The Little Injection

Getting laid

In the dimly lit living room of the frat house, the smell of pizza and stale beer lingered in the air. The walls were adorned with posters of rock bands and scantily clad women, typical decor for a fraternity. Two frat boys, Jack and Mike, lounged on the worn-out couch, half-empty beer cans in their hands.

"You just need to get laid, dude," Jack said, a smirk on his face. He took a swig from his beer can, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Mike chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, easier said than done. Did you see how Professor Collins looked at me today? Like I was some kind of bug she wanted to squash."

Jack laughed, a harsh sound that echoed in the room. "That old hag? She’s just mad because no one wants to bang her. I mean, have you seen her? She’s got that permanent scowl."

"Yeah, true," Mike agreed, his voice dripping with disdain. "But did you catch a glimpse of Sarah in class? Man, those tits... they’re like... gigantic. I can’t even focus when she’s around."

Jack nodded, his eyes gleaming. "I know, right? It’s like she’s got a couple of melons under her shirt. She probably uses them to get what she wants. You know how girls are."

Mike snorted. "Yeah, always playing the game."

Jack leaned back, his gaze turning thoughtful. "You know, we could always mess with her a bit. She needs to be taken down a peg or two."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Jack’s smirk widened. "You’ll see. Just follow my lead."

As the two boys plotted, they didn’t notice the figure standing in the doorway, a small, discreet smile playing on her lips. Professor Collins had overheard their entire conversation, and she had plans of her own.

A few evenings later, the frat house was alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and clinking bottles. Jack and Mike moved through the crowded rooms with a sense of purpose. Their mission was clear: get laid. The air was thick with the smell of cheap cologne and sweat, mingling with the ever-present scent of pizza and beer.

Jack nudged Mike, pointing to a group of girls by the makeshift bar. "Target acquired," he muttered, a sly grin on his face.

The two boys sauntered over, their swagger exaggerated by the alcohol coursing through their veins. "Hey ladies," Jack said, leaning against the counter with what he thought was a charming smile. "You girls look like you could use some company."

One of the girls, a petite brunette, rolled her eyes. "We’re fine, thanks."

Undeterred, Mike leaned in closer. "Come on, don’t be like that. We’re just trying to have a good time. How about a dance?"

The girls exchanged glances, clearly unimpressed. "Maybe later," one of them said dismissively, turning her back to the boys.

Jack scowled, but before he could say anything more, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Sarah, the girl with the 'gigantic tits' they had ogled in class, smiling at him.

"Hey, Jack. Hey, Mike," Sarah said, her tone warm and inviting. "Enjoying the party?"

Jack’s eyes lit up. "Sarah! Yeah, it’s great. How about you?"

"I’m having a good time," she replied, her smile widening. "In fact, my roommates and I are throwing an after-party at our place. You guys should come."

Mike’s eyes widened with excitement. "Seriously? We’d love to."

Sarah laughed, a sweet, melodic sound. "Great! Let’s get a taxi."

The boys followed her outside, practically tripping over themselves in their eagerness. They piled into a taxi, squeezing in beside Sarah, who gave the driver her address.

As the taxi sped through the city streets, Jack and Mike exchanged triumphant glances. This was their chance. They were sure of it.

A few evenings later, the frat house was alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and clinking bottles. Jack and Mike moved through the crowded rooms with a sense of purpose. Their mission was clear: get laid. The air was thick with the smell of cheap cologne and sweat, mingling with the ever-present scent of pizza and beer.

Jack nudged Mike, pointing to a group of girls by the makeshift bar. "Target acquired," he muttered, a sly grin on his face.

The two boys sauntered over, their swagger exaggerated by the alcohol coursing through their veins. "Hey ladies," Jack said, leaning against the counter with what he thought was a charming smile. "You girls look like you could use some company."

One of the girls, a petite brunette, rolled her eyes. "We’re fine, thanks."

Undeterred, Mike leaned in closer. "Come on, don’t be like that. We’re just trying to have a good time. How about a dance?"

The girls exchanged glances, clearly unimpressed. "Maybe later," one of them said dismissively, turning her back to the boys.

Jack scowled, but before he could say anything more, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Sarah, the girl with the 'gigantic tits' they had ogled in class, smiling at him.

"Hey, Jack. Hey, Mike," Sarah said, her tone warm and inviting. "Enjoying the party?"

Jack’s eyes lit up. "Sarah! Yeah, it’s great. How about you?"

"I’m having a good time," she replied, her smile widening. "In fact, my roommates and I are throwing an after-party at our place. You guys should come."

Mike’s eyes widened with excitement. "Seriously? We’d love to."

Sarah laughed, a sweet, melodic sound. "Great! Let’s get a taxi."

The boys followed her outside, practically tripping over themselves in their eagerness. They piled into a taxi, squeezing in beside Sarah, who gave the driver her address.

As the taxi sped through the city streets, Jack and Mike exchanged triumphant glances. This was their chance. They were sure of it.

The taxi pulled up to a quaint, two-story house in a quiet neighborhood. Sarah led the way inside, where they were greeted by her roommates, a group of equally attractive young women. The living room was cozy and tastefully decorated, a stark contrast to the frat house.

"Welcome to our humble abode," Sarah said, gesturing for the boys to take a seat on the couch.

Jack and Mike plopped down, their eyes scanning the room. "Nice place," Jack commented, trying to sound suave.

"Thanks," one of Sarah’s roommates replied with a smile. "We like to keep it comfortable."

Sarah disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tray of drinks. "Here you go, guys," she said, handing them each a glass. "Drink up."

Jack took a sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through him. "So, what’s the plan for the after-party?" he asked, leaning back into the couch.

Sarah’s smile turned mischievous. "Oh, we’ve got something special planned for you two."

The boys exchanged excited glances, their minds racing with possibilities. They had no idea what was in store for them.

The boys downed their drinks, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through them. They relaxed into the couch, exchanging excited glances and chuckling softly. Jack turned to Sarah, his eyes slightly glazed. "So, what's the special plan?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Sarah's smile widened. "You'll see," she said, her voice sweet but with an edge that sent a shiver down Jack's spine.

Minutes passed, and the boys started to feel strange. A warm, tingling sensation spread through their bodies. They shifted uncomfortably, realizing too late that something was very wrong. Jack felt a sudden, uncontrollable urge and before he could react, he heard a faint hissing sound. He looked down, horrified to see a wet stain spreading across his jeans.

"Mike!" Jack gasped, his voice shaky. "I think I just... wet myself."

Mike's eyes widened in panic as he felt a similar sensation. He looked down to see his pants darkening with wetness. "What the hell?" he muttered, his voice trembling.

The girls around them burst into laughter, their mocking giggles filling the room. "Looks like our big, tough frat boys can't even keep their pants dry!" Sarah teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Jack's face turned crimson with humiliation. "This isn't funny, Sarah!" he snapped, his voice cracking.

"Oh, but it is," Sarah said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "You guys wanted to get laid, right? Well, the only way you're getting laid tonight is on a changing table."

The girls' laughter grew louder as they surrounded the boys, their mocking words stinging like venom. "Looks like you two are nothing but big babies," one of Sarah's roommates taunted.

The boys, overwhelmed and humiliated, could do nothing but sit there, their soaked pants clinging to their skin. Sarah and her friends pulled them to their feet, guiding them through a doorway and into another room. The sight that greeted them was both surreal and terrifying.

The room was a giant nursery, complete with oversized cribs, a changing table, and shelves stocked with diapers and baby supplies. The walls were painted in soft pastels, decorated with cartoon characters and playful patterns. The scent of baby powder hung in the air.

Jack and Mike stood frozen, their minds struggling to process the bizarre scene before them. Sarah and her friends moved with practiced ease, leading the boys to the changing table. They were too stunned to resist as the girls began to strip them of their wet clothes.

"Welcome to your new home, boys," Sarah said, her voice a mix of amusement and authority. "From now on, you'll be treated like the babies you are."

The boys watched in a daze as the girls produced large, fluffy diapers, decorated with childish prints. Their hands trembled as they tried to cover themselves, but the girls were relentless. They gently but firmly laid the boys down on the changing table, their teasing voices a constant backdrop to the humiliating process.

"Don't worry," one of Sarah's roommates cooed. "We'll take good care of you."

Jack felt a mixture of fear, shame, and a strange, inexplicable sense of surrender as he was powdered and diapered like a baby. The thick padding crinkled as he was helped off the table, his legs wobbling slightly.

Mike, equally overwhelmed, found himself in a similar state. The soft, bulky diaper felt foreign and embarrassing, but he was too shaken to protest.

Suddenly, the door to the nursery opened once more. Professor Collins, the very woman they'd been deriding just days ago, stepped inside, her presence commanding the room.

At the sight of her, both boys felt an involuntary release, the warmth spreading through their diapers as they wet themselves in sheer terror. The professor's lips curled into a cold smile.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Professor Collins said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Two big, tough frat boys reduced to helpless little babies. How fitting."

Sarah and her friends giggled, their laughter echoing in the room. Jack's face burned with humiliation, his earlier bravado shattered. Mike looked away, too ashamed to meet anyone's gaze.

Professor Collins stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "It seems you boys have learned a valuable lesson. But we're not done yet. In fact, your reeducation is just beginning."

The boys exchanged horrified glances, their confusion evident. "Reeducation?" Jack stammered.

Sarah stepped forward, a confident smirk on her face. "Yes, reeducation. You see, Professor Collins has been working with us on a special project for her research in feminism. We're going to turn frat boys like you into good little babies, and then raise you to be better men."

The professor nodded, her gaze unwavering. "You've been chosen as our new research subjects. We'll be documenting every step of your transformation. From arrogant, misogynistic boys to respectful, well-behaved men."

Jack and Mike were too stunned to respond. The realization of their predicament sank in slowly, bringing with it a wave of dread. This wasn't just a humiliating prank. This was a complete, enforced regression.

Professor Collins leaned over Jack's crib, her voice a low, mocking whisper. "Think of this as a second chance, boys. A chance to learn respect, empathy, and humility. Traits you clearly lack."

Mike's eyes filled with tears of frustration and shame. "You can't do this to us," he said, his voice trembling. "We didn't agree to any of this."

Sarah's roommate, the one who had cooed at them earlier, patted Mike's head patronizingly. "Oh, but you did agree, the moment you stepped into this house. And now, you're ours to care for and mold into better people."

Jack clenched his fists, his anger bubbling beneath the surface. But he was powerless, trapped in a diaper, surrounded by women who held all the control.

Professor Collins straightened up, addressing the group. "Sarah, let's make sure our new 'babies' are comfortable. We'll begin their first lessons in the morning."

The girls nodded eagerly, each taking a turn to coo and tease the boys. "Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it," one of them said. "And who knows, you might even start to like it."

As the reality of their situation settled in, Jack and Mike felt a profound sense of defeat. They were no longer the cocky frat boys who had strutted into the party, thinking they could conquer anything. They were now just two scared, humiliated boys in diapers, facing an uncertain future in the hands of those they had once looked down upon.

Professor Collins turned to leave, her final words lingering in the air. "Goodnight, boys. Sweet dreams. Tomorrow, your real education begins."

The door closed behind her, leaving Jack and Mike in the oversized cribs, their minds racing with fear and confusion. They could hear the soft hum of a lullaby playing from a speaker in the corner, adding an eerie touch to the surreal nursery setting.

Sarah leaned over Jack’s crib one last time, her expression softening slightly. "You brought this on yourselves, you know. Maybe after this, you'll learn to treat people with respect."

With that, she turned off the lights, plunging the room into a soothing darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow of a nightlight. The boys lay there, their thoughts a chaotic mess, knowing that their lives had irrevocably changed.

As the lullaby played on, they realized there was no escaping this new reality. They were now the subjects of an experiment designed to reshape their very identities, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Feels Like The First Time

This caption was saved by this post by @cookie-goodboy whose “baby book” idea resurrected this caption from my draft box graveyard.

She looks down at her soggy diaper in utter disbelief. “B-but I d-don’t even remember going potty, Daddy!”

“Does that excite you, Princess?”

“I…umm, I think so. But does this mean…”

“Yes, silly. It means you’re no longer potty trained. You’re Daddy’s diaper-dependent pamper packer, forever.”

“I just thought the first time I had a real accident would be…I don’t know…”

There it is again: The First Time. She’s focused on the “firsts” of our relationship and her diaper journey from the beginning.

I remember how excited she was the first time I put a diaper on her. The first time she made stinkies in front of me. The first time she went out in public diapered. The first time I changed her in public.

Every first was a cause for celebration.

She’s been so focused on the “firsts” that she never stopped to think about all the “lasts” in her life.

But I did.

And now that she’s unpotty-trained, it’s time to show her the project I’ve been secretly working on these last few years.

Her big book of “lasts.” She’s finally ready to read it. It has it all:

The last time she went out in public undiapered. The last time she used the potty for tinkles. The last time she used the potty for stinkies. The last time she changed her own diaper. The last time she got to ask me to change her diaper.

But there are a few things she probably won’t be expecting.

Like the last time we had sex. The last time she had an orgasm without a diaper. The last time she went to bed without a bedtime. The last time I thought of her as an adult. There’s plenty more to choose from, but you get the idea.

I almost feel bad, but what did she expect? I can’t treat someone who wants to become an unpotty-trained pamper packer as an adult—adults don’t enthusiastically give away every aspect of their adulthood so they can helplessly fill their diapers.

Obviously adult things like sex are out the window. Did she really think I’d want to go down on her knowing she poops herself three times a day?

Gross.

I’ll treat her exactly how she wants to be treated: as an unpotty-trained a toddler. Because that’s what she is to me now.

She’s not my girlfriend. She gave up orgasms and adulthood for a lifetime of diaper changes, early bedtimes, and Disney cartoons.

I’m sure she’ll throw a tantrum tonight when I show her. But what is she going to do? Not wear a diaper? It’s far too late for that. She needs them now—just like she always wanted.

I’ll smile the whole time she’s whining about her “lost” adulthood. The adulthood she willingly gave away for the pleasure of being wrapped in her plastic prison.

Maybe I’ll even start a new scrapbook for her. Her tantrum can be the first entry: Baby’s first tantrum as Daddy’s permanent babygirl.

Oh don't mind me dear I'm just opening up the window to get some a breeze in, you just go back to playing. Yeah baby, just some fresh air. Well it's still a little stinky in here sweety and I want it smelling fresh when my next patient comes.

Oh silly have you forgotten what I told you already? You're going home today, your mommy is coming to pick you up! No silly you're wife! She's just your mommy now, like how I was Dr. Philips when you came here but now I'm Nana.

Right I know it must seem so long ago, I can hardly believe it's only been two weeks myself. More treatment, oh honey it'd be silly do that- you're cured! I can confidently say as a medical professional you no longer have a wetting problem baby.

Shshsh baby no need to get upset, you see diapers are the cure to your wetting problem. When your wife dropped you off here we knew that this was the likely outcome. Yes this is intensive therapy, your wife didn't lie. Sometimes this helps people stop wetting, once in a blue moon. For most of the people I treat though the cure for their incontinence is more involved. You see your bed wetting and your pants wetting were only problems that you noticed. You had others too you know. You were unhappy, you were stressed, angry, very controlling too. Now those problems are gone! I've been sending your wife videos of you and she's said she hasn't seen you this happy since you two were dating!

No, a life of big adult worries isn't for you, so I have prescribed a full regression until further notice. Hey don't look so grumpy, this is good news! This means when you get home you'll have a big comfy crib like you do here. You'll have fun toys for you to play with all day. You'll have even more cozy clothes to roll around in and best of all, you wont ever have to worry about wet or dirty pants ever again thanks to the thick diapies you'll always be wearing. I'll even let you in on a secret, your wife has been taking pills so she can have milky boobies just like Nana!

Still with the grumpy face huh mister? Do I need to take you to the naughty corner? We haven't had to visit there in quite some time I'd hate to have our treatment end there- Oh, ugh silly me! You think I'd know that face by now. Of course it's time for your mid morning poopy. Well go right ahead baby, your wife will be here to pick you up soon and I think greeting her in a stinky, droopy, poopy diaper is the perfect way to start this new chapter. Good thing I opened the window now. Hopefully the stinky smells will leave before the next patient arrives this evening!

"I wanna see how many presents are under the Christmas tree." Apple exclaimed as she and Daddy entered the living room.

"Mmm I'd rather see what's under your dress little one." Her dominant other half purred behind her, lovingly caressing her with a firm broad hand. There was a telltale crinkling noise.

"Daddy." Apple frowned. She really was excited to count the presents, she didn't want her partner to get distracted but she decided to oblige him and gather up the ruffled hem of dress so that he could see her diaper.

He was always her dom and she was always his sub, (and indeed often in ageplay space as evidenced by teddy bear she had brought with her from the bedroom) but she had grown so used to wearing diapers 24/7 for him that sometimes she forgot about them completely. As a coy yet flirtatious smile spread across her lips, she felt a rekindling of excited humilation at being reminded she was her Daddy's Little Girl.

"Good girl. Tell Daddy what you are wearing princess."

"A dress." she responded quickly. She always attempted to divert the question if was feeling 'Big' rather than little but it usually just took a little persitance to push her into Littlespace.

"Baby." Daddy asked again, in a slightly scolding tone that suggested that she ought to know better than to defy him.

"It's a diaper, Daddy." she responded meeking.

"Who's diaper?“

"My diapee." she figitted with her skirt.

"And why do you wear diapers? "

"Cos I'm a baby." she blushed and clutched her teddy to her.

Daddy smiled, satisfied to watch Apple on the edge of tipping into Littlespace. He loved catching her at this moment, in which she was submissive but also still acutely aware of how humilating infantile she was acting for him.

"Suck your thumb like a good baby." he commanded. She dropped the hem of her dress to raise her thumbs to her lips. "Ah, ah, Daddy still wants to see that diaper." he told her, and so she lifted her skirt again and brought her other hand into her mouth.

"Can you wet your diaper like a good baby?“ he asked her," then I'll let you count the presents under the tree."

Unable to speak while she was sucking on her thumb, she nodded obediently and broke eye contact whilst she focused on relaxing her bladder. Soon she felt her diaper growing warm and wet as she began peeing and she quivered with excitement at the thought of being made to exhibition herself like this.

"That's a good baby." Daddy praised her as he watched her diaper swell and discolour. "A little baby like you ought to be sitting on the floor." he suggested.

Apple sat down and couldn't help but feel anything but babyish as her still warm diaper squished beneath her bum. Her little dress was not so long that Daddy didn't catch glimpses of her diaper as she shifted on the fluffy rug.

Daddy fished an adult pacifer from his pocket and held it in front of her mouth for her to take. He gently traced the line of her jaw as he did so and tickled the lobe of her ear before he stood up. She made cute lip smacking sounds once her pacifer was being suckled. She was obviously deep in Littlespace by this point because she was staring at the Christmas tree, bewitched by the twinkling lights and bright baubles. Daddy wondered if she remembered that she had wanted to count the presents. He would reminded her when she resurfaced from Littlespace, of course he expected to be changing her out of a very wet diaper by that time, her potty training went completely out of the window when she was feeling this tiny. He suspected it would be wise to put her in stuffed double diapers when it came to the excitement of finally getting to open her presents on Christmas day.

...

Images from @abdreams

Inspiration from @littlekittengirliepie

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Advanced Dungeons & Diapers: Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Serendipity,” he said, “She’s–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadrian ran in through the flap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Serendipity,” Hadrian whispered.

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

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

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

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

...

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She’d never been put in a diaper so thick, before. It was simultaneously fascinating and mortifying.

She just couldn’t control her curiosity, rubbing her hands over the outside. It never had occurred to her that a diaper could force her thighs so far apart that she couldn’t help but waddle like an oversized toddler. Or that a diaper could so effectively prevent her from feeling anything through it, despite her burning bottom and her (surprisingly) wet and wanting princess parts.

As fascinating as her new diaper was, the threats her Daddy made as he prepared, powdered and applied her new diaper, while she could only sniffle, made her far more fearful than curious. Would he really make her stay in them until they were completely soaked, through and through, even if it took a whole day? Was he really going to make her go out to a movie with just this outfit and diaper on under her coat? There’s no way he would actually take her to their favorite restaurant, the one where the waitstaff knew their names, and make her sit at the bar, right?

While she knew she hadn’t been supposed to play her toy, much less make cummies in her diaper last night, surely this was far too severe a punishment, wasn’t it? Even if she had also played and made cummies in her diapers earlier in the week, a few times, when her Daddy was either out or busy, she had already gotten spanked for those (though he hadn’t used that damned hairbrush like he did this time…) and had her toy taken away, so she can’t be punished for them again; that just isn’t fair!

She did supposed that lying to Daddy about last night was extra naughty, and demanding that he leave her be while calling him a monster wasn’t really the most appropriate way to handle her upcoming punishment, but did that invite such harsh discipline? Still, she realizes that, as naughty as she has been, Daddy probably hadn’t intended to make her do those things.

That is until she uttered those rather foolish last words: ”You wouldn’t dare!”

Game Over

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

Parker slapped his bedwetting rewards sheet on the glass countertop like he’d played a royal flush.

My stomach tightened into a knot.

The clerk glanced at the paper, then up at Parker, then through Parker and into the middle distance. “Reading rewards are redeemed at the pizza barn,” he said in a monotone. “One personal pan pizza with a single topping, excluding sausage and bacon. Not redeemable for anything from the prize counter. Not redeemable for cash. Not—” 

“Do I look like I’m in elementary school to you?" Parker interrupted. "I’m not in the reading program.” He turned around and shot a ‘can you believe this guy’ face at me because somehow being part of a diaper rewards program was less embarrassing than a reading program in his mind.

Parker jabbed his finger on the logo at the top of the sheet. A diaper with a crown on it. Then he pointed at a vinyl banner with the same logo on it that hung, half-obscured by poorly stitched elephant and zebra stuffies, on the wall behind the counter. “Royal Rumps Rewards,” it read in a blocky font. 

When I heard the words ‘Royal Rumps Rewards’ I wished my hoodie was the Big Daddy suit from Bioshock, insulating me from judgments and the sneering laughter of those in earshot. Or at least what I’d imagined they’d say. Not Parker. This was his superpower: he was fundamentally incapable of feeling shame or embarrassment. I suspected he’d done some arcane ritual that transplanted all his anxiety and self-consciousness into me at birth. 

I scanned the room, ears perked up for half-whispered laughter and pearl-clutching questions.

“Royal Rumps? Is that the diaper brand for adults?” 

“You must suck at games to wear diapers for prizes.”

“Is he wearing one now? I think I see some extra padding in his jeans.”

I didn’t hear anything like that. Not out loud, at least. Hearing them in my head was bad enough. 

The clerk turned and looked at the Royal Rumps banner as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh, right. Forgot about that.” He turned over his shoulder. “Clara, we have a couple of guys here for the weird diaper thing.” 

I drew my hoodie strings tight again. 

Clara was a senior citizen by Slice Shak staff standards. Early 30s with a smattering of 1990s pop culture buttons on her vest. She wore a strained smile. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail so tight it served as a facelift. She took a laminated sheet out of a drawer. “Diaper Partner Program,” it said simply at the top. 

“You’ll have to excuse Aden. It’s his first week. We’re proud of our partnership with Royal Rumps, aren’t we, Aden?” 

Aden grunted. I preferred Aden’s response to this whole thing. Wearing diapers when you didn’t have to, strictly speaking, was kinda weird. Dancing around it just felt patronizing. Condescending. 

“Show her your sheet, man,” Parker said. 

I slid my sheet onto the counter and stepped back. Parker could serve as the spokesman. I would’ve been happy—thrilled, even—to stay home and let him bring my sheet in with his, but that was against the rules. Or so Parker said. He was probably telling the truth; he didn’t hesitate to break a rule if he could get away with it. But he also hated doing anything alone. It was like he’d cease to exist if he didn’t have an audience. 

“Alrighty, let me look at these,” Clara said. She pulled out a calculator and ran her finger down Parker’s sheet, noting the unbroken rows of crescent-moon-with-a-raincloud stickers set against the night-sky background. She flipped the sheet over and continued to run her finger down that side, punching numbers into the calculator. “Wow. A perfect two months. That’s 500 points. Nice work, sweetie.” 

‘Sweetie.’ Was that part of the script as stipulated by Royal Rumps? Or was it impossible to look at someone who proudly admitted they woke up in a wet diaper every morning and not call them sweetie, cutie, or baby?

Parker snorted. 

“And do you solemnly swear, as a Knight of Castle Crinkle, that your account of your adventures in bedwetting is the truth?” Clara asked. 

‘Adventures in bedwetting.’ Royal Rumps loved that phrase. They plastered it all over their website and marketing materials. They even had an app—a mobile game of sorts—with that title. You filled in this cartoony map of a medieval fantasy land, accruing XP as you used your diapers. 

Parker stared at Clara, then he looked behind himself meaningfully. The line of impatient patrons grew by the minute. I could sense annoyance that we were taking so long. “Of course we did. I’m not a liar.”

Clara peeled a sticker off the Diaper Partner Program sheet and pressed it against Parker’s chest. A stylized diaper with a golden crown and “Nappied Knights,” with the ‘k’ tilted off at an angle. “Thanks for sharing your journey back into bedwetting with us.” 

She turned to me. “Now, let’s look at yours.” She ran her finger down my sheet, flipped it over, and did the same thing. “Excellent. 497 points. Great job.” 

“Wait, what?” Parker said. “There should be 500 points. Check again.” 

Clara’s strained smile faltered for half a second. “Yes, well, if you look here, there’s a day missing.” She pointed at the blank spot on the chart. A tiny blue-black square in a sea of stickers. 

“Bro,” Parker said to me. 

I shrugged.

He turned to Clara. “I’m sure it was a mistake. Can’t we just put a sticker on there and call it good?” 

Clara shook her head. “‘fraid not. That’s specifically forbidden in our agreement with Royal Rumps.” 

“See, but the thing is, we need 1,000 points for the drone. What if we throw some tickets in the mix?” He leaned forward and rested his fists on the countertop, favoring Clara with his cockiest grin. “I’m a wicked shot at skee ball.” 

“No combining offers,” Aden interjected.

Parker shot him a withering glance. 

“What about the boombox,” Clara said. She pointed at the dusty box. “That’s only 750 points. Or the MP3 player. That looks nice, right? You can put a bunch of songs on that thing.” 

“I have an Iphone. I don’t need a fucking MP3 player, Clara.” He spat her name like it was a curse. 

Clara’s professional smile evaporated. “Then I suppose you’ll need to come back tomorrow. Oh, wait. The half-off discount ends today. That’s a shame. I guess your ‘adventures in bedwetting’ will need to continue for another two months. Give or take a few nights.” She stared down Parker. He looked like he was ready to vault over the countertop and strangle her.

The chatter behind us had dropped to a low, whispery murmur. We were moments from brazen snickers. Pointing fingers. Frantic, emoji-laded texts to friends about the freaks holding up the Slice Shak line. 

I elbowed Parker’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go. ” 

He snatched his sheet off the countertop and stormed off, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘uptight bitch.’ 

I grabbed my sheet. I considered apologizing to Clara. But that’d mean another few seconds in line. 

She beat me to it with a “Thank you for sharing your journey back to bedwetting with us.” She mashed a sticker onto my chest. A diaper with a pirate hat and a saber floating off to one side. Beneath it: “Sailing the Soggy Seas.” 

I gave her an awkward smile, mouthed ‘sorry,’ and walked away.

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