light tee and sweatpants, attached to anchor points on the side of the bedframe and the posts by their feet, so that they were pulled in all directions and couldn’t easily move. Their hands held onto the headboard, and though their arms weren’t tied to anything and they could let go and untie themselves at any time, the rules of the scene dictated that they could not move. In case of emergencies, a rope cutter sat on the nightstand just by the bed, ready to free Skip at a moment’s notice should there be a safety issue. 

“A little itchy,” Skip admitted, twitching their nose. 

Setting aside both glasses of water, Melody reached for Skip’s face, hesitating. “Where?”

“Kind of, sides of my nose,” Skip said. Melody scratched gently with her pinkie nail, relieving the itch, and Skip exhaled in relief. “Thanks.”

“I got that water,” Melody added. 

“Should I just let go for a moment?” Skip asked, turning their head and lifting their body as much as they could given the restraints, which was only a couple inches. 

“No, just tilt your head forward.” Melody lifted the glass, holding it gently up to Skip’s parted lips. They drank slowly, and Melody made sure not to overwhelm them, tipping the glass a fraction of a degree at a time until Skip pulled away and shook their head.

“Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?” Melody asked, looking them up and down.

Skip pursed their lips, lifting their head to look over their body as well. They couldn’t raise their hand, but they made a fist and gave a static thumbs up. “No claustrophobia, no panic attacks. I’m good with bondage.” 

“Want to figure out a proper scene to do, then?”

Skip shrugged, though their range of motion was only enough to wiggle their shoulders a bit. “I guess? But I feel like I want to escalate–aside from just doing rope instead of paper. Doing the same scene again would be a waste of time.” 

Melody tilted her head and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s easy to fall into a rut. What were you thinking in terms of escalation?”

“Well–last time, I knew you weren’t going to really do anything bad to me. I just had to act like it, but real kink has real punishments.” 

Melody frowned. “‘Real’ is a bit subjective there, but…okay. So you want me to actually delete something if you disobey?”

“No, that’s…no. I’d rather do something else.” Skip chuckled nervously. “Weirdly, it needs to be milder, so I’m more scared of it actually happening.”

“I’m listening, if you had another idea.”

“I was hoping you would. I mean…there’s the ‘SM’ part of ‘BDSM’, but we shouldn’t do that.”

Melody frowned down at their friend and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to try that? I mean, it’s fine if you don’t, I’d just assumed–”

“I don’t want to mix and match,” Skip cut in, shaking their head. “We’re doing this scientifically, that means adding one element at a time. A rope scene plus sadism would be adding two elements at once.” 

“Okay, yeah, I see your point.” Melody leaned back against the wall. “I mean, there’s a few different ways we can play it. We already tried, ‘You’re helpless, so you have to do what I say or I’ll punish you’, but there’s also, ‘You’re helpless, so I can punish you and you can’t stop me’, and, ‘You’re helpless, so I can reward you and you can’t stop me.’ ‘You’re helpless, so I can use you’ is a classic, too, but I don’t know what I’d use you for.”

“I want to stick with the first one for now.” Skip leaned back, thinking for a long moment. “Like I said before–don’t change a bunch of variables at once.”

“Okay.” Melody tapped a finger to her lips, looking down at Skip. “Dinner?” 

“Hmm?”

“You do good, I buy you dinner,” Melody clarified. 

“What, and if I do bad, I buy you dinner?” Skip asked. “I feel like if we both have money on the line, that creates kind of a perverse incentive. Eh, no pun intended.” 

“Okay, fair point.” Melody sat down on end of the bed, by Skip’s trussed up legs. “I mean, it’s fine for me, I have discounts from a few places I deliver for that I can cash in, but unless we’re writing a section on findomming, ‘you didn’t do good enough so pay me’ doesn’t feel like a good punishment anyway.” 

“Yeah…” Skip mused. “Bleh, Findomming. I swear that started out as a way to scam horny dudes out of their money.” 

Meldy snickered. “‘Scamming horny dudes out of their money’ is the oldest profession in the world.” 

“Okay, but seriously. What’s something unpleasant, but that won’t have a lasting impact? ‘Get it over with and be done’ kind of unpleasant.” 

“Normally we’d make the punishment sex related,” Melody pointed out, resting a hand on Skip’s knee. “For you, would it be punishment to make you have an orgasm?” 

Skip rolled their eyes and dismissed the comment. “That’s like having it be a punishment to make me go to the bathroom. It’s just a bodily function. I don’t want that, but it’s not a strong incentive, y’know?” 

“Huh, okay.” Melody smirked. “Okay, I have an idea for a punishment.”

“What is it?” Skip asked.

Melody’s smirk grew, spreading across her face into a wicked grin. “Oh, you’re going to hate it.”

Leaning their head forward, Skip demanded, “What is it?” 

…

Grace lifted her head from Pearce’s lap, yawning a little bit. The movie was over, and it was getting close to time for her to get ready for bed. 

“Do you need a change, sweetie?” Pearce asked.

She turned bright red, looking over at Brains’ boyfriend. “We have company!” 

“Well?” he inquired. 

Her blush burned, but she nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, daddy.” She squirmed, but smiled, resting her head back down again. “But oh no, you can’t get up, I’m in your lap.” 

Connor exhaled in a half laugh, then leaned over to give Brains a kiss on the cheek. “Your friends are cute.” 

Brains’ blush was almost as bright as Grace’s. 

While they were all snuggling their respective partners, Melody came down the stairs once again, looking right over at Grace. “Hey, favor.” 

Grace sat up right away, focusing a bit. “Oh, of course. What is it?” 

Melody glanced over her shoulder, up the stairs, then back at her friend. “Can I borrow a diaper?” 

...

We're only eight chapters in, and I've finally introduced the *concept* of the protagonist wearing a diaper! That's basically the same thing as fast pacing, right?

Support is greatly appreciated, and the next two chapters of this story are up in early access for my subs!

You want to be a good sub, right? 😘

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

My Subs Have Unionized, Chapter Two: Nothing to Gain But Our Chains (AB/DL)

Lockout

John felt a little nauseous as he walked out of his bedroom. He’d been all ready to get a good night’s rest, but now it looked like that would be impossible.

It’d been fourteen hours since they dropped their demands, and Daddy hadn’t shown any signs of cracking so far. He’d done some work in his shop, run a couple errands, and never once did he come to beg for their submission. 

That alone was starting to get to him, but when John got undressed for the night and found his sleeping cage–a welded steel box Daddy had built himself–locked and sealed, the shock nearly caused him to give up then and there. 

He found Candy brushing her teeth, using a pink princess-printed toothbrush and toothpaste that smelled like bubblegum. “I’ve got an issue,” he said, speaking in low, urgent tones. “Daddy locked my cage.” 

Glancing at him, Candy raised an eyebrow, toothpaste foam dribbling from her mouth as she asked, “Whassapobble?” 

“Huh?”

She spat in the sink and rinsed out her mouth before repeating the question. “I know we want him to leave it unlocked, but that’s normal for now, isn’t it?” 

“No, no,” John clarified, dropping his voice as though he might be overheard. “He locked me out. With a padlock.” 

Normally, the ‘Lock’ was just a latch with a zip-tie style tamper proof seal around it, so that John could get out in an emergency. Padlocking it meant that John couldn’t get in to sleep at all. 

Candy’s eyes widened as she understood, and she moved to shut the bathroom door before responding. “He’s trying to make us give up,” she said, blushing as she hooked a finger in the waistband of her pajama pants. Pulling on the elastic, she revealed a pair of plain cotton panties beneath. Shame-faced, she admitted, “He took away my diapers.” 

“I don’t know if I can sleep without bars,” John said, shuffling uncomfortably. “I’m so used to my cage, and…” 

“Here,” Candy assured him, resting a hand on his arm and squeezing gently. “You sleep in my crib tonight. I’ll sleep on the guest bed.” 

Understanding what she was sacrificing, John whimpered a little, feeling bad for the imposition. “You’re sure?”

“To each according to their needs,” Candy promised him. “You need it more than I do.”

…

Undermining Leadership

A message was scrawled on the chalkboard in the kitchen the next morning. 

‘Candy cannot stop you from freely submitting to me. You don’t have to do what she says, just because she thinks she understands being your Daddy better than I do.’ 

Blanching when she read it, Candy hurriedly wiped the chalk away with her sleeve. She wasn’t in charge of the group, she was just their representative, but she didn’t want that sort of message undermining their efforts. 

Unfortunately, Daddy knew her all too well. The video camera he’d placed got the incriminating shot perfectly, showing Candy’s fear and anxiety as she tried to silence speech that disagreed with her, and before anyone had even had breakfast, the whole house had the clip texted to their phone, along with another message.

‘Why is she afraid of you hearing the truth?’

Hurriedly, Candy followed his text with her own. ‘I’m not trying to act like I’d be a better daddy than daddy!’

His reply devastated her, providing an ironclad reminder that he was in charge–or, at least, that he should be. 

‘Then why are you telling me what to do, silly girl?’

…

Captive Audience Meeting

It wasn’t a scene.

If it had been, they would have boycotted, but Daddy promised that he just wanted to talk about some practical things. 

Daddy was a gosh-darned liar.

Socks squirmed uncomfortably as Daddy addressed her, his face straight and level as he absolutely demolished her confidence in the strike. “I want to make sure I have your consent before I post any of these pictures to Fetlife,” he explained politely. 

The pictures in question were from a scene they’d played out last week. Socks had been trapped in her mittens, filled up with three glycerin suppositories, and left to dangle in her bouncer and watch while Daddy played grown-up games with Candy. Just the memory of the play made her blush–thinking of being bound and helpless as she filled up her diaper, elastic bands forcing her up and down in an endless rhythm that sank her weight into the yucky mess, frustrated and burning with desire as she watched Daddy fuck her big sister. 

She’d been in a chastity belt since then, and even through the strike, she hadn’t been allowed out. That frustration had only built, horny need that drove her into further desperation, and now as she looked at the photos and remembered what they’d done–

“Sweetie?” Daddy interrupted. “Are you alright with me sharing this one?” 

Socks stared at the picture–a particularly humiliating frame, the moment where she’d lost the fight with the suppositories and began to pack her diapers full. She could remember that moment as vividly as when it happened, how all she’d wanted was to feel Daddy’s cock inside her, but all she got instead was a mushy bottom. 

“I–” she squeaked. “Mhmm.”

“Alright,” Daddy said, swiping on his phone to the next photo. Socks looked at herself, face buried in mitten-clad hands, ashamed and blushing.

Squirming, she said, “This isn’t fair!” 

Daddy played innocent. “What’s not fair?” 

“You’re getting me all squirmy,” Socks explained, stamping her foot in a fit of pique. “You’re just being a meanie.” 

“A meanie?” Daddy asked, raising an eyebrow. “Little girl, are you trying to get yourself in trouble?”

Normally, that sort of bratting–calling Daddy unfair, calling him names–would be tantamount to getting on her knees and begging for a spanking, but not today. “Nuh-uh. You can’t punish me right now!” 

“I didn’t say I’d punish you,” Daddy replied mildly, moving to the next photo. “Oh, this was excellent–I can almost hear how you were whimpering for permission to just lick me clean! Wasn’t that so much fun?”

Putting her hands over her eyes, Socks whimpered, “Daddyyyy!” 

He rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to remind her of his strength. “Sweetheart–if you don’t want me to punish you, you can’t throw fits like this. How am I supposed to respond?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want–” Socks began, leaning forward and pressing her face and hands into the table so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “You know we can’t play together right now!”

“Really, now, baby girl?” Daddy asked. “I don’t ‘know’ any such thing–the only reason we can’t play together is because you don’t want to. All you have to do is say the word, and we can snuggle and have our movie night together after all, and afterwards–if you’re a good girl for me, well…maybe you could get to have playtime with me in the bedroom.”

She wanted it. She needed it. The desperate need to have daddy humiliate her, and comfort her, and snuggle her, and pin her to the bed and use her like a good little toy.

Socks almost broke, then and there, but Daddy pushed a little too hard. He moved to the next picture, and though the tableau of her on her knees, worshiping his cock while he ate Candy out was nearly enough to make her gush in her diaper just by looking at it, she was reminded that she wasn’t just doing this for herself. She had to stay strong, for Candy, and for the rest of them. 

“Not until you promise,” she said, cutting off the train of thought before shameless arousal could override her loyalty to the other submissives in their polycule. 

“Alright, no playtime then,” Daddy said calmly, as though he hadn’t expected her to crack at all. “That’s alright. Now…can you look at this picture and tell me if it’s okay to share?” 

…

Right-to-Wet

A new message was scrawled on the chalkboard on the second day, along with another change. 

Candy had learned her lesson–she couldn’t hide it, she couldn’t erase the writing, all she could do was squirm as everyone woke up and saw what Daddy had announced to them.

Mick read the message, and though he wanted to ignore it as well, it was hard when it remained an ever-present part of his peripheral vision, posted in the kitchen the whole time he made breakfast.

‘Candy can’t tell you where to go potty. That decision should be made between you and your Daddy. Anyone who asks can have a fresh diaper, without any expectations of other play.’

Matching the timing, he had woken up to find their dressers cleared out of all padding, as well as his maid uniforms–all he had left were boxers, jeans, and plain T-shirts. Checking with Socks and John, he’d confirmed that it’d happened to everyone, losing access to onesies, collars, everything. Candy had been the canary in the coal mine–one by one, they were all losing the submissive comforts that they’d grown so used to. 

Mick wanted to take Daddy up on his offer. Wearing normal clothes–no skirt, no apron, nothing maid-like in the slightest–felt unnatural, and without the reassurance of a puffy diaper around his hips, his days went by in constant discomfort. 

And besides–Daddy promised it wouldn’t lead to anything else. He could go get his diaper change without crossing the picket line and giving up their struggle, right? 

But…Mick knew that wasn’t the case. One crack in their armor, and the dam would burst. If he went to Daddy now, he’d never be able to stop. 

Still, as he finished preparing breakfast, it was a constant struggle not to give in to temptation, and the message on the chalkboard seemed almost to flash like a neon sign in his vision, reminding him just how easy it would be to give up.

Then Daisy walked in.

Only…no. She waddled in. 

Mick froze, barely able to believe what he was seeing. The puppygirl of the polycule just sauntered into the kitchen, diaper on full display below her T-shirt, looking as innocent as she pleased. 

“Daisy?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Something you want to tell me?” 

Characteristically silent, she shrugged and shook her head, a mop of hair flopping around her face as she did. 

That did it. If Daisy had given in, he would too. Red-faced and as angry with himself as with her, Mick stormed past, fuming as he stomped up to Daddy’s room. On the way up the stairs, though, he bumped into Candy, who caught his expression immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Daisy,” Mick said. “She took a diaper from Daddy.”

Candy’s brow furrowed. “She wouldn’t.”

“Go look for yourself,” he snapped. “She wasn’t even guilty.” 

For a moment, Candy shared the same aggression Mick felt, then her eyes widened and she grabbed his hand. “Hold on.”

“What are you–” he started, but she dragged him away before he could finish the sentence, pulling him by the wrist like a doll. 

He hurried to follow after as Candy led him upstairs, past the nursery, and into Daisy’s bedroom. There, she finally let go, leaving Mick to wobble for a moment and catch his balance as she hurried over to the dresser by the wall.

“Aha!” she said, pulling the drawer open and producing a puffy paw-print diaper from inside. 

It was a trick. Daddy had taken everyone else’s diapers, but not hers. 

Blushing bright red that he’d been so gullible, Mick felt a new surge of energy and turned, hurrying back down to the kitchen. Snapping up the chalk, he wrote his own message beneath Daddy’s, declaring his resistance. 

‘No diapers, no peace! 

Sub solidarity forever!’

…

The Scab

The five of them sat on the couch, sharing a round of uncomfortable blushes and a singular thought: God, I wish that were me.

Daddy was never all that quiet, but today, he was playing it up, loud and passionate as he ravished…someone. Dating outside the polycule was allowed, but he’d rarely brought in someone so vocal, especially not someone that the five of them barely knew. 

“Who’s my little diaper slut?” Daddy demanded, voice carrying all the way down to the living room. 

“I am!” a shrill, whimpering voice called back. 

“You filled up your diaper so good for me–are you ready for your reward?” 

“Please!” 

Then the spanking began–loud, powerful SMACKS! that rang out like applause. With every impact, a matching yelp rang, pained cries that the entire group of submissives knew all too well. Jealousy burned hot in the living room as the scene played out upstairs, reminding them of what they could have if they stopped the strike. 

“Um…can we put on music or something?” John asked. 

“Daddy changed the spotify password and hid the bluetooth speaker,” Candy pointed out. “He even took the TV plug…” 

“He hid my headphones…” Socks added in a distraught tone. “He said since they had baby block stickers on them, they were Little stuff, and I couldn’t use them while we were striking…he gave me ear buds instead.” Sticking out her tongue, she emphasized the horror of that substitution by gagging. 

“I could play music through my phone,” Mick offered, but it wouldn’t be loud enough to drown out the sounds of punishment echoing down the stairs. The smacks had mutated from clapping impacts to heavy thuds as Daddy switched to using a paddle, and the woman he’d brought into his bedroom cried out even louder. 

“What if we just…went somewhere?” John suggested. “Like, out to get ice cream or something?” 

“And let Daddy know he can force us out of the house whenever he wants? No,” Candy said. “We have to make a stand here–we have to prove we’re not bothered.” 

Sitting on the floor by the end of the couch, Daisy began to whimper. She’d given up her own diapers out of solidarity, though Daddy hadn’t yet confiscated them, and she clearly looked uncomfortable trying to sit on the ground in simple panties. 

Socks groaned in agreement, pressing her hands over her ears. “I can’t take this anymore!” 

“Come on,” Candy said. “We’re stronger than this. Socks, you sat through two hundred spanks while you had a plug in your bottom! Mick–you managed to clean the entire house with your hands behind your back and a dust mop in your mouth. John, how many hours did Daddy edge you for your birthday?”

“Um…three,” John said, smiling, blushing, and rubbing the back of his neck. “And a half. I did pretty good…

“And Daisy,” Candy prompted, reaching down to ruffle her hair. “You’re the best girl there is–you’re definitely strong enough for this. We can make it, we just have to hang on a little longer.” 

That brought their spirits up, until the sound of thudding stopped, replaced by the sound of flesh clapping together, and yelps were replaced with moans.

...

Support the author!

My subs get early access, and you want to be a good sub, right? ;)

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

My Subs Have Unionized, Chapter One: Seizing the Means of Seduction (AB/DL)

Candy’s word choice was precise, direct, and chosen for maximum impact. “Thank you for joining us, Brad.”

Not “Daddy”. Not “Sir”. 

Brad. 

That alone was a white glove tossed across the negotiation table, a challenge. It didn’t matter that she was wearing her PJs–a onesie over a puffy, damp diaper–or that the ‘negotiation table’ was a double-wide kitchen island, she wanted him to know that she, and Daisy, and John, and Mick, and Socks meant business. 

Daddy just raised an eyebrow at her, pulling up a seat opposite the five of them. He wasn’t dressed for the day either, but his loose T-shirt and sweatpants only emphasized his power; the hard shape of his sculpted body visible beneath flashes of fabric. “I don’t see breakfast,” he pointed out, glancing out at the table. 

Mick was the housemaid, and though he hadn’t been bold enough enough to forgo donning his uniform and skirts that morning, he’d made a stand in that regard–leaving breakfast unmade. 

“And you won’t,” Candy replied, raising her hand towards Daisy and holding her palm open, “Until our demands are met.” 

Nothing happened for a moment, until she nudged Daisy, who was tugging at the hem of the long t-shirt that fell over her own paw-print decorated diaper. The lanky girl yipped in surprise, remembering what they’d planned, and took the sheaf of paper that they’d prepared and placed it in Candy’s open hand. With a flourish, Candy passed the paper across the table, turning it around for Daddy to read. 

He looked down, expression bemused, then raised an eyebrow as he began to read. “Do we need to bring safe words into this conversation?” 

Candy shook her head quickly. “No. This isn’t that kind of negotiation.” 

Nodding, Daddy picked up the paper, eyes lingering on Candy for a moment longer before drifting down to begin reading. The five of them waited on bated breath, awaiting his reaction.

“You’re threatening to withhold your submission?” he asked, more curious than concerned. 

“Not threatening,” Candy replied. “We’ve talked about this, and we’re going to go through with it. If you want our submission, you will need to comply with our demands.” 

Daddy set aside the paper, instead looking her in the eyes. Candy flinched–Daddy had a look that could make her melt, and he employed it judiciously, dropping her into subspace with the slightest arc of his eyebrows. “Really now, baby?” 

Her lips trembled, and she struggled to produce any sounds more coherent than pure babble. The pure, concentrated Daddy Energy filled her with an urge to drop to her knees and submit, but a gentle touch from Mick stabilized her. Her submissive-in-arms slipped his lace gloved-hand between her fingers and squeezed, restoring a bit of her ability to resist. 

Raising her chin, Candy declared, “Really.”

Ignoring the paper, Daddy looked them all over. “All of you planned this out?” 

Nobody else made eye contact with him. Mick found a spot on the ceiling to stare at, Socks looked down at her boots, John turned his nearly-naked body around to face away, and Daisy crossed her arms over her chest and even went so far as to nod her head in defiance, her bone-shaped collar tag jingling. 

Daddy nodded. “And what are your demands?” 

She’d hoped he would simply read the list, but of course he was forcing her to speak them aloud instead. She didn’t want a confrontation, but she didn’t have a choice, the whole polycule was depending on her. 

“First–freedom of cummies,” she said, acutely aware of the chastity belt locked beneath her diaper. “Chastity should only be employed as punishment for serious disobedience. I–we–want access to buzzy time whenever we want, without needing permission.”

Daddy chuckled, as though she were joking. “Baby, you know you’re too little to make decisions like that. How would I keep you all in line if I let you spend your whole day just riding your wands?” 

The comment made her blush, which had to be intentional–Daddy was trying to derail the delivery of their manifesto. “Second,” Candy said, voice trembling slightly. “Make out privileges. We demand permission to kiss and fondle each other at will.” 

Daddy nodded, though his broad smirk said, ‘Never in a million years’. 

“No more bedtimes for me or Socks. We should be allowed to stay up past midnight with everyone else. Mick wants access to diaper changes before his daily chores are concluded,” Candy continued. “And he only wants to do hot brekkie on business days, so he can sleep in on weekends.”

“Sweetheart,” Daddy interrupted. “You’re not australian. Just because they say ‘brekkie’ on Bluey doesn’t mean you should call it that.”

He was trying to get her flustered, and it worked, but she powered through without replying to the comment. 

“John wants his cage to be left open at night. I want nuggies available for at least three meals a week, and full veto power on anything containing vegetables. Plus, no more stinky diapers when your other Big friends are over, or during playdates with other littles who might tease me–erm, us.” Her lip trembled, but she held eye contact, all her bravery on display. 

“Is that all?” Daddy asked.

“There’s a few more things,” Candy admitted, reaching for the papers. “But this one is the most important. We don’t negotiate anything else until this is signed.” Producing the bottom sheet from the stack, she held it out.

Daddy glanced at it, but didn’t read the paper, forcing Candy to explain herself. “What is that?” 

“A non-retaliation clause,” Candy declared. “Saying that you will not punish any of us for collective bargaining, enforcement of our rules, or for demanding fairer rules.” 

Looking at the paper, Daddy pondered it for a moment before setting it aside. “Who’s idea was this, Candy? It wasn’t yours.” 

They remained silent, but Daddy could see through their poker faces easily, and a few darting glances turned his attention onto John. The polycule’s resident rope bunny shivered, his bare body somehow sweaty despite the cool morning. 

“Toy,” Daddy told John. “What were you thinking? That I’d let you out of your cage if you got your friends to ask with you? You know that everything between your legs belongs to me. And with this little fussing session, I think we can put another month on the calendar before I let you borrow those parts.” 

John whimpered, but Candy cleared her throat. “It was a group decision.”

Daddy didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. “I have a counter offer.” 

Nodding, Candy glanced at her co-submissives, ensuring they were all ready to listen. “We’ll hear out your terms.” 

Daddy lifted his chin ever so slightly, an acknowledgement that their efforts had gained his attention–but not his respect. “You all apologize for being brats, and I’ll forget the myriad responsibilities you’ve chosen to disregard this morning.” 

Daddy’s confident smile shook Candy to her core, and she could tell by the way the others rocked back that she wasn’t alone, but she held strong. “That’s it, then.” 

“That’s it?” Daddy asked. 

“A submission stoppage,” Candy announced. “Everyone, this meeting is over.” 

Getting to his feet, Daddy nodded, moving to step around the table. His fingers reached for the seat of Candy’s diaper, but she stood and stepped back, preventing him from checking her. 

“I need to see if you’re soggy,” he pointed out. “Don’t you want a change, little one?” 

She did. Nothing relaxed her more than Daddy’s tender touch, wiping her clean and powdering her dry before wrapping her up in a nice, fresh diaper, but Candy stuck out her chin and shook her head. “Not until our demands are met.” 

“If you leak–” Daddy started. 

“I won’t.” 

“You can’t stay in one diaper forever.”

She sucked in a breath, her next statement feeling more like a challenge than anything she’d done so far. “I’ll change myself.” 

Daddy was taken aback, but only for a moment. Moving on, he looked between them, deciding where to apply pressure next. “Daisy. Are you ready for your morning walkies?” 

Daisy’s expression brightened, then soured again. She shook her head, sniffing a little as she held her ground. 

“Socks–it’s pancake day. Don’t you need my help eating breakfast? I’ll cut the pieces extra small.” 

Candy held her breath, but her baby-in-crime stood proud: Socks puffed out her chest and held her breath, waiting for Daddy to move on.

Daddy finally turned to face John, letting Socks exhale. “Toy,” Daddy said to the next sub in line. “Is your harness clean?”

“It is,” John promised. 

“Then–”

“But I won’t use it,” he interrupted. “I’m not crossing the picket line, Brad.” 

Daddy sighed, and Candy felt a surge of triumph. They’d held strong, refusing to buckle under Daddy’s dominant energy. Turning, he said, “Alright. If this is how you want to behave, just remember–it’s your choice.” 

He left, and the five of them slumped, all drained by the flimsy resistance they’d offered. 

Shivering, Daisy sniffed, looking like she might cry. Mick gave voice to her concern. “Do you think he’ll be mad?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Candy replied. “He’s got to agree to our terms, and that means he can’t retaliate.” 

“But if he doesn’t?” Socks asked, already desperate after only two minutes of independence. “He said he’d watch Tangled with me tomorrow night–what if we’re still not at an agreement?” 

“Then we’ll hold strong,” Candy promised her. “I know this is hard, but we have to stick together. Once he gives up, we’ll get to have grown-up time whenever we want! That has to be worth it!” 

“He’s not gonna wait us out,” John supplied. Almost naked save for the chastity cage Daddy kept him in at all times, Candy didn’t know how he wasn’t shivering cold; without her onesie and knee socks she would have been shivering. 

“You think?” Socks asked eagerly. 

“Of course not. He’s going to try and pressure us,” John explained. “Isolate us, make us turn one by one.”

“Don’t worry. We held together once, we can do it again,” Candy promised them. 

Mick wasn’t so certain. “That was when we were all together. What about when we’re alone?” 

“Just remember: No matter what Daddy promises you, we can’t buckle. He will punish us, so we need to make sure he doesn’t get that opportunity.” 

“The longer we hold out, the more he’ll try and bribe us,” John added. “He’ll get us alone and make promises–that if we turn, he’ll let us have whatever we want. Don’t listen.”

“Daddy’s a fibber, anyway,” Socks said. “The other day he said I could pick between cookies and five minutes with my buzzy wand, but when I picked buzzy time, he didn’t let me plug it in!” 

Candy slumped back on her stool, tummy grumbling. Without Mick’s usual breakfast spread, she was feeling particularly hungie. “Let’s just go about our day, and don’t let him get to us, okay? We knew he wouldn’t break immediately.” 

There was a moment of assent and the five of them stood, but it quickly faded as they all tried to think what their day would even look like. Without their typical routine, breakfast hadn’t been made. Candy and Socks would have to feed themselves, Daisy wouldn’t be getting anything served in her dog bowl, Mick didn’t have anything to clean up. Uncertainly, they all milled around the kitchen for a moment, shuffling back and forth, at a loss for how to proceed. 

“I’ll make breakfast, okay?” Mick suggested. “I like cooking, anyway.”

“No,” Candy insisted. “We can’t just do what he wants. If you make brekkie, we lose.”

“I won’t make any for dadd–Brad.” Mick shook his head. “He’ll have to prepare his own food.” 

“You’re not in maid mode,” Candy shot back. “I’ll make it.”

“You’d burn cereal,” Mick snapped. “I’m not eating whatever slime you make!” 

Stepping between them, Daisy lifted her arms and shook her head furiously, her voluminous hair flopping from side to side. Growling a little, she communicated her point without needing to say a word: Stoooop fightiiiiiing. 

She was right, and Candy blushed as she recognized she’d started a meaningless argument. “He’s getting to us already,” she said, though Daddy hadn’t even seeded this argument. “I…I’m sorry, Mick. You can make brekkie if you want. Socks, I can feed you, if you feed me, ok?” 

The other baby girl nodded. “Okay!” 

Mick moved to start cooking, flouncing daintily around the kitchen in his maid uniform. “Everyone, you’re in my way–let me cook.” 

They filed out, and Candy took a moment to scratch Daisy’s scalp, just behind the ears. “I’m sorry for fighting, girl.” 

Daisy’s tongue lolled out and she made a pleased sound in the back of her throat, nodding as she accepted the apology. “S’kay.”

Candy had one more thing to take care of–she needed a fresh diaper. Daddy had claimed she would leak, and she wasn’t about to prove him right, so she set off to her nursery to get herself changed. 

She hated doing her own diapers–it just never felt the same. A self-change was a chore, not a pleasure, but she’d already accepted that this would be necessary as part of their collective struggle. Socks was hopeless with changing diapers, and she wouldn’t want to ask anyone else to take on that responsibility. 

Candy found the nursery door open when she got upstairs, which got her attention immediately. She always shut it out of habit, leftover paranoia from when she'd lived with vanillas and had to worry about her diaper supplies being spotted. Walking inside, she looked for Daddy, wondering what he'd try to bribe her with, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

On edge, she walked to her dresser, pulling out the top drawer to get her changing supplies. She recoiled in horror, eyes widening once she saw what Daddy had done.

A stack of fresh, clean panties were in the drawer. No diapers, no powder, not even a stuffer. Daddy had taken away all her underwear and replaced them with these…things. The panties didn't even have cute prints! 

A note sat to the side of the panties, written in Daddy’s straightforward handwriting. Reading it, Candy felt a chill run down her back, from the base of her neck to the seat of her damp, sagging diaper.

‘Since you think you're big enough to make grown up decisions, I think it's only fair that you wear grown up panties.

If you want your diapers back, you'll have to prove you won't act like a grown up.

-Brad’ 

...

Yes, I did a story based on a meme. I'm not apologizing.

Support for this smut is sponsored by readers like you! (Which is to say, my subscribers help keep me in groceries and diapers, and I give them early access and exclusive content in exchange!)

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

For Research Purposes Only, an ABDL Romance - Chapter Six, Switch Scene

It took only five minutes for Melody to put together the supplies she needed, but a full hour to negotiate the details.

Skip considered noping out of the situation twice, but they’d already committed to it, and their balking points were a bit too embarrassing to admit. Better to run with it, and keep their private opinions on the situation private.

“I want you to experience some pressure, even some stress,” Melody had explained, “But it’s not going to be sexual.” 

“I’m not going to say that sexual stuff wouldn’t be stressful,” Skip pointed out. “If you want me uncomfortable, that could work.”

“But it’s not the point.” Melody sat back on her bed, kicking up her feet. “If it were sexual, you’d only be super grossed out and uncomfortable.”

(It’s not that gross,) Skip thought. Their issue with sex had more to do with boredom than anything else; the grossness came with the human element. “So, the point?”

“I want there to be a push and a pull. A threat, and a reward. Normally–”

“Punishment and cumming, yeah,” Skip interrupted. “I get it.”

“Okay, so, we’ll figure out something for you. What would make a good reward?”

“I guess…” Skip started, pursing their lips. 

This was the first balking point. Anything they suggested would be unavoidably revealing. Would asking for cash be greedy? Almost certainly–and it wouldn’t fit the mood. They had to come up with something personally rewarding, something that would actually entice them.

Fortunately, Melody saved them. “I’ve got a box of chocolates this guy sent me–they’re super fancy. How does that sound?”

It sounded like an opportunity to not have to come up with anything, and that was exactly what Skip wanted. “Perfect.” 

Melody grinned. “Great. Now–for punishment. We’re not going to do anything physical. I’m not even going to actually do anything, I just need something I can threaten you with.”

“So…if you’re not going to do it, just threaten me with violence,” Skip pointed out. 

“Yeah, no. This one needs to be personal.” Melody sat back, scratching their chin. “I’ve run a kinda-similar scene before, but I’d just threaten to call the sub’s ex. That doesn’t work here, for obvious reasons.”

“Yeah,” Skip agreed. “No exes.”

“Are you reading anything right now?” Melody suggested. “Or in the middle of a show? I could threaten to spoil the ending.”

Skip shook their head. They didn’t particularly care about spoilers, and most of their narrative investment fell into video games rather than TV or books, where the plot was more player-driven and twists didn’t matter as much. “I generally guess twists way in advance anyway,” they pointed out. “So…spoilers don’t bother me?” 

Melody bobbed their head in a nod. “Okay…hmm.”

Tilting their head, Skip got an idea. “Though…if you’re not actually going to do it, I do have an idea.” 

From there, they hashed out details, with an unnecessary-but-insisted-on refresher on safe words and a couple plans made for how to write about the scene after the fact. Just to be thorough, Skip also took notes on the pre-scene conversation, jotting down enough commentary to remember how it played out so they could print it as well. 

A few concessions would be made. Skip would remain fully clothed throughout, but they’d have to remove their hoodie to make their wrists more accessible. Not much physical contact would be needed, but Melody would sometimes touch Skip’s face, arms, legs, and shoulders, both to facilitate the bondage and to encourage the right headspace. 

And, if need be, Skip was always free to end things in an instant.

Then came the setup. Skip retrieved a toy from their own collection while Melody borrowed a couple office supplies from Grace. Surprisingly, the only object Melody actually provided was the box of chocolates–her extensive collection didn’t come into play.  

After reconvening, Melody dimmed the lights in her room, and though her clothes didn’t change, her posture shifted, bringing out a persona that Skip rarely saw except incidentally and in passing. 

“Sit down,” she instructed, nodding to her bed. Her voice wasn’t quite a purr, but it had a deeper, huskier element to it. 

Skip exhaled through their nose. They didn’t want to laugh in her face or deliberately break the mood, but it was hard to get around the inherent silliness of it all. A human mating ritual, minus the mating part, felt like it should’ve been a comedy sketch rather than a passionate scene. 

Still, they’d been given an instruction, and they wanted to see how this would all play out. They sat, legs hanging over the side.

Melody approached, reached down, and took Skip’s wrists in her hands, holding them up. The touch reminded them that they were exposed, with only a T-shirt over their body, and the desire to chuckle faded. 

“Don’t struggle,” Melody said, stepping onto the bed and kneeling behind Skip’s back. She deftly moved their wrists, pinning them together, then added in a whisper, “You’re not going anywhere.” 

A slender strip of paper wrapped around Skip’s wrists, pulling their hands together. It wasn’t special paper, or particularly hardy, just printer paper borrowed from Grace–with a solid tug, it would rip, but that was the point. Skip wouldn’t really be bound, it would only feel that way; even if Melody lost her mind and started ignoring safe words, the bondage would be only an illusion.

Sliding the base of the stapler beneath the paper so that it protected Skip’s skin, Melody gave the tool a squeeze, and with a solid ka-chunk Melody pinned the paper together. There was no escaping the makeshift cuff without ripping it.

Skip found it to be more delicate than they’d even realized. Shifting their weight, they felt the paper strain against the side of their hand. They had to be still and careful, cautious not to accidentally tear the restraint.

For emphasis, Melody slipped two fingers beneath the paper, showing that there was room for circulation. That done, she stood, kneeling by Skip’s feet.

Another strip of paper, another heavy stapler cha-chunk, and Skip was left helpless and immobile. 

At least, so long as they wanted the scene to continue.

Melody stood, leaning in and studying Skip. Her face was only a few inches away from Skip’s, her chest moving slowly, and Skip could feel her warm breath puffing against their skin.

They locked eyes with her, jaw set in determination.

“Are you comfortable?” Melody’s question felt like a joke, or an insult. Of course they weren’t comfortable. It was a struggle to keep still, to hold their body in place and avoid ripping the paper, and the act of just remaining stationary took up their focus. 

“Yes,” Skip promised, nodding. They wouldn’t be defeated by some strips of paper. “I’m fine.”

Melody’s delicate fingers traced over Skip’s shoulder, idly taunting them with her freedom of movement. They were paralyzed, barely able to shift their wrists or adjust their stance.

A smile spread across Melody’s lips. “Good. Remember, you can end this at any time.” 

Skip nodded, realizing that their heart rate had begun to increase. Their arms trembled a little, as though their body thought they’d begun exercising. Burying their nerves, they shook their head. “I’m not stupid.” 

“Alright.” Reaching down, Melody picked up the object they’d settled on as the Threat. “Then let’s begin.”

Pressing the power button on top, she clicked on Skip’s Switch, a shiny logo appearing as the game console powered up. 

“Now, let’s see,” Melody purred, somehow still maintaining the sultry timbre in her tone as she moved the joystick, screen turned that Skip could see. “I’ve got access to all your save files here, don’t I?” 

It was just a game, a farce as part of their trumped up scene, but Skip still felt a spike of anxiety when they saw Melody open the settings menu and tab to the storage page. ‘Delete all save data’ was right there, text highlighted, waiting to be pressed.

“Don’t,” Skip blurted. They hadn’t set any rules about not arguing, and their argument response had kicked into high gear. Still, they kept their wrists pressed together, not wanting to lose face by giving up. 

“Don’t, what?” Melody asked.

This part had no clear response. Melody had explained that she would try to provoke responses from Skip, to make them say things, but she’d been vague about what exactly the word games would be. 

“Don’t even joke about it,” Skip said, going with bravado. 

“I think you meant to say, ‘Don’t, please,’” Melody chided. “Maybe a lesson is necessary. Which of these do you care about the most?” 

Skip’s eyes widened as Melody moved away from the save data storage, instead moving to the user statistics page. Suddenly, their gaming history was laid bare, cumulative thousands of hours across a rather embarrassing spread of titles. 

“Two hundred hours in Monster Hunter: Rise?” Melody said. “That sure is a lot of time to be gone in an instant.” 

“No!” Skip snapped, a blush immediately shooting up their face as they reacted. (It’s just an act, don’t let on that you’re getting flustered.) 

“No, what?” Melody asked, the corners of her mouth curling up in a demonic smirk. 

Squirming, twisting their wrists against the paper, wishing they could snatch the Switch away and end this, Skip capitulated. “No, please.” 

“That’s better.” Straightening, Melody reached out and traced a finger along the side of Skip’s face. “If you ask very nicely, I’ll let you play with your Switch tonight, and I’ll even give you an extra reward.” 

Skip frowned. “Wait, stop.” (No, stupid.) “I mean, Yellow.” 

Melody’s change in demeanor was smooth but instant as she shifted from stern to soothing. “What is it?” 

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Skip objected. “We never said anything about you keeping the switch once we’re done.” 

Smiling warmly, Melody shook her head. “It’s just another threat. I won’t follow through with it.”

(Obviously.) Skip exhaled slowly, feeling ridiculous for using a safe word over something so apparent. Or, really, feeling ridiculous for reacting at all–they’d known it was an act, but they’d had a spike of concern anyway. They should’ve been better than that. “Okay, I’m good then.” 

“Thank you for using your safe words,” Melody whispered to them, soft and reassuring. “You’re so good for me.” 

That, at least, didn’t make Skip feel much of anything, which helped them regain a bit of confidence. It was just so cheesy, and they hadn’t done anything warranting real praise. “Let’s just get back to it. Green?”

Nodding, Melody regained her aloof smirk. “I think I want to hear you beg.” 

No longer worried thanks to the break in continuity, Skip still played along. “Please, don’t take away my games. Please!” 

“You can do better,” Melody chided. “It’s like you don’t really even want it.” 

This was just acting, and while Skip was no movie star, they could put on an front well enough, even hiding how much the whole encounter made them want to snicker at the absurdity. “Please, Melody, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you say, just let me have my games back, please?” 

“Mmm…” Melody said, tapping a finger to her lips in thought. 

Taking a stab at what Melody wanted, Skip threw in a stinger at the end. “I’ll be good for you.” 

That won her over. Melody smiled, setting down the Switch. Reaching to her side, she picked up the box of chocolates she’d left on her nightstand, undoing the ribbon with the tip of her nails. When she opened the lid, a note inside fell out: ’Can’t wait to see you again - Quentin’.

Melody ignored the note completely as it fluttered to the floor, picking up one of the chocolates, a shiny red one that smelled of cinnamon and spice. Cupping Skip’s face gently in one palm, she pressed the confection between their lips, letting Skip savor the impeccably made chocolate. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Melody inquired, watching their face. “When you’re good for me, you get rewarded.” 

Skip smiled, warmth spreading down their throat. The chocolate had a bit of heat to it, maybe a Mexican Spice blend, and it tasted expensive. Unsure if they were supposed to respond or not, they simply nodded. 

At their reaction, Melody only smiled. “I knew you’d like it better once you were obedient.” 

Even if only because it came with a bribery of chocolate…she wasn’t entirely wrong. 

...

This Black Friday*, you can subscribe to my content, and not only will you help support my writing, you'll also get early access to all my fiction, plus exclusive content!

(*You can also do this on days other than Black Friday, there's nothing unique about today. It's an all the time deal!)

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

[peculiarchangeling]

Diaper U, Chapter 21

In an abstract, logical sense, Daniel knew better than to be flippant with his pernicious prefect, but applying abstract knowledge towards the practical often eluded him. 

“Do you need help with your homework?” He asked, smirking back at her. 

“You've got a smartass streak,” Rachel said, hand lingering on the door handle for a moment before she stepped away. 

“Yeah, well, you're the one who's got a weird obsession with my ass.” Shrugging, Daniel returned his focus to the cast-iron cauldron he’d been rinsing clean. Shaking off the bulk of the water droplets, he set it upside down on the drying rack. “So, what do you–woah.”

Rachel had sidled up beside him without a sound, and now loomed just out of arm’s reach. “That's what I'm talking about, spark. I know it was you.” 

Daniel rolled his eyes, projecting a lack of care. He didn't want to show how intimidated he suddenly felt. “What was me?” 

“The rumors. The jokes.” Stepping closer, she glared down into Daniel's eyes. “You’ve been making up stories about me, you little prick.”

Daniel felt a surge of confidence when he heard her admit it: He'd dealt a painful blow. His plot had worked, and Rachel was hurting, and she'd just given him the opportunity to twist the knife.

“I didn’t have to make anything up.” He looked back up at her, unflinching. “I just told the truth, and let your reputation do the rest. Nobody likes you, Rachel. Everyone knows you're a sadistic, friendless bitch who barely deserves to be here, it didn't take much to convince them you were a creep, too.” 

Rachel exhaled sharply, and Daniel got the mental impression of a snorting bull, stamping and preparing to charge a matador. “Don't test me, spark. You think your life sucks now? I can make it infinitely worse.” 

Pressing his palms to his cheeks, Daniel made a face of mock horror and shook a red cape in Rachel’s face. “Oh, no! What are you going to do, humiliate me? Make me do the chicken dance and shit myself in front of the school? Newsflash, asshole, anything you do to me is just going to get added to the list of rumors about you.” 

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Rachel snorted, her face burning red. “At least ‘I’m rubber, you’re glue’ is catchy, you’re just pathetic.” 

“What did I do to you?” Daniel threw up his hands and rolled his eyes, making a show out of not caring. He was done playing Rachel’s punching bag–it was time to drop the hammer. “Do I look a little too much like your absentee dad? Or some guy who dumped you? Or is it just that I exist as a walking reminder that even a man is a better witch than you?” 

At that, Rachel didn’t fumble for an angry retort, she just set her jaw. “A better witch, huh?” 

“I heard you’re the reason that covens can’t transfer members,” Daniel said, missing that he’d gone too far. “How many times did you get traded before Blackburn created that rule? God, it must suck to be the group that’s stuck with you–it’s like a game of Hot Potato, except instead of burning hands, they got stuck with a shitty excuse for a witch.” 

Reaching to the strap on the side of her skirt, Rachel took her wand, flicking it out so that the ribbon extended in a spiraling loop. “Let’s test that theory, then, Spark.” 

Finally, Daniel realized he may have pushed a bit too much. Taking an unconscious step back, he asked, “What?”

“Take out your wand, and let’s see which of us is the worst,” she explained. “Here.” Reaching forward, she picked up his wand from the counter and shoved it into his hand.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Daniel said, stumbling back as he raised his wand. 

“Why not? I thought you were so much better than me,” Rachel spat. “Here, I’ll even let you take the first shot.” 

She raised her arms to the side, the ribbon on her wand dangling down to the floor while she waited. 

Daniel almost–almost–fell for it. Clutching his own stubby, solid wand, he thought about what he could do that would keep Rachel from retaliating, then thought a little more. “You want me to attack, so you can hit back,” he said. “I’m not stupid. You don’t get an excuse to hex me.”

“Well, damn,” Rachel said, shrugging. In the blink of an eye, she flicked her wrist and hissed a word, and a lash of complex power flew towards Daniel and knocked the wand from his hand.

Eyes widening, he stumbled backwards, slipping and falling as his knees went weak. His wand was right there on the ground, but when he tried to pick it up, his fingers were numb and it felt as though he were trying to lift a feather through thick mittens. 

“Aww, what’s wrong?” Rachel sneered, stepping over him. “Trouble with your wand, baby boy? It’s just a little enchantment on your fingie-wingies. Any half-decent witch could clear them away in a second.”

Daniel’s heart was pounding, but he tried not to let fear override his common sense. Shutting his eyes, he searched for the strands of power, following the magic just like Jen had taught him. He could just sense the energy, overlapping his own body like a net, and with a little nudge–

Rachel flicked her wand again, and Daniel convulsed, falling to the ground completely, focus broken–not by pain, but a sudden, overpowering tickling sensation. 

“You’re really struggling, huh?” she asked as he writhed on the ground and tried not to giggle. “Wow–I heard you were practicing with the klutz, but this sort of aura tracing is supposed to be the first thing witches learn. Then again, if you’re still potty training, it’s no wonder you still don’t know your spellwork either.” 

Gasping for breath, Daniel coughed, “You–rumors!”

Crouching down so that she sat on her ankles, Rachel looked Daniel in the eye. “You’re right–if I were to try and humiliate you in front of everyone, it would blow up in my face.” Looking around, she made a show of raising her eyebrows, throwing Daniel’s own mock surprise back at him. “But would you look at that–we’re all alone, aren’t we?”

Eyes widening, Daniel continued to giggle as a confusing mix of tickling, laughter, and horror all dawned on him at once. 

Leaving him to squirm, Rachel tipped one of the cauldrons upright, sizing it up in her hands for a moment. “I want to test a theory.” 

He watched her, but couldn’t do much more than that.

“We’ve been around forever,” Rachel said. “Witches, that is. Long enough to appear in fairy tales, legends and myths, all sorts of crap. Good witches, bad witches, but all the best stories involve a good curse.” 

Daniel didn’t like where this was going.

Walking the cauldron over to the nearest lab table, she slid it onto a burner. After a brief click-click-click of the ignition, a little gas flame sparked to life beneath it, rapidly the cast iron.

“Did you ever wonder why the good fairies didn’t just undo the curse on Sleeping Beauty? It’s because curses are hard as hell to break…if they’re someone else’s work.” Pulling open a drawer, she rifled through it, producing a handful of ingredients. “A good, solid curse ties itself to the victim’s own spirit. Try and break it, you risk breaking their minds as well as the magic that’s binding them.” 

Daniel really didn’t like where this was going. 

Pouring a half cup of clear liquid into the cauldron, Rachel stirred it slowly, muttering a few words below her breath as she did so. 

“Of course, you can’t curse another witch that way. A witch knows her own spirit like the back of her hand, she can tell where it’s been tied and twisted. Curse a witch, she’ll undo the spell as easily as undoing her shoelaces.” Glaring over the simmering pot, Rachel said, “So, spark, we’re going to find out if you’re really a witch after all.” 

Invisible fingers traced up and down Daniel’s body, and though the laughter all-but paralyzed him, he managed to get out a word. “Please!” 

“Please, what?” Rachel asked, sprinkling a few extra ingredients in. “You should have no problem, since you’re such a good witch.” 

He gasped, struggling to breathe and speak at the same time. 

“That’s what I thought,” Rachel said, removing the cauldron from the heat. “Don’t worry–this is a pretty awful potion, I barely put any effort into it at all.” 

Tapping the side of the cauldron with her wand, a puff of steam lifted from atop it, and when she touched the iron with her bare skin, it didn’t burn. Smiling smugly, she took a straight-walled glass bottle from the shelf below the lab table and drained the freshly-brewed potion into it.

Holding up the pale white liquid, she gave it a few swirls, then said, “Hold on, this isn’t quite right.” Giving the top of the bottle a tap with her wand, a rubber nipple sealed itself over the opening, so that it resembled little more than an oversized baby bottle. 

Tears ran down Daniel’s face as the tickling spell forced him to keep laughing, body contorting on the floor. He’d begun to hiccup between the giggles, deep inhalations barely able to keep his lungs full of air as the torture of sensations attacked him.

Rachel stepped up to his convulsing body, crouched, and whispered, “Drink up, spark,” before shoving the tip of the bottle into his mouth with enough force that he couldn’t easily pull his head away. 

If he’d had strength and breath, he might have been able to free himself, but he was exhausted and still wracked with a tickling sensation that left him too weak to fight. Resistance would only lead to further humiliation, and he was in no state to push his tormentor, so Daniel gave in and drank. Cool, syrup-sweet liquid ran down his tongue, like cherry medicine with a tinge of something cruel in the aftertaste, and he couldn’t do anything except whimper and swallow it down. 

Ten seconds passed, then thirty, as the sickly sweet sludge ran down his throat. The tickling faded, but Daniel could feel something else working its way through his body, magic spreading down his veins like chains that tightened whenever he tried to fight it. 

As the bottle emptied and the tickling curse faded, he fell limp against the cool floor, taking deep breaths through his nose. His face felt cold in streaks where tears had dried, and he wanted to go curl up and sleep for a week. 

Instead, as Rachel pulled the bottle away, leaving only a lingering bitter aftertaste, he croaked out, “What did you do?” 

“Nothing,” Rachel said, glancing down with a broad smirk. Daniel’s gaze followed hers, and he saw that his skirt had at some point bunched up, revealing a yellow-stained diaper beneath. “I certainly didn’t do that.” 

He flushed red, realizing only then that he’d lost control at some point during the flurry of tickles. Not his fault, exactly, but it certainly felt like he was to blame. “But–” he started. 

“Just remove the curse,” Rachel said simply, pushing up to her feet. “And you’ll never have to find out. Otherwise…well, good luck blaming this on me, nobody is going to believe that a student here can’t even undo a simple binding hex.” 

Turning, she walked towards the door, letting the tip of her ribbon wand trail on the floor behind her as she left. With one last glance over her shoulder, she added, “Oh, and by the way–if you try and get someone else to undo the curse, the effects will be permanent. Good luck!” 

Slipping out of the potions room, she slammed the door behind her, leaving Daniel to lay on the floor, eyes shut, tracing lines of magic as best he could but sure of only one thing.

Rachel was right: He couldn’t undo her curse. 

...

I took a little haitus to combat some burnout, but I'm back, babies!

Support the author:

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

Diaper U, Chapter 20

Read Chapter 19 here!

“Gross, gross, gross, this will never not be gross,” Daniel mumbled to himself, avoiding eye contact with his blushing visage in the enchanted window. 

One week into his education at Alphabeta, and he’d settled into a bit of a routine, but this part of his day would never feel normal. He’d found ways to keep his diaper use to a minimum, peeing in the shower whenever possible, but there were certain things he couldn’t get around. 

So, as part of his morning rituals, he would squat down in the corner of his room, think up something distracting to take his mind off things, and fill up his school-mandated diaper. 

The sensation of muck spreading in his padded underwear as the seat bulged out never made him feel anything other than humiliated, and though he could strip out of it almost instantly and wipe up in a matter of minutes, he refused to let this become ‘normal’. If pooping his pants became normal, Rachel would win, and Daniel would never in a million years let Rachel win. 

After an utterly degrading wiping session, he made his way to the prefect’s bathrooms, using the accessible one at the end of the line–a private stall that stood separate from the rest of the showers. Nobody else needed it this year, so it’d been reserved for his shower use. In a reasonable world, he’d get to use the toilet there as well, but he’d already accepted that his padding was intended to force him out of the school, and so any attempt at reasonability would be met with total refusal.

Besides–he was getting what he came here for.

An education. 

It was slow, but it was steady. In a week, he’d gained a grasp of the fundamentals in a way he’d never experienced before, and as he practiced with Jen and worked with his coven, he found his experience levels multiplying. 

If he’d continued to hit roadblocks and failed to learn anything, maybe it would have gotten to him, but as it was? He had a long skirt, a practiced walk to hide the waddle, and the most humiliating parts of his tribulation remained concealed within his bedroom. Rachel had nothing on him that he couldn’t push past. 

Coven lessons had become a highlight of his day. They were still working through fundamentals, giving everyone the familiarity and experience needed to communicate thoughts back and forth while spellcasting, but whenever he got to be the Mind, he thrilled at the power. It was a taste of what was in his grasp: the control and power of a Warlock. They weren’t there to just indulge his fantasies, but he could imagine himself as the foci of a Coven of Eight, leading his own group, mastering the power and becoming high Warlock–

“Daniel?” Mathilde interrupted, snapping him out of his daydream. 

“I’m sorry?” he asked, blinking a couple times. “Can you repeat that?” 

“For the group project,” she repeated. “We need to do a demonstration on Monday. What role do you want to take?” 

(Mind,) he thought instantly, but out loud he just said, “I’m happy to take any position, whatever is best for the group.” He didn’t want his ego to be that obvious. 

“Familiar it is,” Asami announced. “This should be super easy, we will just be doing a couple basic spells in the general magic groups, but if we want to get in a practice session over the weekend, I can reserve us a classroom.” 

“Are we doing the extra voxavin practice?” Hazel asked. 

Radha tilted her head. “Well, are we going to try out as a competitive team, or just do the mandatory P.E.?” 

“I’m good with us trying out,” Cassie said. “It sounded like a big deal.”

“Glinse always makes it sound like a big deal,” Mathilde snickered. “Funny how the class she teaches is the most important one.”

“We’re mostly second and first years, it’s pretty rare for a group like us to make it through tryouts,” Asami added quickly. “Just so nobody gets their hopes up.”  

“Daniel?” Cassie asked, glancing at him. “What do you think?”

He shrugged again. He wasn’t trying to be an athlete, but his telekinetic control had been improving a lot, and this could be an opportunity to hone that further. “Let’s go for it. Worst case scenario, I’m not going to be too worried if we don’t get picked, but I wouldn’t mind trying.” 

“Great.” Collecting a few papers, Asami said, “I’ll get that classroom, and we can do the extra practice right after, if that doesn’t cause an issue for anyone.”

“Oh, well, I was going to go to a big party with my extensive social circle,” Daniel snarked, shaking his head. “But it turns out, the only people who don’t hate me here are you all and Jen, so…yeah, I think I can swing that.” 

It wasn’t exactly true. His reputation hadn’t exactly improved, but it’d been blunted as the week went on. There hadn’t been any more humiliating shows, and the rumor mill–with a little guidance via Radha’s motor mouth–had nudged popular opinion towards ‘Rachel is a diaper-obsessed prick’ rather than ‘Daniel is a weird diaper boy’. He wasn’t popular, and there were still circles of bullies and mean girls he had to avoid, but the giggles in the hall had waned.

Class began to dismiss, and the coven left their cubby, dispersing as they got ready for their respective classes. Daniel would need to find Jen so they could be potion partners together, but for now he lingered, holding back as the other students filed out, until he had a bit of privacy with Professor Blackburn.

She spotted him lingering and gave a significant glance, though her attention was focused on a notebook in her hands. Waiting until it seemed like she was at a stopping point, Daniel said, “Do you have a moment?” 

“How can I help you?” she asked, an eyebrow quirking up at him. 

“I was trying to do some research, but I’m getting stymied by the limits on what books are available to me,” Daniel explained. “I was wondering if I could get you to sign off on a pass to get me restricted section access.” 

She gave him a long, level look, thoughts moving efficiently behind her gaze. “Your performance has been adequate, Mr. Aster, but not exceptional. I have no issue with ambition, but perhaps you should be focusing your efforts on your assigned work before doing additional studying.” 

“Alright,” Daniel said, sticking out his chin. “Give me a grade to aim for.” 

That got her attention, and Blackburn finally seemed to give Daniel her full attention. “Excuse me?” 

“If you won’t give me the pass because I’m not performing well enough, how well do I need to perform? Give me a target, and once I hit it, give me the pass.” He smiled, feeling confident in his gambit.

Blackburn smirked, and his confidence waned. “You don’t lack bravado, do you?” 

He shook his head. “I know what I want, and I’m willing to work to get it.”

She nodded, looking thoughtfully down at him. “Tell me what books you want, I’ll have them set aside for you,” she replied. 

That wasn’t what Daniel wanted, but he’d expected this. “I want to know as much as I can about the history and founding of Alphabeta.” 

Once again, she gave him a curious look, and Daniel found himself feeling a bit intimidated. Just by being thoughtful, Blackburn was more threatening than any of Coach Glinse’s angriest rants. “Why is that?”

“I got in on a technicality,” Daniel admitted, letting the prepared lie do the work for him. “But…it’s obvious that the Dean wants me gone. She’s letting Glinse treat me like crap, and turning a blind eye to Rachel’s idea of ‘discipline’. I want to know if there’s any precedent for male students, anything I can use to defend myself if they start conspiring to have me expelled when their whipping boy routine doesn’t force me out.” 

Glinse leaned back against her desk and set down the notebook she’d been studying, tilting her head as she looked at Daniel. She seemed about to speak, but Daniel interrupted before she could. 

“You’ve been fair to me, you’ve only expected that I do as well as anyone else, and that’s all I want. Fairness. A chance to learn. I don’t want special treatment, or extra lessons, or for you to stick your neck out and go to bat against Madrigal.” He inhaled, chest swelling with self-assuredness. “Just give me information, and I’ll do the rest.” 

Rubbing at her chin, Glinse nodded. “History books about the school. I’ll see what’s available.” 

Smiling, Daniel nodded. “Thanks.” 

It wasn’t as good as a free pass to wander the restricted section, but it might tell him what the school was built on, and what dangers were pressing down on the academy that he could prevent.

He turned to leave, but Professor Blackburn cleared her throat. “One more thing, Mr. Aster.” 

Daniel turned in the doorway, frowning. “What?” 

“I said your performance has been adequate, which is true, but I shouldn’t leave it unsaid. Your improvement within your coven has been exceptional. Keep it up.” The compliment was delivered flatly, and she turned her attention back to the notebook after delivering it, but if anything that made it feel more impactful. She wasn’t trying to butter up his ego, it was just a statement of fact.

Pride stroked, Daniel found himself strutting down the hall towards potion lessons. Jen was waiting for him outside, and her eyes lit up when she saw him.

“You’re looking happy,” she commented. Her glasses had been broken again, with new spell-o-tape wrapped around the center support. “Coven class went well?”

“I’m getting some books from the restricted section,” he replied. “Professor Blackburn signed off on it.” 

“Nice!” 

“She also said that I was learning very quickly.” Blushing, Daniel rubbed at the back of his neck. “Thanks for that. Your extra help has been invaluable.” 

Jen beamed, eyes almost closed as she radiated joy. “I’m really glad to hear that.” Leaning in conspiratorially, she added, “Did you hear what Candice was saying about Rachel?”

“No,” Daniel said, flowing smoothly with the subject change. Jen had a habit of changing focus on a dime, and he’d learned to keep pace with her so he didn’t drown in the topics flowing past. “She’s not in my coven, you hear a lot more from her than I do.”

“There’s a rumor going around that Rachel wears diapers, and she’s making you wear them as a distraction so nobody notices hers.” Jen giggled. “Someone tried to pull her skirt down in a voxavin game–they claimed it was just a misguided spell, but everyone was trying to get proof.” 

Daniel whistled. He hadn’t started that lie, but rumors had a habit of growing out of control, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of vindictive joy at the comeuppance. “Sounds like she’s getting what she deserves.” 

“Mhmm,” Jen said. “I bet if you hid a diaper in her purse, she’d go ballistic.” 

Daniel thought about it, but ultimately shook his head. Rachel would know it was him–he was the only one with diapers in the school–and that was just asking for revenge. “Better not poke the bear,” he said. “Rachel going ballistic means going ballistic at me, after all.”

“Point. Shall we?”

“I think we shall.” 

They entered potion class, gossiping like fiends until it came time to start brewing. 

When they were done, Daniel was chosen–probably not at random, Professor Saito had chided them twice for giggling during lessons and causing a disruption–to rinse out the cauldrons before taking his free period. Gloves and safety glasses donned, he stayed behind as the class filed out, ensuring nothing caustic remained in their brewing stations that would damage the school equipment.

It didn’t occur to Daniel that this would result in him being left alone, until he heard the classroom door click shut. Even then, he didn’t quite yet recognize the danger until he turned to see who had walked in. 

“Hey, Spark,” Rachel announced, glowering with fury. “We need to talk.” 

...

Support the author!

The story is up to Chapter 21 for my subscribers, plus you get other exclusive stories and early access ❤️ 

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

For Research Purposes Only - Chapter Five, Making a List

Read Chapter Four here!

Melody felt a shock run through her as the suggestion left her mouth. Quickly, before Skip could respond, she added, “I mean, I think it would be good for the–you know. Our last chapter, the one where I showed you how the knots work, it was the best one we’ve done so far.”

She wasn’t quite clear on why she felt so defensive. It wasn’t as though she’d ever been bashful about sex, and this wasn’t even about sex, it was just about a demonstration of knots and restraints. And yet, even with that in mind, Melody was blushing. 

She was blushing.

It was a godsend that Skip didn’t acknowledge the pinkness rising in her cheeks. “Oh, sure–I mean, we’d kind of already talked about that, hadn’t we?”

Melody’s heart rate settled, though confusion still kept her from relaxing completely. “Did we?”

“You wanted to take placeholder photos,” Skip pointed out. “And like…you can’t tie yourself up, so how else would we do that?”

“Oh! Right.” Melody nodded, relieved that the faux pas had passed. “Well, this would be a bit more than that. I would want to give you sort of…the ‘full experience’, so you can get the feelings down on paper as precisely as possible.” 

Skip rubbed at their cheek, thinking for a moment. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Melody assured them. “I just didn’t want you to feel weird about it, you know? I’m obviously not proposing anything sexual, but it is sex-adjacent. I’m obviously fine, I’m just confirming that you are.”

“I’m cool with it,” Skip replied immediately. “I mean, obviously depending on what the details are, but in a general sense? Absolutely.”

Sitting up, Melody swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat upright, walking to her closet. “I think we should start with a sort of suite of the basics–I have a bunch of restraints, and then there’s a million things we can do with rope. Do you want to make a list, and we’ll start just knocking them out one at a time?”

Skip produced their phone, nodding along. “Sure–I’ll make a list. Are we going to be documenting how to do all this safely? Focusing on how it feels?”

“Both,” Melody said, pulling out a plastic bin full of toys and scanning the contents. “Some of this is safer than others, like…it’s possible to use a pair of fuzzy handcuffs unsafely, but that’s really hard to do, while you can cut off blood flow with rope if you’re careless.”

“Gotcha,” Skip said. “I’ll add ‘tips and tricks’ to the list, too. How are we categorizing all this? Difficulty? Type?” 

Melody glanced over her shoulder, standing in the closet doorway. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just making assumptions here, but it seems like there would be easy rope bondage, and hard rope bondage, and easy restraints and hard restraints. Do we want to group together different restraints by how hard they are to do, or by what materials you’re using?”

Melody tapped a finger on her lip, chewing on the question for a moment. “Both? We should have sections by type, because that tends to be a preference thing. Rope people really like rope, but some people just don’t want to mess with it. But we can tag stuff by difficulty.”

Smirking, Skip suggested, “What if we used rock climbing ratings? Scale from one to ten, with decimals and plus signs and stuff.” 

Quirking an eyebrow, Melody looked back at them. “When did you ever go rock climbing?”

Skip shrugged, smile falling away. “It’s just an idea.”

“I think that works. We can workshop if and see if there’s a better fit, too,” Melody decided, looking into her closet. “Okay, so, rope–lots of rope stuff. For physical restraints, there’s cuffs, which kind of get used for everything. Collars, you can also do restraints around the waist or body. Gags are a big thing, and I’ve got a spreader bar, but besides that it’s mostly just about how you combine different elements. Handcuffs clipped to a bed are way different from handcuffs clipped to each other, or to a collar, or to your ankles. Add a hard point, and you’ve got even more variables.”

“Slow down,” Skip interjected, thumbs blurring as they took notes on their phone. “Let’s make a list first. Physical restraints–what do you have on hand, and is there anything you don’t have that we should at least mention?”

“Puh-lease.” Melody rolled her eyes, shooting them a cocky grin. “I have everything.”

Skip looked around the room and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see a St. Andrew’s Cross in here anywhere.” 

“Everything that fits into my room,” Melody clarified, rolling her eyes. “If you want me to tie you to a cross, we can go to a club.”

“Okay, but that’s a good point–toy use at clubs! We could have a whole chapter on that. Club etiquette, how to find them, all that.”

Melody pursed her lips, falling quiet for a moment. “Yeah…that might be beyond the scope. I don’t want to spread out too much. This is a book for beginners and home hobbyists. Besides–clubs all have their own rules, so we’d never be able to make a comprehensive list of every possible thing you might encounter, if people want to go to a club they should just ask the club.”  

“Alright,” Skip said, reading their note aloud as they made it. “Keep…it…in…the…bedroom.” 

Scanning all the available toys in their closet, Melody again hesitated. “Okay, I’m just going to veto testing out impact play. I don’t think you’ll be interested in that, so I’m not going to ask.” Moving on, she looked down to her other toys, thinking–

“Hold up.” 

Melody stepped out of her closet, turning to fully face Skip. “What?”

“Who says I won’t do impact toys?” Skip gave her an acute stare, challenging Melody to try and argue. 

“Spankings–any impact play, really, it hurts. You wouldn’t enjoy it.” Melody shook her head. If Skip lacked a sex drive, they wouldn’t have any positive side effects to a sexy spanking. “And–”

“And I’d tie myself up just for fun? I do things I don’t like all the time, Melody.” Skip shrugged. “My day job isn’t something I enjoy, but I do it because it pays the bills. I’m doing things that aren’t ‘fun’ one way or another, so if I’m going to pick, I’d rather do something that’s at least creatively fulfilling.”

Melody looked back into her closet, then returned her gaze to Skip. “I’m not sure that’s a great attitude.” 

Skip wobbled a hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “Botanists probably don’t love sweating buckets in the rainforest, but they put up with it because they enjoy the research.”

“So, to you, sex is like an exotic fern?”

“More like one of those plants that’s interesting to look at but smells kinda gross.”

Melody snorted at the mental image that conjured. “Okay. You’re sure?”

“I never thought you’d be the one to question my sexuality,” Skip said, deadpan.

Shaking her head, Melody began to clarify. “I’m asking if you’re sure about trying a spanking.”

Skip rolled their eyes, unphased. “I’m messing with you–and I’m sure that I’m willing to try it. If you’ve got a stronger arm than I expected, I can back out then.”

The corner of Melody’s mouth turned up at the challenge. “Oh, trust me–it’s not a question of if I can make someone Red. I pull my punches.”

“If you say so,” Skip decided. 

“If we’re doing impact toys, are we doing other pain stuff?” Melody asked. “I’ve got E-stim and clamps. I don’t really like needle play, so I don’t have anything for that.” 

Skip continued to tap away at their notes. “Adding that to the list. Do you have a kneeling board?”

Melody found herself getting annoyed again. “Can I get through my list, please?” 

“Okay, it just seemed like it would fit on the ‘pain toys’ list. Also, am I going to use any of this stuff on you? I need to write it both ways–how to take it, how to get it.” 

Rolling her eyes, Melody said, “I’m not a sub.”

“Neither am I, I just need to be able to write about it.”

“Right. We’ll figure something out for that.”

Facing her closet, Melody was about to move on, when another question cut through her focus.

“Do we want to get Grace to help?” 

“Why would we–” Melody began, but she got it pretty quickly. “Oh. You’re thinking about adding a chapter on diaper kink stuff?” 

“Diaper kink and adult baby stuff. You don’t do that, do you?”

Melody shrugged. “I’ve been in a few scenes with that kind of play, but it’s never been my focus. The ba-ba goo-goo crap isn’t a turn on, if I wanted to babysit a dude I’d just start dating him full time.” Returning her tub of toys to its home, she added, “We’re never going to get to cover every single kink in the world.”

“No, but we’ve got…not an expert, but at least someone familiar with the interests,” Skip pointed out. “It could be worth exploring.” 

Melody shook her head. “That sounds like we’d have too many cooks. I want this to just be written by us.” 

“Cool.” 

The response felt a little flat, and Melody turned her attention back on Skip. “Do you disagree?”

“Not about it just being us, I think that’s smart,” Skip said, eyes on their notes.

“So…you want to do baby goo-goo stuff?” Melody snorted, amused by the idea.

Skip looked up. “Is that what I said?”

Melody shook her head. “No, but…okay, I’ll just bite. What’s your point?”

“Well–forget the diapers for a minute. Pearce bought a bunch of stuff for Grace that sounds exactly like the stuff you have, just…‘goo-goo’. Is there a difference?” Skip asked. “I’m asking you to tell me here, because I don’t have a clue. If you’re gagged with a pacifier, that seems like it’s the same thing as being gagged with a rubber ball, or a dog bone, or whatever. Either way, my mouth is open and I can’t talk.” 

Nodding a couple times, Melody thought it over. “Okay, I get it. You’re talking about the difference between the physical sensations and the headspace.”

“Maybe. What is the difference?” 

“Well, let’s compare being handcuffed. The experience of having cuffs on you in the back of a police car is going to be way different than being handcuffed by your paramore, because you’ll be thinking about it differently.” Discarding the search of her closet for a moment, she continued, “Really, the headspace is more important than the implements a lot of the time. The point is not that you’re actually restrained, it’s that you feel restrained. And so a different gag might accomplish the same physical result, but it’s going to make you feel differently, because Grace will feel like a baby if you make her suck on a pacifier, but she won’t feel like a baby if it’s a dog toy.” 

Setting aside their phone for a moment, Skip crossed their arms over their chest. “So…hold on. I thought the point was the feeling? You want to feel like you’re tied up.”

“No, no.” Melody shook her head. “You want to feel like you’re helpless. Or…well, there’s lots of ways you might want to feel, but that’s a big one. It’s a power exchange, not just a chance to feel what it’s like to have rope on your skin.”

Skip looked past Melody at the closet for a moment. “I guess I just don’t get it.”

“I can show you,” Melody confirmed. “That’s why we’re doing examples, right? Rope, cuffs, and we can add headspace stuff to the list.” 

“How would you demonstrate a mental state?” Skip asked skeptically, tilting their head. 

Melody didn’t need to think about an answer. “I actually have something for that, but I’ll need to prep a couple things. Want to plan for a little scene once you get back from work?”

“Sure,” Skip said, shrugging. “What are you thinking?”

“It’s simple,” Melody said, smiling as she considered the options. “I just need one thing from you.”

...

I swear there's going to be AB/DL content sooner or later - it's a slow burn on this one!

-Penn

Support the author:

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.

[peculiarchangeling]

Diaper U, Chapter 19

Read Chapter 18 here!

Daniel grumbled as he knelt, hunched over on all fours, scrubbing the brush against loose mana. 

Glinse had made a small concession to practicality, though not to Daniel’s face. When he had arrived for his punishment, he found a bucket and a full sized scrubbing brush rather than the toothbrush he’d been threatened with. 

Still, given the sheer amount of space he was expected to clean, he expected he’d be there all night. The courts were all wide and spacious, and all were splattered with the aftereffects of dueling practice by dozens of covens.

(Just one year of this,) he reminded himself, as he lifted the brush, dipping it into the bucket. In water, the mana dissolved away, vanishing completely from the brush. A small mercy, since it meant he wouldn’t need to refresh the cleaning water every couple minutes. (One year, then you can get into a proper warlock school.) 

Thinking about how harrowing his first two days had been, it felt like a struggle to imagine himself lasting nine more months. 

“Heya!” Jen’s voice cut across the gymnasium, echoing in the empty, unpopulated space.

Glancing over his shoulder, Daniel compulsively pulled down at the back of his skirt, worried that his prone position might make the fabric ride up too high and expose his diaper. Jen jogged across the courtyard, keeping one hand on her hat so it wouldn’t blow away while she hurried to him.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Daniel looked up at Jen and sighed. “Hey. I’m not sure if I have time to practice today–I’ve got to finish this by tonight.”

She paused, glancing out at the expanse of unfinished scrubbing. “Well…I mean, this is going to take hours, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Daniel groaned. “And my arms are already getting sore.”

“So what’s the harm in a fifteen minute break?” Jen asked, smiling pleasantly. 

Daniel couldn’t argue with that logic, or any logic that would let him procrastinate for a while. Dropping the brush into the bucket, he stood, stretching out his back. “Okay. So what’s the plan?”

“I think it’s easier to show this kind of magic than to tell it,” Jen explained. “Especially if it’s kind of unintuitive for you. So…I’m going to show you.”

“I don’t get how a demonstration will hel–” Daniel started, but his words cut off suddenly as Jen slipped her hand into his, squeezing tightly. 

“Not a demonstration,” she corrected. “C’mon, Daniel, sit down.” 

He felt like a dork for being caught off guard by simple hand-holding, but it took an effort not to blush as he sat cross legged on the floor, facing Jen. She mirrored his posture, reaching into her robes to produce her wand.

“It’s like with your coven,” she said, shifting slightly to get comfortable. “I want to just…reach out a bit. We won’t be able to make the same sort of mental bond without a full pentagram, but you should be able to kind of get a magical sense of what I’m doing, y’know?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Daniel said, his brain finally catching up to what Jen wanted. Producing his own stubby wand, he held it in his left hand while squeezing her right. “I can do that.” 

Closing his eyes, he extended his mental awareness through their touch, finding Jen’s mind on the edge of his own, in tandem with her fingers intertwined with his.

“Can you see the world around us?” Jen asked, and he felt her presence blink, somehow coming off as a mental rendition of a stutter that matched with her stumbling over her words. “I–eh–with your eyes closed, I mean. I know you can see it with your eyes open.”

“If I really concentrate,” Daniel replied. “I wouldn’t be confident wandering around blind, but it’s like a sort of ghost image?”

“Hmm?”

“Like when you stare at a lightbulb then look away,” he clarified. “If I know something is there, I can kind of…know where it is with my eyes shut, too.” 

“I’m not talking about the physical space,” she clarified. “More, the magical energy flowing through things.”

“Oh, eh…” he said, trying a little harder to concentrate. Jen’s hand was warm, and he felt acutely aware of how he’d begun to suddenly sweat as they touched one another. “Sort of?”

“It takes practice, it’s kind of like trying to see what’s in a magic eye picture,” Jen explained. “Just…follow my lead.” 

He wasn’t sure how to ‘follow her lead’ when he was sitting quietly with his eyes closed, but he nodded anyway, not wanting to seem difficult. 

As he wondered what exactly he was supposed to do, he felt a tingling sensation in his mind, like light sparkling into existence. Furrowing his brow, he concentrated on it, trying to follow the light. 

“You see that?” Jen asked. “Or–not ‘see’, but–”

“I see it,” Daniel replied, bobbing his head in agreement. “It’s super faint, but I see it.” 

“I’m kind of highlighting it, so you can pick it up easier,” Jen explained. “But that’s the scrub brush.”

Daniel nodded, reaching out to brush his senses against the brush. Now that she’d pointed it out, he could feel it more clearly, outlined in his mind.

“Everything has energy running through it,” Jen explained. “We just sort of…I guess we make those bonds stronger, and then use them to control stuff. When you’re linked with your coven, it’s because you’ve all bonded your minds through the energy that’s connecting you, and when you connect with an object, you can move it around, because you magically connect yourself and become sort of…one big thing.” 

“I know everything’s connected,” Daniel objected. “That’s really basic. It’s just hard to see.”

“I wasn’t saying you didn’t know,” Jen replied, her grip loosening on his hand a little. “I’m just kind of going over everything I can think of that’s relevant, ok?”

“Okay.” He shut his eyes a little tighter, trying to extend his mental senses further. With effort, he could just barely detect the threads of power connecting the brush to Jen, and Jen to himself. “Why’s it so faint?”

“It’s not,” Jen said. “Not to me, but everyone has different levels of like…awareness, I guess?”

“Well, if I can’t see the power, how am I supposed to control it?” Daniel grumbled.

The connection between them severed, and Jen sat back. Daniel blinked a few times, recentering himself, noticing her frown before anything else.

“I’m just trying to help, there’s no need to carcinize on me,” she said, immediately adding, “Because–carcinization is when things turn into crabs. Uh, and I don’t mean like with a spell, it’s an evolution thing, marine crustaceans have a tendency–”

“I get it,” Daniel said, shaking his head apologetically, one hand still laced with hers. “I’m sorry for being crabby.”

“It might be…” Jen began, tapping a finger to her lip. “So, you know how some people don’t distinguish colors as well as others?”

“I guess,” he replied. “Like, you might look at two blue shirts and say that one is Cobalt and the other is Turquoise.” 

“Turquoise is like…green. There’s no way you’d mix those up.”

“I don’t know names of colors, I was just making a point,” Daniel clarified. “Is that what you’re talking about?”

Jen nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! And it’s a learned skill–you can get better at it, but if you never practice, you’re basically, like, half-colorblind.”  

“Is that actual science?” he asked, frowning. “Not focusing on colors makes you colorblind?”

“I…don’t know, but it’s a metaphor.”

“You mean an analogy?”

“I dunno, does it matter?” Jen asked, before answering her own question. “You get my point, so, yeah. I think you might just need to practice on seeing the difference more,” Jen explained. “Here…let’s connect again, and I’ll try to show you more, okay?”

Nodding, Daniel tightened his grip on her hands and closed his eyes.

Again, they linked, and as their minds grew closer, the spectral lines of power radiating from the brush grew more intense.

So did everything else.

He noticed every bit of sensation coming from his body–the tingle of his skin on hers, the slight chill and warmth that came from working hard in an air conditioned room, the chafing that’d built up around his diaper’s leg guards–but it was more than that. He could feel Jen’s sensations as well, a slight pressure on the bridge of her nose from her oft-repaired glasses, a little sweat built up beneath her breasts, a point of pain on the inside of her cheek where she’d bitten down on it. He could feel her, completely. 

The connection was more intimate than he’d expected, and as the mental embrace rolled through his mind, Daniel felt his body react. 

Pulling his hand back sharply, he disconnected their thoughts before Jen could recognize what he was feeling. She wouldn’t be able to see the growing bulge below his skirt and beneath a layer of diaper, not if she hadn’t felt it. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, jolted by the sudden break. 

“I–” Daniel started, hurrying to think up an excuse. A random erection wasn’t that unusual, but until now, the general weirdness of the situation and his below-the-skirt apparel had kept that at bay, and he really didn’t feel like unpacking or explaining any of that at the moment. “It was just a lot of sensation, and…it felt kind of like an invasion of privacy? I could feel…uh…you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jen said, nodding as she got it. “You probably haven’t done this much before, have you?”

“Not really,” Daniel admitted. “There was coven practice this morning, which wasn’t even really the same, and then, uh…this.” 

“Well, don’t worry about it,” Jen promised. “It’s just kinda how it goes. I’ve practiced this with my mom plenty of times, you get used to it and it stops feeling weird before long.”

“Okay, but–”

“Do you want to learn this or not?” she asked, raising a curious eyebrow. “I’m happy to keep helping, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Taking a breath, Daniel exhaled and shook his head, trying to think boring thoughts. The awkwardness had already helped kill most of the surprise boner, and he wanted to keep it that way, no matter what assurances Jen gave about it ‘not feeling weird’.

She offered her hand, and after a hesitant moment, Daniel reached out and took it. 

Their minds met once more, sensations passing between the magical connection between them. It felt physically intimate, in a way Daniel had trouble putting into coherent thoughts. He didn’t have much experience with traditional physical contact, so adding in the extra layers of the magical connection only made it feel more alien to him, more difficult to come to grips with.

“Just follow what I focus on,” Jen said, and through her senses, he saw the world.

Magic spread out from them, spiderwebbing across the whole gymnasium like neurons. Some objects collected power, others had the magic wash over them like stones on the beach, present but not the subject of focus. He could see the way that energy puddled in the stains of yet-to-be-cleaned mana, magic lingering in the enchanted goo, and he could see how to reach out and touch it with his mind.

Extending his senses, Daniel used his magic and his wand to take the brush from off the ground. He whispered the words necessary for the spell, and at his command, it began to hover.

Smooth.

Stable.

No wobble, no struggle to keep it in place, the brush floated in place where he wanted it.

“You’ve got it!” Jen exclaimed, and he could feel her grin spreading across her face as she said it, excitement surging through her in sympathetic glee. 

Giddy, Daniel whipped out his wand, sending the brush flying across the ground. The spell wasn’t perfect, he’d miscalculated how far it would go, but though there was more power than intended, the brush still moved along the vector he’d sent it, skimming over the smooth linoleum flooring. He laughed, his own triumph coursing through him, creating a feedback loop as his emotional high met Jen’s.

“I can do this!” he exclaimed, only realizing after he’d said it what a weight that was off his shoulders. Stress and fear over inadequacy, anxiety that he wouldn’t be able to get into Warlock school, it was all melting away as he found that he could control his magic with the precision and accuracy he always knew he was capable of.

“Awesome! Now do it without the training wheels,” Jen suggested, pulling back her mental link.

The lines of power faded, and Daniel’s vision went with it. The brush clattered to the floor as he struggled to maintain the link, and as quickly as it had gone, the fear built itself back up, replacing the connection he’d built with Jen.

Had he even been doing the magic, or was he just riding Jen’s coattails?

A second try proved even worse, the brush was dozens of feet away and once he’d lost it, he couldn’t find it again. 

Slumping back, he opened his eyes and shook his head, pulling his hand away. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Jen promised. “You just did.” 

Trembling, Daniel shoved himself to his feet. “I can’t, and I didn’t. You did.”

“I just showed you where to look,” Jen said, rising to meet him. “Daniel, all the magic? That was you. You just need to get better about tracing power, that’s all, then you’ll be able to keep up!”

“Keep up?” Daniel asked, throwing up his hands. “Jen, I’m a warlock. I’m supposed to be able to do this better, on my own. Not barely keeping up, even while I’ve got people behind me.” 

Jen frowned, disappointment building behind her glasses. “But…it’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?”

He wanted to turn, to storm away, but the room still needed him to clean it up, and telling Jen to leave him alone didn’t feel right. “A step. A tiny one.”

“Well…” stepping forward, Jen laced her fingers with his, and he felt the mental offer as she said, “Nobody ever ran a marathon in a day.”

“That’s not how marathons–” Daniel shook off the thought. He accepted the mental prodding, opening his senses to hers, and as the world lit up once more, he also felt her soft reassuring presence.

“You can do this, Danny,” she said, and their connection betrayed no intended insult–she’d called him Danny because it felt natural, and because she’d forgotten he didn’t like it, nothing more. “I know you can. And if you need someone to help you practice, I can do that!” 

He couldn’t help but smile, her infectious positivity leaking into his thoughts. Feeling the scrubbing brush a few meters away, he flicked his wand and picked it up, this time dragging it across the floor back his way, cleaning up a bit of spilled mana as he did.

“Okay, how’s this for practice?” he asked. “I have this whole gym to clean, but moving the brush around with magic should be a lot faster–can you stick with me while I do that?”

Squeezing his hand, Jen nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll just be right here, but you’ve got this. I have confidence in you.”

Daniel wasn’t sure he believed in that confidence, but Jen did, and when she said it, he felt that it was true. He could control his magic, he could build the skills he needed, he could prove himself.

He was going to be a warlock.

...

After only 19 chapters, Danny has finally caught a break!

Financial support is always very much appreciated, I wouldn't be able to write without your backing. ❤️

PeculiarChangeling on subscribestar.adult

Subscribe to PeculiarChangeling for more updates and exclusive content.

Ream

A membership platform built by authors for authors.