First of all, I want to thank you all for reading. This will be my 250th post on my blog, and, at the time of writing this, the site is at nearly 150,000 views, which, at least to me, is pretty impressive.
Secondly, and the real reason I’m making this post, is to announce that I’m going on a hiatus from story writing. I’m not sure how long it will be, though probably not too terribly long. I might do some more short stories before officially making me return, and I’ll probably make some more captions in that time, too, but I don’t plan on starting any other big projects for a little while.
I starting writing diaper stories a little under a year ago (December 29th of last year is when I posted the first chapter of The Babysitting Crew), and have mostly been working on one story or another for the whole time since then. I’ve written 537 pages, or 270,464 words, in that time. And I’ve enjoyed it, and appreciate your support, and just the fact that you’ve read at least some of them. But I have some non-diaper related writing work I’d like to try to get done that I’ve been putting off for a while now, and work in general, since I finally have a job again after being unemployed for most of this past year.
Anyway, I hope to see you all soon, and thanks again for reading!
Sierra was an adult… Technically. She’d turned 19 less than two weeks before, a time that had always been less than convenient. After waiting all year for presents, other than a new dress at Easter, or chocolate at Valentine’s, or things like that, the two big gift-getting times of a person’s life were smashed together, making a lot of people think they could treat them as the same thing.
So it was little wonder that, over the rest of the year, when she wanted something, she tended to get a little upset when she was told she couldn’t have it. After all, it was a long wait for any real opportunity to ask anyone for it, and while Santa might pull through, she had less confidence in her family. And she couldn’t ask Santa for everything, as she’d learned even he had limits.
But there was one thing that did work for her – crying. It did a good job of getting her the new toy she wanted, and then of convincing her teachers to bump her grade up a little, to get the principal to lessen her detention sentence, or even forgo it altogether, to keep herself from getting a speeding ticket, to soften up particularly rude customers at work. It got less effective as she got older, but since she stayed fairly small and youthful looking, it never completely lost its power.
She also had the tendency to cry at movies, at TV shows, even commercials sometimes. For a while, she was sure her friends were avoiding inviting her to the movies with them, because they were embarrassed that she seemed to bawl every time, but after confronting them about it with a fresh batch of tears, they started taking her with them again. She didn’t know if her overly emotional reactions to media were a side-effect of being used to crying at stressful situations, or vice versa.
She wasn’t sure if her crying had kept her acting more immature in general, either, or if she just was naturally immature somehow, and the crying was part of it. Her friends had always treated her like the youngest of them, even if she wasn’t chronologically. She was still obsessed with children’s shows, and books, and movies – even when she did get invited to go with her friends to the movies, she usually found herself bored and squirming beside them, until they glared at her in annoyance, wishing she could be watching the latest on the next screen instead. Sometimes, if she really wanted that, she’d make a fuss when they were choosing what to go see, breaking out her tears, but then she felt bad when it was everyone besides her who spent most of the movie disinterested, though they’d always tell her they enjoyed it so as not to upset her again.
She supposed it wasn’t really a big surprise, then, that her group of friends had shrunk over the years. Sometimes they just faded away, hanging out less and less, at least when they knew Sierra would be there, and sometimes they confronted her about it, telling her that if they wanted to spend their time babysitting, they’d do it somewhere they got paid. That set her off, too, and every time her remaining friends assured her they didn’t think of her that way, their words seemed a little less sincere.
There was no time that her childishness was more evident than the Christmas season. There was nothing she loved more than to drive through the local Christmas light display, even once it had been up for a couple weeks, and half the bulbs were burnt out. Even though it got busier and more stressful, she found herself looking forward to going to work because the mall she worked in was all decorated, and she got to walk right past Santa to get to her store. She knew it wasn’t the real Santa, of course – she wasn’t stupid – but she usually visited him a couple times a season to give him her wish to pass on to the real thing, or to revise it when she thought of something better.
That there was a real Santa for the fake ones to report to, she had no doubt. She’d grown up, seeing her friends reject him one by one, but she’d just never been convinced. After all, there’d always been one present under the tree, usually the biggest, that her mom and dad claimed not to know where it came from. Maybe that denial got a little more strained each year, but she told herself it was because they felt bad they hadn’t gotten it for her, rather than leaving it to the big man.
This year, she needed a new computer. Her old one worked, but it was getting very slow, and no amount of tweaking made any difference. It was just old. She’d started out asking for specific models, but as the month of December wore on, she decided, instead, to just let Santa know the specs she was looking for, and he could find the right one himself, since she couldn’t quite decide. She visited Santa’s lap more times that year than she ever had in the past, and she could tell he got a little nervous every time she walked past him on her way to work.
But now, that was all over. She had to hope she’d told him everything he needed to know, and that all the latest messages had gotten through, because it was Christmas Eve, and she was tucked away snugly in her pink, fleece pajamas. She’d gone to bed early, of course, knowing Santa couldn’t come until she was asleep, but being in bed and going to sleep were two different things, and she was finding the latter quite difficult. She was excited about Christmas, just like she was every year, but for some reason this year she was even more so. She managed to drift off for a few minutes here and there, her eyes immediately darting to her clock every time they opened, seeing if it was early enough to get her parents out of bed so she could go open her presents.
Finally, she decided a cup of water would help her relax, and if she happened to pass by the tree to see if Santa had been by already, well, that couldn’t hurt. There were, indeed, piles of presents beneath the tree that hadn’t been there when she’d gone to bed, but none of them looked like they could be her computer. None of them had the same, magical feel that her presents from Santa always had. So she hurried to the kitchen to get her water so she could get to sleep quicker, and Santa could show up. She filled a plastic cup with water, then, sipping at it, began to make her way back through the house, stopping for one last look at the tree.
And there, standing right in the middle of her living room, huge black sack at his feet, was Santa. Sierra gasped, cup falling from her fingers as her eyes widened in shock. She wondered at first if she should stay back, if he’d get mad if he saw her up and about this late on Christmas Eve, but that didn’t last long. This was the opportunity of a lifetime!
She dashed across the room, giving the huge, bearded man a big hug, one that he returned a moment later. He smelled like fresh air, and snow, and soot, and everything Sierra had ever imagined. “You’re here!” she exclaimed finally, as he let her go. She looked around at the presents, eagerly looking for the new additions she was sure would be there, but the only ones she could find were for her mom and dad. “Did I interrupt?” she blushed. “I can go back to bed! I was just getting some water, I wasn’t sneaking around…”
“It’s all right, Sierra,” he told her, voice deep and hearty, though not quite as jolly as she would have expected. “I wanted you to find me, so I could give you your gift in person.”
“Okay,” Sierra giggled, feeling giddy with anticipation. Had he been unable to decide between computers, either? Maybe he was going to give her a choice. She could hardly wait to find out, fidgeting as she watched him dig through his bag for a moment, pulling out… a piece of coal.
“What is that?” she asked, a pout growing on her face. Was this a joke?
He didn’t answer until he’d walked to her stocking and dropped the coal inside, then returned to his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Merry Christmas,” he told her.
“Wait, no!” she insisted. “What about my present?!”
“I just gave it to you,” Santa explained.
“No!” She shook her head, feeling tears come to her eyes. “No, where’s my computer! I need a new computer! I told you!”
“Things like computers are only for people on my nice list,” Santa told her, as if she didn’t know. “But you’re on my naughty list, Sierra. You’ve been on my naughty list for a while now, but I like to give people a chance to change. It looks like you aren’t going to, though, so I’m afraid it’s coal for you, little one.”
“That’s not fair!” she wailed, stomping her foot. “I am a good girl!”
“No, you are not,” Santa said sternly. “Part of being a good girl is growing up, and you still act like a baby, Sierra. Throwing tantrums, crying… You have to keep your inner child alive, but you’re still a child through and through.”
“That’s not true!” she protested, stomping her foot again, before she could realize that was exactly what he was complaining about. She tried to stop her tears, but she felt like… Well, like Santa had just told her she wasn’t getting any presents this year. “I’ll be good next year!” she promised. “I won’t cry or anything! Just give me one more chance!”
“I’ve already given you your present,” he informed her. “Do with it what you will.”
Sierra unhappily stomped over to her stocking, pulling out the piece of coal. She looked at it for a moment, then threw it across the room. “I don’t want it!” she told him angrily, turning to face him, red-faced, before she could see the piece of coal crack open and a figure emerge from inside. “I want my computer!”
Santa turned around, shaking his head. “Maybe next year,” he said, and then he was gone, in a whirlwind of snow and magic, stockings swaying as he whooshed past them on the way through the fireplace and out the chimney.
Sierra started to cry again, frustrated at the injustice of it all. She started to stomp her way back to her room, so she could sulk in bed for the rest of the night, when a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She spun around to find a woman behind her, a little taller than her, yet dressed like an elf, in green and white stripes. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Where did you come from?!”
“I came from your coal, naughty girl,” the elf told her. “I’m here to give you the rest of your ‘present’. Santa is a busy man these days.”
“Present?” Sierra’s eyes lit up at the word, at least until she noticed what the elf was holding in one hand. Like her outfit, it was striped, but in red and white, making it look a little like a candy cane. A large, paddle-shaped, candy cane. She quickly turned to run, but the elf grabbed her wrist, in one smooth motion yanking her back and over her lap as she sat down, and, seemingly at the same time, brought the paddle crashing hard against Sierra’s bottom with a loud whap.
The tears still drying on her cheeks from her confrontation with Santa were joined by new ones as she let out a cry of pain, feeling the sting of the paddle spread out over her backside. The elf gave her time to really feel it, to make her realize what it was, what had just happened, what position she was in, and to make her wonder if that was all it would be before striking again. Sierra’s petite rear was no match for the paddle, which covered nearly the whole thing with each strike, which came, after that first one, faster and faster, giving her no relief, no escape no matter how hard she squirmed and begged and pleaded for mercy, her tears only seeming to make the elf spank her harder.
The paddle slapped down against her, over and over, the sound of it echoing in her ears even over the sound of her own cries. Whap! Whap! Whap! Beneath it, her bottom felt like it was on fire, like it was swollen, bright red all over. She kicked her legs helplessly, and, right before the paddle made its last trip down, she felt her bladder release a burst of urine into her panties. It wasn’t an entirely uncommon occurrence – she had little accidents like that once a week or so, maybe, but it was still enough that it would have made her blush at any other time.
She relaxed across the elf’s lap as she felt the paddle being lifted, then set down on the floor, glad it was finally over. She tried to catch her breath, tears still pouring down her face. And then she felt fingers beneath the waist of her pajama pants, felt the soft fleece being pulled down and off her sore, red bottom, the cold air hitting her bare skin as the pants were slid over her backside, then down her legs, falling in a puddle of pink on the floor.
Then, to make matters even worse, she felt a hand press between her legs, fingertips sliding across the damp crotch of her panties. “You naughty little thing!” the elf chastised her. “Wetting yourself! I was going to let you keep your panties for the last part of your spanking, but a naughty little girl like you gets spanked on her bare bottom, doesn’t she?”
Sierra’s eyes went wide as she heard the words, finding new strength to squirm, though it did her no good, as she was pinned to the elf’s lap. “No!” she sniffled. “No more, please!”
“Do you think crying is going to help, little crybaby?” the elf asked her, voice mocking. “That’s why you’re in this position. You’re just a little crybaby. Well, if you’re going to cry, I guess I’ll just give you a reason to!”
And with that, the spanking resumed. Sierra barely had time to register the feeling of her panties being pulled down before she heard the slapping sound of flesh on flesh. She bawled loudly as the elf’s hand clapped against her already spanked rear end, moving down to her thighs every now and then to make her thrash all the more at the surprise of it. By the time the spanking was over, Sierra was too exhausted to squeal and squirm anymore, almost too much to even cry, the thing she was so good at.
“There we go,” the elf said, running her hand over Sierra’s poor, abused bottom. “That ought to do it.”
“I-I just wanted my present,” Sierra sniffed.
“Oh, but you are getting a present,” the elf assured her. “Not a Christmas present, of course – you’ve been a bad girl, so you only get coal and a spanking for that – but you’re getting a late birthday present.”
“Really?” Sierra perked up. She doubted it would be worth what she’d just been through, but at least that would have all been for something, as long as she got her present. She wondered what kind of computer Santa had gotten her, and where he’d hidden it.
“You’re getting one of the very rarest of presents,” the elf said, pulling Sierra’s panties back up her legs, snapping them into place around her waist. Right away, Sierra could tell something was different, though at first she attributed that to the spanking.
Then the elf lifted her, setting her down on the floor, right over where her pajama pants had fallen. She looked down and saw a trio of Disney princesses staring up at her, surrounding a heart that should have had a design in it, but instead had only a purple smudge. She gasped, realizing she was staring down at a pair of wet Pull-Ups, rather than her wet panties.
“Your mommy and daddy aren’t going to be happy you had another accident,” the elf informed her, as she bent down and pulled the pajama pants up Sierra’s legs. As soon as they were in place, over her used training pants, and the elf’s hands had moved away, Sierra could see the pants and shirt of her pajamas growing together, forming into a unified whole. Her eyes went wide, and she tried to pull the shirt up and away, but it was too late. The buttons melted away, taking the opening they held shut with them, though she could feel a change in the back as well that made her suspect a zipper was growing there. She squirmed as she felt something growing around her feet, encasing them. Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of her living room, in front of the Christmas tree, wearing a footed sleeper and Pull-Ups, stunned.
“What…. What…?” she mumbled, unable to even complete the question, not sure what she could ask that would cover everything she was wondering.
“It’s your birthday present,” the elf reminded her. “You’re getting another chance.” The elf took her hand, patting it. Sierra nearly fell over as a wave of memories washed over her. There she was, decorating the tree happily, then stopping to dash away to the bathroom, not making it two steps before a wet spot began to grow on her pants. She was baking cookies, licking the spoons and not paying a bit of attention as she had another accident. And there she was playing in the snow with her friends, sledding down a nice, steep hill, realizing halfway both that she had to use the potty, and that it was too late to do anything about it other than blush furiously as she scrambled up off of the sled, a large, stinky mess in the back of her pants, hoping nobody would notice as she excused herself to run back home.
The worst part about the memories wasn’t that they were fake, perversions of her real memories, but that they had all, at least supposedly, happened that year. Fainter, she could recall false memories of insisting she didn’t need to wear Pull-Ups to bed, that she wouldn’t have an accident that night, and of waking up almost every morning to wet training pants.
“You’re supposed to be a big girl,” her mother’s voice echoed through falsified time, “but if you can’t stop having accidents, I’m afraid we’re going to have to re-pottytrain you.”
“But that didn’t happen!” Sierra protested. “I don’t need to be potty trained!”
“Oh, but you will,” the elf said. “This,” she patted Sierra’s crotch through the sleeper, “will be the last straw. Your mommy and daddy are going to hire you a nanny, because clearly they can’t trust you on your own, and they don’t have time to potty train you themselves. That nanny is going to tell them the best way to do it will be to take you back down to a fully diaper-dependent little baby, then, slowly, raise you into the adult you never quite managed to become the first time around. And do you know how I know that, sweetie? Because I’m going to be your nanny! It’s my off-season now, so I have plenty of time to devote to you. And you’re going to listen to me, aren’t you? Because if you don’t…” Sierra was eagerly nodding already, but just in case, the elf gave her a smack on her throbbing bottom, which was shielded only slightly by her Pull-Up and sleeper.
“But…” Sierra pouted, sniffling, ready to cry again, as usual.
“We’ll get to all that in a couple days,” the elf promised her. “For now, I have some more work to help Santa with, so you be a good girl for me until I come back for you.”
With that, the elf vanished up the chimney, much as Santa had, leaving a confused, sore, and very worried little girl behind. The idea of being put back in diapers was almost unthinkable, even more absurd than the fact that she was in a Pull-Up right that minute, and she didn’t want to find out how the elf was planning on re-raising her.
It was a good thing she wouldn’t have to find out, she thought to herself. If her parents didn’t know she wet herself, that wouldn’t be the last straw, and they’d never hire a nanny. She’d just change, then be extra careful from then on. After all, it wasn’t like she usually wet the bed anyway! How hard could it be? She reached behind herself, fumbling for the zipper, determined to avoid her fate.
Then she felt a kiss on the top of her head. “What are you doing up so early, sweetie?” her mother asked. “You can’t open your presents yet.”
“I know!” Sierra said, heart starting to pound. “I was just going back to bed.”
“All right,” her mother smiled at her. “Merry Christmas, Sierra,” she said, giving the girl a hug. Sierra started to calm herself down, telling herself it wasn’t over yet, that she could still pull off her plan… Until she felt her mother’s hand pat her bottom, a quick check that would have been embarrassing even if she’d been dry, but was mortifying since she wasn’t. “Sierra, do you have something to tell me?”
Even though she knew it was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, Sierra couldn’t think of anything to do but cry.