A satisfied, but tired, smile spreads over my face as I type out the end of the caption, feeling happy to have finally gotten it done after so long. I’ve had these pictures for so long, and an idea for the story, but I just couldn’t get myself to write it all out until now.

I think it’s turned out pretty well, too…. It isn’t anything particularly groundbreaking, just another tale of a naughty girl being tricked into a life of babyhood, obedience, and diapers by some mysterious drug that had been put into her water. It’s fun, but as I look it over one more time before posting, I can’t help but feel like there’s something missing…

Should I do a re-write? That will take so long… I don’t know if I’ll even be able to get it done today, and then it will be even longer before I can post it! But is it good enough the way it is now?

I sigh, leaning back in my chair and staring listlessly at my image editing program. My eyes drift over to the buttons at the side, wondering if maybe changing up the font or the color might spice it up a bit, before noticing a button I’ve never seen before. I did just update the program, and of course I didn’t bother to read up on what was changed… What did they add? I already don’t use the majority of the functions the program has, so I doubt I’ll need this one, but I might as well see.

Curiously, I move my mouse over it so the description will pop up. The icon looks like a pair of 3D glasses, and when the little box pops up, it says, simply, “VR”. That might be interesting… Maybe just the thing to set these captions apart! I click on the button, then blankly look over the huge number of dials and sliders that shows up. After a moment of deliberation, I set them all on maximum, and hit the preview button. A message pops up, telling me to put on my VR headset, which, luckily, I’d just bought a few months ago, but never used.

Instantly, I’m transported to a nursery, one that looks very familiar. I look around, impressed at just how realistic it all looks, until I hear, “Are you playing or not?”

I jump a little at the sound, turning around to see the girl who was the subject of my captions, and the woman who had taken over her care. “Don’t you want to play house?” the latter asks.

Still marvelling at how much the computer had been able to create from a few still images, I shrug. “Sure,” I play along. What harm could it do? It all looks real – the nursery, the people, the bottle being shoved towards my face – but I know it’s fake… Even though, as the bottle is pushed between my lips, the nipple feels real, and the milk tastes real, and the angry expression of the girl I’d caused to be babified also looked all too real…


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The Halloween Story

The Halloween Story

Look, this is a really long story, and really embarrassing. I wish you would just… Well, okay, if you have time, I guess I do, too. I don’t have much of a choice right now, do I?

If you really want to get back to the beginning, that was a few months ago. It was just this huge misunderstanding, but it ended with me being demoted back to a schoolgirl at this really strict boarding school… Yeah, Saint Mary’s, that’s right. Like I told you, I just turned 23 a few weeks ago, so I’m sure you can imagine how humiliating that was. Those girls I was with, they were the ones who did it to me – my little sister Adriana, and her friend, Paula.

What? Well, yes, that does mean I was in school not that long ago, but Saint Mary’s doesn’t have cheerleaders. I told you, this is just a costume! Ouch! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sass at you, I’m just trying to explain!

Anyway, I wasn’t even there all that long. I mean, it was long enough, all things considered, but Adriana and Paula could only fool the school and my parents for so long. Of course, by then I’d already spent a couple weeks in dia… uh… dire distress. I have to admit, my grades weren’t very good, because I was being distracted by… other things… and Saint Mary’s is very strict about trying to prevent their students from getting bad grades. I, uh, found myself in this position quite a bit then, but they used a paddle instead of a hairbrush.

My parents didn’t even punish Adriana for what she did! Can you believe that?! They got mad at her for lying to them about where I was, but they had the nerve to tell me that I deserved what I had gotten for letting her trick me the way she had! It was infuriating! They told me I wasn’t allowed to try to get even with her, either, which is why I’ve waited so long to try.

N-No, ma’am, I don’t usually advocate revenge, but you don’t know what she did to me! Well, yes, I did just tell you, but it was a little more complicated than that… No, I didn’t lie! I just left a few details out! I told you, this is a long story! Ohh, please don’t make me say it… Ow! Okay, sorry! I’ll tell you! Paula convinced the school that I needed diapers, so I spent the whole time there in thick diapers and locking plastic pants! It’s not funny! Y-Yes, I’m sure I’m 23! Ow! Ow! Sorry!

You can’t imagine how humiliating it is to be almost 23 and sitting outside a principal’s office, in a school uniform and thick diaper, waiting for your mother, then having to go with her to the nurse’s office to apologize for something that wasn’t even your fault and beg for the key to be allowed out of your diapers. The school even offered to keep me on, because I “so obviously” needed more education! I have to tell you, my heart stopped for a second when they said that, and when my mom looked over at me… I could tell she was thinking about it. Then she checked my diaper – she told me later that if I had been wet, she would have taken them up on it. I have to say, that was the first time I was glad that the school had me on a strict diaper changing schedule, because I’d just gotten a fresh diaper maybe fifteen minutes before. She still holds that over me if she wants me to do something. “Be a good girl, or I’ll send you back to Saint Mary’s!”

Anyway, I’m sure you can imagine the fun Adriana has had with that. Paula took plenty of pictures of me at school, and sent them all to my sister, so she has plenty of blackmail material make me do whatever she wants. She’s made me into her personal chauffer, even though she can drive herself now, and if she doesn’t want me around, she’ll make me let her borrow my car. And sometimes she takes babysitting jobs, then makes me do them for her… in diapers. She pops in at random times to make sure I wear them, too, and she’s not shy about checking in front of the kids, which makes it awfully hard to get them to listen to me after, let me tell you.

So I’m sure you can understand now why I wanted to play a little trick on her. It isn’t even revenge, because it doesn’t come close to making up for all she’s done. But I wanted to even the scales a little, you know?

My sister has been trying to get onto the cheerleading squad this year. She said they liked her, but there just wasn’t a spot for her. I know I should have been supportive of her, because she was really upset, but… Well, it was the best chance I was going to get. The first chance I got, I went to the store on my own and picked up a cheap little prepaid phone, and the next morning I started to text Adriana with it, saying I was the head cheerleader.

“If you mention this to anyone, including me, I will deny it, and I’ll make sure you never make the squad,” I told her. “You are to do everything I tell you, and then maybe I’ll consider letting you join.”

She was skeptical, of course. In fact, as soon as she got the first text, she stormed into my room, hair still wet from her shower, where I was pretending to reply to an e-mail in my pajamas. “How stupid do you think I am, you big baby?” she asked, spinning me around in my desk chair to face her, looming over me. “I ought to post those pictures all over Facebook!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked innocently. “I’m just sitting here!”

Adriana just glared at me for a moment, then pulled out her phone and wrote a reply, pressing send with a triumphant smile. Luckily, I had already predicted she would try that at some point, and I had that phone on silent. That still didn’t satisfy her, however. “Show me your phone,” she demanded.

“What is going on?” I did my best to sound annoyed.

“Give me your phone, pipsqueak,” she ordered again, “unless you want to spend the rest of the day in diapers.”

“Fine,” I sighed, handing it over to her, letting her flip through it, confused at the lack of notifications. She shoved me out of my chair, then, looking through all my browser tabs and even my history, searching for some sign that I had sent the message from there, coming away completely frustrated. “What are you doing, Adriana?” I asked finally.

“Strip,” she snapped.

“But I let you see my phone! I didn’t do anything!” I wailed.

“Strip, now,” she repeated, crossing her arms and watching as I got out of my PJ bottoms and panties, then walking over to my closet, where she kept the diapers she made me buy for myself with my babysitting money. She took out three of them, slicing the covers of the first two so she could triple diaper me, then taped me into all three. With each layer, she drew a squiggly line across both of the tapes with a marker from my desk, taking a picture of them with her phone. Unfortunately, I was all too aware of what that meant – I wasn’t allowed to change until she got home, and she would know if I did.

“You can put your PJs back on,” she told me, and even though I knew it wouldn’t help much, I took her up on the offer – sometimes, she told me to leave my diapers exposed all day, though of course I covered them up as much as I could once she was gone. I wriggled my way back into the bottoms, which barely went over my thickly padded butt. It was very obvious what I was wearing, and the whole outfit made me look like a bedwetting little toddler, which I’m sure was the idea. “Come on, let’s get your breakfast ready before your big sissy has to go to school,” she told me, holding out her hand.

Part of me was incredibly thankful that my parents work all the time, so they weren’t in the kitchen, though if they were around more, I doubt Adriana would dare do half the things she does. She was all too happy to march me into the kitchen, ordering me to sit on the floor “like a good girl” while she cooked up a big batch of oatmeal and stewed prunes, which she sat down in front of me in a huge bowl with a smug little grin. “Eat it all up, sweetie! Maybe it will make you big and strong one day… But I wouldn’t count on it.” I was hardly enthusiastic, since I hate both oatmeal and prunes, not to mention what I knew they would do to my digestive tract, but when she turned around from putting a Pop Tart into the toaster for herself and saw I hadn’t touched my food, she told me, “You’re going to finish that by the time we leave, young lady, or you’re coming in with me.”

“In where?” I asked nervously. There wasn’t anywhere I wanted to go dressed like this, but especially not where I was pretty sure she meant.

“School, silly!” she confirmed my fears. “You’re driving me! Hurry up!”

“Can I at least get a spoon?” I sighed. When she shook her head, I reached into the warm, gooey mess with a pout and began to scoop it into my mouth, blushing as some of it dribbled through my fingers onto my pajamas. Adriana giggled, taking every opportunity to remind me of what a messy baby I was, and to tell me to hurry up, while she munched lazily on her pastry.

I have to admit, I was feeling pretty nervous… I wasn’t sure if she saw through me after all, and was punishing me for trying to trick her, or if she was feeling nervous about what the “head cheerleader” would want her to do, and was trying to calm herself by reminding herself there was one person she had complete control over, or so she thought. Either way, it was my fault, and I had to hope that it would all be worth it.

She took another picture of me as I ate, then checked her text messages. “It’s interesting that I haven’t gotten a reply yet,” she said.

“A reply to what? What is this about?” I asked, trying to sound just as ignorant as I could. She gave me a dirty look, but didn’t say anything else. By the time I’d finished the oatmeal, I was feeling bloated and miserable, and I could tell Adriana was starting to doubt herself.

“Just admit it, baby,” she told me. “Admit it, and I’ll let you stay home, and even put on your big girl panties.”

It was tempting, as my stomach felt like it was bulging against my tight, thick diapers after all I’d eaten, but I wasn’t going to let her win that easily. “Admit what?” I pouted instead.

“Go get your keys,” she huffed, stomping off to grab her backpack. I went to my room and grabbed both of the phones and my keys, slipping the “head cheerleader’s” phone inside the outermost layer of my diaper, sure that Adriana would search my pockets for it, which she did, while I continued to complain about the unfairness of this. Still unconvinced, she dragged me back through the house and outside to my car, making me drive her across town to her school, stomach churning the whole way. I worried she was going to make me go in after all, but once we got there, she just stared at me for a minute, then got out of the car without a word.

Quickly, I slipped my hand inside my diaper and pulled out the phone, tapping out a quick message of, “Hold it. You can’t come into the school until I say so,” before driving off, only hitting the send button when the car was already in motion, and Adriana was looking back at me. I would have loved to stay and watch, but that was far too risky, so instead I just drove a few blocks away and pulled into an empty driveway to look at the phone, pleased to see Adriana had replied.

“Okay, what do you want me to do?” she’d asked.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure. Even though I felt pretty certain I had convinced her it wasn’t me, if I took things too quickly, that might tip my hand. Not to mention I didn’t want to humiliate her TOO badly… She is my little sister, after all. After a few moments, I responded with, “Duck behind the bushes and put your shirt on inside out. You can change it back after gym. If anyone mentions it to you before then, you have to pretend you didn’t notice.”

There was a long pause, long enough to make me wonder if something had gone wrong, if maybe the real head cheerleader had wandered past at the wrong moment, but finally she replied, “Okay.”

“Tie your hair into pigtails,” I added. “Those are going to stay in all day.”

She said, “Okay,” again, and I instructed her to step out of the bushes, then waited for a few seconds before telling her, “Try again.” It was a risk, but I figured I knew my sister well enough that it was a pretty safe guess that she hadn’t done what she had been told, or at least not all of it.

Indeed, her next text was, “That better?”

“Yes,” I said. “Remember, we’ll be watching… And I didn’t tell you to do this.”

Okay, yes, you’re right, it was a little immature of me. And I did feel bad about it, until the afternoon when that oatmeal hit full force, and I filled my diaper, and then I got a text on my regular phone that said I had to drive back to Adriana’s school like that to pick her up. I had changed into some sweatpants, but nothing I owned would fully hide the bulge, so sitting there, waiting for her to come out, praying none of my old teachers saw me and decided to come over and say hi, was still completely humiliating. Not to mention how horrible it is just to be stuck in a messy diaper for any length of time.

“Nice hair,” I teased her when she got into the car, secretly pleased to see that she still had it in pigtails.

“Nice diaper,” she countered, giving the crotch of it a hard pat. “Did somebody have an accident?”

I blushed and didn’t answer, already planning my move for the next day. I started out earlier, sending her a text telling her to dress in a short plaid skirt, just long enough to avoid getting in trouble with the school, and a white button up shirt with a tie, along with a pair of fake glasses, if she had them, which I knew she did. I pretended to be asleep, hiding the phone under my mattress for when she stormed in to see if it was me.

“What are you doing?” I asked sleepily as she ripped my blankets away, fuming as she found nothing.

“I’m just making sure you didn’t wet the bed,” she told me snottily, reaching down and giving the diaper she’d put on me the night before a pat. “Hmm, that feels a little damp… Do you have something to tell me?”

“You made me go to bed at 8!” I said defensively. “And you didn’t let me use the bathroom beforehand!”

“And so you wet the bed like a naughty little toddler,” she shook her head. “I think you’d better stay in bed and think about what you did. You can get up and clean yourself up at ten, but you’re to put on another diaper, and you’re going to send me a picture of it. Understand?”

“Yes,” I sighed, but really, I was thrilled, because I knew the real reason she didn’t want me to leave my room. Sure enough, I snuck to my window when I heard her leave, pleased to see her all dressed up like a geek. Partway through the day, I sent her a text telling her to roll her skirt up around the waistband once, and then again a little later on, knowing that she’d get the attention of the stricter teachers that way. Indeed, I got a text a bit later… I was too pleased with how things were going to recognize the trouble brewing.

“We got sent to the principal’s office,” the text told me. After all the times I’d had to visit the headmistress at Saint Mary’s, I was quite happy to hear that, even if I knew the principal there wouldn’t spank her. A good talking to was enough for me, though.

“What did you tell them?” I asked her.

“Nothing,” she replied. “I just pretended I didn’t realize how short my skirt was.”

“Good girl. There may be hope for you yet.”

Then I got the fateful text, the one that made me realize things had already gotten out of my hands. “Both of us?”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Who else could she be talking about? Had she dragged another cheerleading hopeful along with her into this, in the hopes that they would both get on the team? I didn’t have any idea who it could be, and asking would only give away the fact that I couldn’t really see what was going on. Finally, I just asked, “What did she say? Tell me the truth,” as if I’d already gotten the other girl’s side of the story and wanted to confirm it.

“She didn’t say anything, I swear! Not while I was in there! But they kept her in the office alone… Apparently she was already in trouble to begin with.”

That made me feel kind of bad. I had no idea who this other girl was, so I hated getting her into trouble for no real reason. “She isn’t cut out for the squad,” I told Adriana. “You should never have brought her into this. Don’t speak to her about this again.” I knew I couldn’t have her doing this again, but I knew I had to be careful, or I’d tip my hand about being a fake. At the same time, I had to make sure she didn’t try this with anyone else – the more people that were involved, the bigger the chance that one of them would ruin it for me.

“Don’t do this again,” I warned her. “I only went along with it this time because she was our next choice after you, but you aren’t to tell anyone, understand?”

“I’m sorry,” she replied back meekly.

It was wrong of me, I know, but school was over by then, and I was sure most of the students would be gone, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t done the same to me before. “Leave,” I ordered her. “Once you’re outside the building, I want you to pee your pants.” She was quiet for a minute, so I continued with, “This is your punishment for telling somebody else about this. If you don’t do it, this whole thing ends now.”

She didn’t answer. I didn’t want to tell her to do it again if she already had, or she wasn’t outside yet, and I didn’t want to congratulate her if she hadn’t, so I just stayed quiet, too, and listened for her car outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of her as she came inside. Unfortunately, I didn’t, because as soon as she got home, she ran straight to her room, which I took as a good sign, along with her rushing out to my car to scrub the seat.

We continued on like that for a couple weeks, but of course I knew that it couldn’t last forever. Eventually, I would slip up, or she would get tired of this and go talk to the girl she thought was the source, no matter what I’d told her about that. But I had to admit, the power was intoxicating. Whatever I told her to do, as far as I knew, she did. After being held under her thumb for so long, it was quite fun being able to turn the tables on her, even if I had to be a little more subtle with my games, since she was actually at school.

Or she was most of the time, anyway. One weekend, after she had been particularly bratty to me, I decided she needed a little extracurricular activity. I’d been setting her up for it for a while, making her suck her thumb sometimes, or answer a teacher’s questions in a lisp – that was a tough one, but I told her that even if “I” wasn’t watching, I had someone who was – and finally, one Saturday, I took the plunge. “Go to the mall,” I told her. “Wear your little plaid skirt and your hair in pigtails… and a diaper.”

“Where am I supposed to get that?!” she asked.

“That’s your problem,” I replied. “If you want to be our newest little baby cheerleader, you have to be resourceful.”

Of course, Adriana is quite a bit bigger than me – I can fit baby diapers, but she definitely can’t – so she would have to stop and get some, which I knew she wouldn’t want to do with me in the car. Part of me was glad, because I knew that if she took me along, she’d be certain that my diapers were much thicker than hers, to draw as much attention from herself as she could, but at the same time, after all she’d done to me, I wouldn’t have minded seeing her be subjected to a little embarrassment. Then, just to add to it, I said, “You will stay for an hour and a half at least. Each half hour, you will roll your skirt up once. If anyone says anything to you about your diaper, you will tell them you had an accident, and suck your thumb the rest of your time there. Oh, and no bathrooms, of course.”

She didn’t answer. A minute or two later, she came to my room and demanded my car keys, and a key minutes after that, I heard the front door slam, and when I rushed to my window, I could see her wearing the skirt. I considered calling up a friend and asking for a ride to the mall, wanting to see if she was really going to do it, but if she had seen me, it would have been too suspicious. The next Monday, however, I snuck into her room while she was at school, and sure enough, there was a package of diapers in her closet, bigger than mine.

I want you to know, it took all of my strength as a good big sister not to make her wear them to school. I think she was afraid I would find out about them, because a couple days later, she brought them into my room, and put me into the thickest set of diapers yet, using one of them as the top layer. When she saw me trying to walk in them, she just laughed and smacked my butt – I could barely feel it through all the layers – and told me I had to crawl for the rest of the day, like the little baby I was. She made me stay in them all day while she was at school, then, when she got home, she plopped me down in front of the TV in the living room with Sesame Street blaring, and didn’t let me move until mom’s car pulled into the driveway, so I was crawling like mad to try to get into my room before she could see me like that.

And still, I resisted. I did make her go to the mall again the next Saturday, though, this time for two and a half hours, and with a pacifier, which she took from my room while she was getting my keys, though I guess she kept a few of her diapers in her own room for just such an occasion. For her part, she slipped a trio of suppositories into me and double diapered me, and told me not to change until she got home, without telling me how long that would be. I was so used to her not suspecting me anymore, I almost complained about how long it would be – not that I hadn’t been in messy diapers longer thanks to her – but I stayed quiet, and halfway through her time at the mall, with the mess in my pants already cold and even more icky than usual, I told her to start sucking the pacifier, and not stop until she got home.

Haven’t you been listening? Of course I sound proud of myself! Didn’t you hear what she was doing to me? Compared to that, my little jokes were nothing!

Anyway, that pretty much brings us to tonight… Halloween. I have to admit, I’ve been dreading tonight for a long time. This is the one night Adriana could take me out, all diapered up, and not have to risk too many stares or questions. I was sure she’d take advantage of it, maybe stick me in my old Saint Mary’s uniform and a few diapers and parade me around town. Or leave me behind to pass out candy like that while she had fun. Instead… Well, you can see. She didn’t even make me wear one diaper under this cheerleading uniform; in fact, she moved all my baby stuff out of my room, so I guess maybe she’s gotten tired of all this. I have to say, this costume does look pretty authentic – I’m not sure where she got it.

I was also pretty surprised that she let me – well, made me – tag along with her friends. They all barely dressed up, just wearing cat ears and painting whiskers on their faces, or wearing those t-shirt “costumes” or whatever, but they weren’t planning on trick or treating. We hit the principal’s house first, egging it and smashing some jack-o-lanterns, then went on to some teacher’s house. And then we came here.

O-Oh, when I say “we” did those things, I mean they did them. I-I mean, I was there, but I didn’t actually do anything, I swear! I swear! I didn’t touch a single roll of toilet paper, and I would never touch your pumpkins! I’m sure you worked really hard on them! And I don’t even go to that school, like I said, so honestly, I don’t even know why they came here in the first place…

Someone rang your doorbell? That’s strange… No, that wasn’t me. I was just standing back until you came out, and then in the chaos of trying to get away, I tripped over something and fell, and you caught me. I did wonder if someone had tripped me, but I didn’t…

Umm… No, sorry, I don’t know your daughter. I told you, I’m not really a cheerleader, I don’t go to that school. Anything the cheerleaders did to tease her or whatever, I’m sorry about, but I had nothing to do with it! Ow! I’m telling the truth! Stop! Ow! Stooop! Weren’t you listening?! No, don’t take down my panties! No! Ouch! Stop! I-I’ll give you my sister’s number, and you can go get her and punish her! It’s her fault! Just stop spanking me! Ow!

Y-Yes ma’am… Y-Yes, I’ll stand over here and be good… Wh-What? Oh… Umm… Th-Thank you for spanking me, ma’am… No, I promise, I won’t go anywhere… You can go do whatever you’re going to do, I’ll be a good girl…

Why are you taking my phone? Oh, please don’t call my mom! Wh-What? But that’s not fair! I told you I didn’t do anything! Why are you doing this to me?! I’m sorry! I didn’t meant to turn around! I was just… Who is this? No, I don’t know! Oh, your daughter? I told you I didn’t know her… She got suspended, huh? What for?

Br-Breaking dress code, huh? Her skirt was too short? Well, that’s… umm… A-Adriana was trying to help her get onto the cheerleading squad? I-I told you, I didn’t mean for anyone else to get involved! It’s not my fault, it’s Adriana’s! No, don’t give her the hairbrush! I already got one spanking! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen!

Wh-Where are you going now? Don’t leave me alone with her! N-No, I didn’t know you had another daughter… She’s not going to spank me, too, is she? Oh, thank God… Wait, no! Don’t get one of her Huggies! No, please, you can’t! Y-Yes, I did say I could fit baby diapers, but… No, please don’t diaper me! It’s not my fault your daughter got tangled up in this! It’s not! Why won’t you believe me?!

Y-You do? Then why are you..? Well, yes, I am the older sister, but… But I told you, Adriana has… Ow! I’m sorry! S-So, you… You’re punishing me because you DO believe me? But that’s not fair! This isn’t – ow!

There she goes… Listen, kid, I promise, I never meant to get you suspended. You don’t have to do this! I just… Wait, what?! Adriana got onto the squad three weeks ago?! But… But she… Oh, that little bitch. I’m going… Ouch! What? No, I don’t care what she promised you, she doesn’t have a car! She’s been using mine, and she can’t let you use that! W-Well, because it’s mine! N-No, I don’t guess I’d need it at Saint Mary’s, but… But I don’t…

Oh, God, that’s her plan, isn’t it? She’s going to get me sent back to Saint Mary’s! I just told your mom everything, and now she’s calling mine… Oh, shit…  Adriana moved all my baby stuff… Mom is going to think I was lying about what she did to me, but I bet Adriana has the diapers she bought out in her room… Mom is going to kill me! She’s going to drive over here and find me in a cheerleading uniform and a Huggie, and she’s going to take me straight to Saint Mary’s! Please, you have to help me! Just… put the hairbrush down, and let me go! Please! You don’t understand!

Ouch! No, please, stop! Stop! I am twenty three, I can’t go back to school again! I don’t belong in diapers! Please, just let me go! Stop! Ow! Please, please! You don’t understand! Before my mom came to pick me up there, they told me they were going to demote me back to kindergarten! I’m an adult, I can’t go back to learning my letters and numbers and fingerpainting and naptime… Especially not in diapers! I wasn’t even in diapers the first time I was in kindergarten! Please, you can’t let them do this to me! Just put down the brush and let me…


Author’s Note: Well, this kind of unintentionally turned into “Revenge-Gone-Wrong Halloween” for me. I hadn’t really intended for both of my stories to have such similar themes, but I guess that’s just how it goes sometimes. Hope you enjoyed them anyway, and Happy Halloween!

My Self-Imposed Punishment

My Self-Imposed Punishment

“Stay out of trouble,” my mother tells me, and I roll my eyes. I have to wonder, sometimes, if she actually realizes that I’m 22, not a kid anymore. Or, at least, not technically…

“Okay,” I agree, just to get her out of the house more quickly. I give her a kiss on the forehead and watch her leave, slipping back into my room, heart starting to flutter in my chest. I walk back over to my desk, turn the monitor back on and stare at the webpage.

“The Princess’s Castle,” it reads. “155 posts, last published on July 18, 2011.” My eyes flick down to the clock on my taskbar, the one that tells me it’s now July 30th, nearly two weeks later. More than ten days, and I hadn’t posted so much as a single caption, a snippet of a story. That was, I couldn’t deny, rather naughty of me. I open my word processor and sort through my notes, even though I know there’s no way I’ll be able to get any of those stories done enough to post in the next few days. I browse through my pictures, too, the ones I’d earmarked after spending a semi-desperate morning looking through my collection. There are definitely some with potential, and I can see captions brewing inside them… But I just don’t think I’ll be able to draw them out anytime soon.

There is, I know, no two ways around it. I’ve tried to make myself sit down and get some work done for the past couple days, and it’s done me no good. I’m tempted to try again, to let it slide, but I can’t do that. My parents are gone for the rest of the day, and most of the night – what they’re doing tomorrow, I don’t know, and I don’t know how much of Monday I’ll have to myself, and by then it will have already been two full weeks. No, I need a punishment, and if I’m going to have it, it has to be now.

The thought makes me squirm a little as I reach over and turn my monitor back off, then stand up from my chair and unbutton my jeans, sliding them down over my legs and leaving them in a pile on the floor. On top of those goes my underwear, then my shirt and bra, leaving me standing here, naked, blushing slightly, despite being alone, in my room, door closed. I walk over to my dresser, pulling out a plain pink cotton camisole first, which I slip over my head and pull down over my tummy. It’s old, which is part of the reason I like it, and wear it when I’m in little mode, and doesn’t quite reach my belly button.

Then I bend down to pull open my bottom drawer. I know I’m lucky not to have nosy parents, as that allows me to keep my baby stuff pretty easily accessible. I don’t even make any attempt to hide it in here, as I just have to pull it open to see my cloth diapers, folded off on one side, plastic panties beneath them. On the other side are my accessories – my baby bottle, the little container I keep my pacifier in, my tubs of suppositories and (rather icky tasting) fiber supplement, my baby powder and lotion, and, at the bottom, what I’m really looking for. I pull it out, feeling a bit apprehensive, and, honestly, a little excited – it had been so long since I’d used it! – and set it to the side, then take out my powder, lotion, and one cloth diaper.

Then it’s over to my closet, where the other half of my not-so-cunningly hidden stash resides. I push aside my clothes to find the twin packages of diapers, both still mostly full. One is Abena X-Plus, the other Tranquility ATN. I ponder, for a moment, which to use, and then wind up with one of each. The X-Plus gets tossed over to my bed as I fiddle with the ATN, unfolding it and gently ripping the plastic coating before I spread it out and sit myself down on the peach-colored padding, reaching over for the baby powder and sprinkling it liberally onto myself and the diaper, savoring the sweet smell, knowing it wouldn’t be long before my scent was much less agreeable. I squirt in a bit of lotion, too, though after rubbing it in I realize I didn’t think to grab anything to wipe my hands off with. I use my leg, for the time being, though as soon as I’m done I realize my cloth diaper would have worked just as well.

I lie down, pulling the diaper up between my legs and onto my tummy, then tug one side up and fasten the bottom tape before moving on the other side, from there moving up to the top tapes. I grab my X-Plus next and rip its plastic before strapping it on, then, finally, I slide the cloth diaper under me and snap it into place. It’s an All-in-One, so it doesn’t really need plastic pants over it, which is lucky, because I don’t think they’ll go on over all this padding.

That same padding keeps my legs just a bit splayed as I sit up, then stand, giving me a waddle while I fetch my pacifier, and the rest of my punishment. I begin to suck on my paci as I toddle into the kitchen. I go past the bathroom, which is where I know I’ll end up, but the sink in there isn’t quite deep enough for what I need.

In the kitchen, I dump out the bag onto the stove, grabbing the lid, tubing still attached, first. I take it to the sink and rinse both ends, just to be safe, before setting it back on the stove and grabbing the water bottle in its place. It gets a good rinse as well, but when I’m done with that, I let it start to fill. I can’t help but feel apprehensive as the rubber begins to bulge outwards, knowing just what it’s for, where it’s going. In the past, I’ve used cold water, because the cramps that causes feel more like a punishment to me, but I always have a hard time actually holding it for any amount of time, so I try to keep it warm.

I consider adding a little soap, something I’ve never tried, but chicken out. I’m not sure what kind of soap you use for that, exactly, and while I doubt it really makes that much of a difference, I decide against running the risk of trying the dish soap sitting just inches from my hands.

The bag just keeps filling, more and more, and while I know I’ll wind up regretting it, I keep raising the top of it higher, letting more water in, until the bottom is dangling, rather than resting on the bottom of the sink, and I know it’s just as full as it can get. I carefully carry it over the the sink and screw  the lid on, then make my way to the bathroom.

“You don’t really have to do this,” I tell myself. “Nobody’s complained or anything…” But, nervous as the full water bottle in my hands makes me, I know I need it. After all, none of my other attempts to motivate myself have worked, so clearly I need to do something drastic.

I gingerly set the bottle in the sink, wetting the nozzle and then tugging the back of my diapers open. I snake the tube inside, blindly fumbling with it to get it into position before sliding it up into my bottom. I’ve always been a bit of a chicken about it, so I don’t push it in too far, but I can feel its invasive head inside of me, and I know that’s good enough.

I let my diapers snap back into place, feeling the tube running up my back, knowing that it meant there was no backing out now. I mean, yes, technically I could have stopped the whole thing, since I’m the one in charge… But all it will take now is to lift the bottle, and it’s all over. I’ve never backed out once I’ve gotten this far, and I know I’m not about to start now.

But before I can take that final step, I happen to notice my bar of soap, sitting off to the corner of the sink. I knew it was there all the time, of course, but I hadn’t really been thinking about it. I bite my bottom lip as I stare at it, glancing up at my reflection in the mirror, seeing myself standing there like the naughty little girl I am, thick diapers bulging out around my waist, beneath my bare belly button, enema tubing dangling behind me and extending up to the sink.

It’s a punishment I’ve used in my stories often enough, mostly just because it seems like such a juvenile thing to have done to you, but if I’ve ever experienced it myself, I don’t remember it. “I have said some bad words lately,” I remind myself. “Plus, it might not hurt to know what it feels like, first hand…”

I sigh as I decide to indulge myself, picking up the soap and rinsing it off as well. I pluck out my pacifier, setting it to the side, and replace it with the bar of soap. I’m not sure quite what I’m expecting, but it doesn’t really do much, or have much of a taste. Mostly, it just makes my mouth feel fuller. I’m a little disappointed, a little relieved. I almost switch it back out with my paci, then change my mind. Might as well go all the way, now that I’ve started.

My fingers actually shake a little as I reach for the bottle, done messing around. As I reach for the hook, however, I find that it isn’t there. I think back, making sure I’d seen it attached to the bottom when I’d removed it from the bag – I’m fairly certain I did. It must have come off when I was rinsing and filling it. I ponder for a moment, wondering if I should unplug myself for the minute it would take me to go to the kitchen, find it, and return, upon which I’d have to replace it, which I’m not exactly fond of.

It only takes a moment because the answer is pretty clear, even if I do feel silly, toddling through the house, carrying an enema bottle that is already attached to me, mouth full of soap. The hook is right in the sink, where I really should have noticed it, which only makes me feel more ridiculous. I slip it through the hole in the bottom of the bag and make my return trip.

I know it’s pointless – if my parents do return, way ahead of schedule, I’m screwed whether I do it or not, since, even if I do wrap myself in a towel and dash to my room to get dressed, I’ll still have my diapers to deal with – but I close the door anyway, then slide the shower door open and carefully step inside. The enema bag’s hook fits quite nicely on the towel rack, which is, handily, right by the tub.

Finally, I flip the bag over and hang it up, bracing myself for the coming rush of water, fidgeting as I mentally tell myself I’m going to take it all this time, and even hold it for a few minutes, a feat I’ve never pulled off. The warm water, I tell myself, should help with that. In fact, that warmth seems to be working so well that I can’t even feel the water…

I turn back, reaching for the tubing. There’s a spot that’s bent, creased in from where I didn’t coil it up right the first time I put it back in its bag. Usually that doesn’t seem to matter, but now, for whatever reason, I guess it does. I push the sides in, giving the water space to run through. Nothing happens.

“Well,” I think to myself, “maybe this is a sign I don’t need this punishment after all…” I’m definitely starting to notice the soap as more than a gag now – it’s starting to leave an acrid taste in my mouth – and I wonder if that might be enough. I could always use one of my suppositories… Or even an Enemeez, since I still have most of my sample pack of them. It wouldn’t be quite the same, but it might be all I have. I have had the enema kit for a while, and it was awfully cheap. I don’t know how it would have broken, but if it had, I can’t do much about it now.

Just as a test, I lower myself onto my knees, waiting to see if giving more distance between the bag and me would help, but after a little fidgeting, I realize it won’t. I stand back up, not quite sure if I should be disappointed or relieved. I reach up to try one more thing, poking at the swollen red rubber bag that held my fate. It wasn’t a particularly hard poke, yet it was enough, apparently, as almost instantly I feel the water start to gush inside of me, and I bite into the soap in surprise, wrinkling my nose.

As I feel my insides filling up with water, I can tell, almost instantly, that the warmth of the water won’t help as much as I’d thought. Not quite thinking straight, I lower myself onto my knees again, reasoning that it would help me take the rest of the enema more quickly. That’s true, of course, yet not as much help as I expected, since the increased pace put more strain on my body. I unconsciously bite into the soap again, feeling bits and pieces of it sticking to the backs on my teeth, as a spasm rocks my body, and, looking for relief, I send a rush of water back into my diaper.

“Couldn’t even hold it all until the enema is finished!” I reprimand myself. “Bad girl!” It isn’t unexpected, though… It happens most of the time. Usually, it’s enough to loosen the nozzle, send the water meant for me pumping into the seat of my diaper, making me pinch the tubing while I decide whether to bother attempting to reinsert it and continue, or just let the rest of the enema drain into the tub. This time, however, I can still feel the water flowing into me mercilessly.

Before I can even try to loosen my teeth from the soap, they dig in deeper as I feel the cramps starting. I manage, somehow, to stop the first, but after an anxious look at the enema bag that makes me realize I’m only half done, I scramble to my feet, hoping that would slow the rush of the water enough to make it easier to control. Another spurt of water pushes out and into my diaper as I stand, and if it actually helps any, it’s hard to tell.

I shudder a little, the foul taste of the soap growing too much for me in conjunction with everything else. I try to spit my mouthful of suds out, only for it to drip down my face, leaving a damp line of drool on my shirt. Whimpering, I stare back at the bag, wishing it would empty just a little quicker so I could be done with it. It deflates slowly as the cramps begin getting worse, and, at last, my body fights back enough to push the nozzle loose. By now, the bag is hanging mostly limp, so I fish the tubing out of my diaper, let it flop down into the tub, where the last of the water drains out. I watch it flow out, surprised at how little there is – usually, there’s quite a bit more left when I give up.

I don’t have much time to feel proud of myself, though, as seconds later, I let a rush of water into my diapers, thoroughly soaking at least the bottom layer. My body had barely even tried to hold it, and there was no conscious choice in letting go… It had simply happened.

It’s been so long since I’ve given myself an enema, I’m not sure if that’s all I can expect or not. After all that, was it over so quickly? I hope so. Then I can get out of the tub and take out this soap… It’s starting to burn against my tongue now. It’s hard to believe I thought it “wasn’t so bad” when I started… I’ll definitely be watching my language from now on! I let out another line of drool, trying again to expectorate it away from me, again winding up with a wet chin and shirt. It would be much easier to do without the bar of soap, but then, that’s kind of the point, I suppose.

And then, as quickly and unrelenting as the water, my body pushes a load of warm mush into the seat of my diaper, sending it bulging outward even further than usual, proving that it was not, in fact, over. A few moments later, I can feel a second load approaching. This time, I have enough warning I might try to stop it, but what’s the point now? I push, letting my diaper grow all the filthier.

My diapers are sagging quite heavily now, though, luckily, they managed not to leak. The first time I gave an enema to myself, I had leaked, quite badly, which was why I still keep in the tub, even though I know how thickly I need to diaper myself. Still, I’m not about to try sitting in my chair, or anywhere else in the house, in case that’s all it takes to push my diapers too far.

But I can’t change just yet. I didn’t take my whole enema, and I couldn’t even hold it until I’d taken as much as I could. Normally, that might not be so bad, but this is supposed to be a punishment. So, wincing a little, I lower myself down, letting my bottom sink into the squishy mess beneath me as I sit in the tub, turning so that I’m facing the corner. A final, much smaller, round of ickiness pushes its way into my diaper as I sit there, the last of the enema making its exit, making me feel even more thoroughly infantile.

I’m not sure how long I sit there, though probably not as long as I should. The soap gets to be too much for me, though, and I just have to get up and out of the tub so I can take it out. I rinse it off in the sink and set it back on its dish, blushing to see the ridges my teeth dug into it. It’s a good thing my parents have their own bathroom, and only sometimes use mine, so they aren’t likely to notice them, or that might be a little hard to explain.

I spit a few times, trying to remove the excess soap still in my mouth. When I look up at my reflection in the mirror, I wrinkle my nose as I see it caked around my lips. I wipe my face off with my towel before toddling to the kitchen for a glass to rinse my mouth out with. My tongue is still burning – in the back of my mind, I worry that I used the wrong kind of soap for that, too, and poisoned myself or something, though I’m sure I’m just being overly dramatic.

I grab a trash bag and return to the bathroom to start cleaning up, dumping my two thoroughly used disposables into it and tying it loosely closed. My cloth diaper is a bit damp, so I take it to the washing machine and toss it inside, then strip out of my drool-wettened camisole and put it in as well before returning to the bathroom, naked again, to take a quick shower. Feeling clean and fresh, I go to my room and put on another ATN, slipping on the plastic panties over them – they aren’t necessary, but they’re nice to have. I put on my blue Eeyore onesie, snapping it into place under my diaper, feeling it hold the padding snugly and securely against me, then tug on a pair of short black shorts on over that.

I start the washer and grab the garbage bag, taking it outside and setting it in the driveway. There’s a little store a few miles away. It closes in an hour or two, and, by then, there won’t be many people driving the road it’s on. By then, this diaper will probably be nice and wet, and I’ll change into one of my other cloth ones, keeping the rest of my outfit, slipping on a pair of sandals. I’ll carry my wet diaper gingerly out to the bag, adding it to its stinky cargo and re-tying it shut, more securely this time. I’ll toss it into my trunk and drive out to that store to dump the bag off in their dumpster, and no one will be the wiser.

Feeling satisfied that my punishment is mostly over, I return to the kitchen, rinsing my mouth out another time or two before filling my bottle with water. It still tastes a little soapy, but it isn’t so bad anymore, and the burning is starting to go away too, slowly. I make my way back to my room and sink into my chair. I turn on the monitor and stare at the webpage. Punishment or not, it still tells me it’s been 12 days since I last updated it.

And then I have an idea. There’s not much to it, but still, this might make a decent little story. It would be something, anyway, better than just watching the number of days since my last update continue to rise. I suck on my bottle as I gather my thoughts, then open up my word processor and start to type.

The Whole Story

The Whole Story

This is a story I thought up after talking to a few people on Fetlife about various fantasy scenarios that I thought could be kind of fun, plus a few that I came up with on all my own. Enjoy!

I should have known better.

I mean, I didn’t think there would be any harm in it, and, I suppose there wasn’t, except for, you know, to me. It was just a little bet, some silly fun to help pass the long, summer days. My little sister, Adriana, was the one actually on vacation, since, at 16, she’s still in high school. I’m 22, so I shouldn’t really be having a summer break, but since I’m not currently employed, I kind of do. Which, I won’t lie, is nice, because it’s been so hot lately that I don’t know if I’d be able to stand having to go to work every day.

It all started a couple hours ago, when Adriana found the package of Pull-Ups. She’s something of a neat freak, and her idea of things to do during summer vacation is to reorganize her room, or, as she’d been doing that day, cleaning the bathroom we share. I guess I should be grateful somebody does, so I don’t have to, but it’s still weird.

“Hey, look at this,” she said, opening my door and walking in unannounced, sitting down on my bed. I turned from my computer, a little annoyed, to see the half-empty package of Pull-Ups sitting beside her on the bed. “They were under the sink.”

“Those must be Robyn’s,” I mused, staring over at them. “Jeez, it’s been forever since she was over. I can’t believe those are still here.” Mostly because I was shocked it had taken Adriana this long to get her cleaning mits on that particular piece of the house.

“Well, she doesn’t need them anymore,” Adriana looked into the package, poking at the garments. “She’s potty trained now.” I nodded absent-mindedly, starting to turn back to my computer. “You know, I bet you could fit into these.”

I snorted, spinning back around to look at her. “Yeah, right. Robyn’s three and they fit her. I’m pretty sure they’re not going to be able to fit me, too.”

“Oh, come on,” Adriana teased, picking one of them up, holding it up by the sides and stretching it out, distorting the bodies of the three princesses standing on the front. “You’re tiny! It might fit!”

I rolled my eyes, sure that she was wrong – I was small, certainly more petite, in every way, than her, which she never let me forget, though not that small – but also sure that she wasn’t about to give up. “Fine, give it here,” I said, standing and snatching the training pants away from her. She scurried off as I ditched my shorts and panties, then, feeling like an idiot, tugged the Pull-Up over my feet and started to work it up my legs. I felt more and more surprised as I watched it get higher and higher on my body, sure at some point it would reach its limit and rip.

And then it was all the way up. It was tight, padding pressing hard against me, but it was on. I wriggled and moved around, trying to get it to act like it was going to tear, to prove it hadn’t really fit after all, but it seemed quite safe and secure. My cheeks burned at the thought of being in a pair of Pull-Ups, ones that belonged to my little cousin, and actually having them fit…

“Are you done yet?” Adriana knocked on my door.

“Yeah, they, uh… They don’t fit!” I called back, not wanting to admit she had been right after all. I could always just tear the sides once I had them back off, after all, and she’d never know the difference.

“You’re probably just not doing it right!” Adriana opened my door anyway, barging in and then stopping dead in her tracks as she saw me, one hand shooting up to her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her giggling. “Aww, look at you!”

“Shut up,” I flushed, holding my hands in front of my crotch. “It doesn’t really count, they’re tight and…”

“You’re not cheating your way out of this!” she declared. “Now, what should I have you do?”

“What? No, that’s not fair!” I shook my head. “I didn’t think it was a real bet! And you have to define the conditions beforehand!”

“Oh, this is just what I would have had you do anyway,” she waved me off, missing my point. “And it doesn’t matter what you’d have wanted if you’d won, because you clearly didn’t. Hmm… I know! You’re going to use that.” She brushed my hands aside, pointing at the Pull-Up.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to that,” I pouted. Not that it mattered. Adriana always got her way. With our parents, it was because she was the youngest; with me, it was because she’d outgrown me years and years ago, to the point where I could hardly remember what it felt like to actually be an older sibling, other than being done with school a few years before she was.

“Not here, either,” she mused. “I want you to go out and do it.”

“Out where?” I asked nervously.

“Oh, I don’t know. A playground, a store… Wherever you want.” She grinned, going to my dresser and beginning to root through my clothes, finding a pair of pink shorts I hadn’t worn in years. They were shorter than the denim ones I had been wearing, and rather childish looking, but when she tossed them to me, I was still glad to put them on, just to cover the Pull-Up.

“I really don’t…” I started to say as I stood there, awkwardly watching her go through my things.

“I know!” she exclaimed, seemingly not hearing me. She grabbed my hand and dragged me to her room, where she opened up her closet and grabbed a T-shirt from a hanger. “Paula left this here last time she was over, and I keep forgetting to get it back to her.” It was pink as well, with a large badge looking emblem on the center. The top of the design was a unicorn’s head, and the body was divided in two, one half containing an open book, the other what seemed to be a shepherd’s staff.. It looked somehow familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it.

“Come on, off,” she commanded, staring at my shirt. Sighing, I stripped, taking the new shirt and pulling it down over my head. It fit, though it left an inch or two of skin exposed around my midriff, in which I could see the waistband of the Pull-Up. Blushing, I tugged my shorts back up, much to Adriana’s delight. “Sit,” she told me next, gesturing to her bed. She made quick work of separating my hair into pigtails, tying each bunch in place with a pink ribbon, then started applying make-up to my face, stepping back every minute or two to examine her work.

Finally, she pulled a pair of pink and white sneakers from the back of her closet. In addition to being a neat freak, she’s also a pack rat, a combination that shouldn’t work as well as it did. She probably hadn’t worn those shoes since she was six or seven, but I had a bad feeling they’d fit on my feet, no problem, and so they did, once she’d found a pair of white socks to go under them. “There!” she declared, admiring her handiwork.

I was almost afraid to look at what she’d done, but she didn’t give me a choice, dragging me over to her mirror. I was stunned by what I saw there. I liked to think, as most people do once they hit a certain age, that I didn’t look as old as I am… But I never imagined I could look this young. Staring back at me was a girl who was surely Adriana’s younger sister, as she couldn’t possibly be any older than 14 or 15. Knowing about the Pull-Up under my shorts made me feel even smaller.

“Adorable!” she cooed, before scooting me through the house and out the door, grabbing my purse and my keys on the way. “Now go, and don’t come back until your little Pull-Ups are wet, you hear me? You’re not to just sit in the driveway and go there, either… I don’t want to see you again for two hours, at least,” she ordered sternly.

“Wait, you’re not coming with me?” I asked in disbelief. She grabbed my shoulders, spinning me around to face the door and patting my bottom to send me on my way.

“I have other things to do,” she said. “You don’t need a babysitter, do you?”

I had a good idea just what it was she had to do, and that was confirmed when I pulled my car into an empty driveway a few houses down to sulk for a few minutes. Sure enough, Johnny’s car pulled into our own driveway, and when Adriana answered the door, she had her tongue down his throat before they’d even closed the door behind themselves.

I couldn’t believe it. Had she really gone through all that just to get me out of the house? As I thought about it, I realized it had all seemed a little staged, and she was just a little too prepared… But why hadn’t she just asked me to let her have the house to herself for a little while? This was going a little far!

Then again, I suppose if she had asked me that, I would have been able to figure out what was going on anyway. And apparently she didn’t want that. I wasn’t about to barge in now, dressed like this, to walk in on her and her boyfriend doing… whatever they were up to. I hoped they were just making out, though I wasn’t sure if that was just because she was too young, and my little sister, despite appearances, or if I’d be too jealous of her otherwise, since I don’t have anyone to do that with myself.

At the very least, I thought, this would make good blackmail material. If I’d had this to hold over her head – and obviously, if she’d gone to this extreme to get rid of me, she didn’t want anyone to know – I would never have let her do this to me. I stared down at myself in disgust, wondering why she’d chosen to do this in the first place. Was it just her weird sense of humor? Or was it her way of proving her own power to herself, smugly watching me leave, looking so childish, knowing she had some probably rather adult activities awaiting her, things I hadn’t done in a very long time?

The more I thought about it, the more mad I got, and the more determined that I was going to milk this secret for all it was worth. Let her have her fun… When I got back, I was going to be the boss. I’d be the big sister, like I always should have been. She wouldn’t just come barging into my room without knocking anymore, either, that was for sure.

Eventually, however, that fuming got rather boring, so I pulled away and drove off to a store. I didn’t have anything in particular I was looking for, except a way to kill the time before returning and letting Adriana know how badly her silly little plan had backfired. I finally settled on trying on sunglasses, my purse resting on a shelf beside me while I modeled them in the glasses display mirror. I knew they would look better once I had this make-up off and the pigtails gone. I was considering heading to the bathroom to do just that, and to take care of some other business, since Adriana wouldn’t be in any position to ask why I’d broken the terms of our bet when I was through with her, only to feel a hand close around my arm.

“Shouldn’t you be in school, young lady?” a voice asked from above.

I squirmed, trying to tug my arm free, cheeks flushing to match my outfit. I didn’t want to explain how old I really was, so instead I simply pointed out, “Umm, it’s summer,” with a squeak.

I stared into the mirror, seeing a large, unhappy looking woman looming under me. Under her angry gaze, even just through the reflection, I felt about the age I looked, if not younger. “Saint Mary’s summer vacation ended a week ago,” she informed me.

I started to roll my eyes, ask her why she thought that, even if I was young enough, I went there, when I glanced down to see the reflection of the crest on my shirt. Of course… That’s where I knew it from. Obviously, I’d seen the little robots… umm, I mean students… that came from the boarding school on the edge of town walking around with it on their blazers, though I hadn’t realized Paula went there. “I-I’m just borrowing this shirt from a friend!”

“We’ll see about that,” the woman replied. “Now, where are your parents?”

“At work…” I answered meekly, and honestly.

She spun me around, continuing to glare, apparently to let me know she wasn’t fooling around. “I know you’re not old enough to drive yourself here. Where are they?” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. As my mind blanked, the woman shook her head and began to drag me away. I tried to plant my feet, to stop her, only to realize that while it might have slowed her down a little, it also made me look like a spoiled brat, refusing to move until my mommy bought me what I wanted.

As soon as she happened across another “grown-up”, who happened to be a woman only slightly younger looking than her, she thrust me in front of her, demanding to know, “Is this your daughter?” The other woman just shook her head, but that didn’t discourage her, as she immediately began tromping off towards the next aisle.

“Look, this is all just a mistake,” I told her, shrinking slightly as she gave me a look. “I’m not really a kid, okay? I’m 22! So just let me go, and…”

“Twenty-two?” she snorted. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

My cheeks burned. “It’s true!” I protested, though it came out as more of a whine. “Just look at my…” I let out a gasp as I reached for my purse. “Wait, we have to go back… I left…”

“I’ve had enough of your nonsense,” she declared. “Unless you’re going to tell me where your parents are to make this easier on me, I don’t want to hear another word out of you, young lady.”

“No, but I need it!” I cried, tugging at her seemingly unbreakable grip. “You can’t do this!”

But clearly I was wrong about that. Despite my fighting, I found myself being dragged through the entire store, presented before everyone who looked like they could possibly be old enough to have given birth to me. I could only pray that none of my friends were shopping that day. And, to make things worse, my bladder just kept feeling more and more full. At first, I was too embarrassed to say anything about that, but as I began to realize just how long it was going to take to do what she had planned, I knew waiting was not going to be an option.

“Look, can you just let me go to the bathroom?” I asked nervously. It felt ridiculous to have to ask permission, and even more so to be completely ignored. “Come on, let me go!” I tried a few minutes later.

“You aren’t getting away that easily, little missy,” she informed me, only tightening her grip.

“B-But…” I whimpered, fidgeting as I felt a few drops of urine fall into the padding wrapped tight around my groin. I stopped, feeling them soak in, followed by a sudden cold sensation. At the shock of it, I sent another spurt of pee into my pants, which sent a wave of coolness over my privates. I hadn’t paid much attention to the package, though now, as I thought about it, standing there, shivering slightly, though more from the surprise than the actual temperature, there had been snowflakes on these Pull-Ups, rather than the traditional flowers or stars. They must have been those Cool Alert ones, designed to make sure the toddler really knew that they’d gone… Which I hadn’t needed any help with, thank you very much.

Another tug got me moving again, the padding squishing slightly between my legs now. I was going to need a plan, I realized, or I’d be spending all day doing this, and I’d have no hope of escaping the fate of completely emptying my bladder into my Pull-Ups. “All right!” I squeaked. “I’ll take you to my mom.”

A smile crossed the woman’s place, making her look far more pleasant than I’d expected she could be. “That’s more like it,” she nodded.

“They’re back the other way,” I said, pointing back the way we’d come, back towards the sunglasses, where I would get my purse back, and my ID, and then I’d be free. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I suppose I was just too shocked at what was happening to think straight, though now it does seem like the obvious thing to do.

I feel like I should mention here that it had been quite a while since I’d been to the bathroom before Adriana came barging into my room, and I’d been shopping for a fair amount of time before the woman showed up. And, much as I hate to admit it, we’d already covered a lot of the store before I came up with that ruse. Plus, as I mentioned, I’d already gone some, and my bladder doesn’t seem to realize that when I go a little, it’s emptier… In fact, it only makes it feel more full, until it drains completely…

In an effort not to completely soak my Pull-Up in front of this stranger, I’d been doing a lot of wiggling about, but it was only then that it got bad enough that I had to press my free hand between my legs, pushing the damp padding deeper into my private parts in an effort to keep them in check. All my twitching and flailing the woman didn’t notice, but that got her attention fast. “Just what do you think you’re doing, young lady?” she demanded, stopping in her tracks and staring down at me.

I was too embarrassed, and too deeply involved in my quest to stay dry(-ish) that I couldn’t answer, yet she still figured it out after a moment. “Oh, I recognize that little dance,” she said. “You really do have to go, don’t you? I’m sorry, dear. Come on, then.”

At last, relief was in sight! I smiled and nodded, hurrying alongside her, heading for the bathroom… Only to spot a group of my friends an aisle over. I assume they weren’t there together on purpose, as they had stopped to chat right at the end of the aisle.

“A-Actually, let’s go to the bathroom at the other end of the store,” I said quietly, tugging the woman in the opposite direction.

“Nonsense,” she told me. “We’re almost there.”

“Yes, but… My mother is this way, so you can just drop me off with her…”

The woman’s eyes flashed. “You told me she wasn’t over there.”

“Y-Yes… W-Well…” I stammered, trying to think my way out of that one.

She yanked me away, luckily away from my friends. “I was almost willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, to think that this is your parents’ fault… I was going to let them know how important it is to keep children like you in school unless they have an extremely good excuse. But now I’m beginning to think this is all your doing. Did you tell them that you were still on summer break? Hmm? You dispicable little liar…”

It was somewhere during this that the levees broke. To be perfectly honest, I almost didn’t notice at first, until I felt a fresh coolness start to spread around my bottom. As the realization of what had caused it came over me, I could feel myself peeing, letting go more and more into my Pull-Up, but there was no stopping it now. I could feel the padding swelling up between my legs as it soaked it up, growing fuller and fuller…

The fact that I was still being led around by the woman didn’t help, either, the constant motion making it very hard to even try to stop myself. And, in the end, I didn’t – my body just ran out of urine to dump into my pants. I let out a sigh of relief that I hadn’t leaked; not a second later, I felt it, a droplet, purely warm this time, not turning cold like the rest of it had, making its way down my thigh.

I looked down in horror, where I could clearly see that drop. When I glanced a little higher, I was even more unhappy to see a wet spot on the crotch of my shorts. It wasn’t huge, but it was humiliating to see it, knowing what it meant. I’d used my Pull-Ups, and not only that, I’d used them so much they couldn’t hold it all. I was mortified. Without realizing it, I stopped in my tracks.

“What is it now?” the woman demanded, turning to see what the hold up was now. My head snapped up to face her, my cheeks burning. I prayed she wouldn’t notice, that the spot was small enough that it would escape her notice. She narrowed her eyes at me as I stood there, willing her to look away, squirming. Unfortunately, my motion squeezed another drop of urine from the completely saturated lining of my Pull-Up, and I felt it begin its trip down my inner thigh.

Her eyes snapped to it at once, then followed it up to the wet spot. “You didn’t…!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. Then, somehow, she found a way to make it all even worse as she bent forward and pulled open the front of my shorts, looking down right at my Pull-Up. I wanted to die right there. “I thought that didn’t look like a normal accident,” she shook her head. “How old are you?”

“I’m 22,” I squeaked, staring down at my feet, scuffing one pink sneakered foot on the floor as I watched the drops of my own pee sliding down it, reminding me of my state. My answer sounded ridiculous even to me, and it was obvious she wasn’t buying it, either.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” she shook her head. “I’ve had enough of fooling with you, young lady. I’ll take you back to St. Mary’s myself, and they can call your parents and sort all this out. But I’m not about to let you in my car like that.”

“Then don’t,” I protested half-heartedly, too humiliated to put much effort into it.

She didn’t even seem to notice as she began dragging me back through the store, each step wringing more wetness from my Pull-Up, making the wet spot on my shorts bigger, or sending more wetness down my legs and into my socks. This time, she seemed to know exactly where she was going, while I had no idea what she was planning, not until she stopped and I glanced up from my feet, jaw dropping as I found myself surrounded by row after row of diapers.

“No way,” I shook my head. “There is no way I’m wearing a diaper!”

Again, she apparently didn’t notice, or simply ignored me. I’m not sure which would have been worse, that I was so mortified by my experience that I couldn’t make myself heard, or that she saw me as just a kid, not even worth paying attention to even when we were talking about my own wardrobe.

“A youth sized diaper would probably fit you better,” she mused while I stood there, uncomfortably scanning the aisle, ducking my head whenever someone passed by, praying they wouldn’t come in and see me standing there. “But if a Pull-Up will fit you, I bet a baby diaper would, too, and the way you’ve been acting, that seems more appropriate, don’t you think?” I shook my head vehemently, but she just kept going. “And look, Pampers are on sale! I guess that settles it, then.”

“No,” I whimpered, staring at the package as she took it down, seeing the toddler on the front and knowing I was about to be dressed like her, the Disney Princesses on my Pull-Ups replaced with even more juvenile Sesame Street characters, the faux underwear design gone in favor of tight, inescapable tapes. I could remember Robyn, when she was younger, toddling around in diapers that looked just like this… Now she was potty trained, and I was about to be put back in them. As I stood there, contemplating my fate, a final burst of pee forced its way out of me, sending fresh trickles down my legs, reminding me that, much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t entirely blame her for thinking I did need diapers.

“Hmm,” she said, watching me squirm, “then again, maybe these aren’t absorbent enough.” She started to look over towards the bigger diapers, then shook her head, picking up a pack of baby wipes instead. “We’ll just double up. Come on, then.”

“No,” I tried again, voice going even quieter now, feeling even more self-conscious. “I won’t do it!”

Finally, the woman gave an indication that she heard me, though unfortunately it was by smacking my wet bottom and sternly saying, “If you were my daughter, you’d be getting a lot more than that. You should be thanking me for taking care of you, not constantly whining.”

“But…” I protested, rubbing my bottom poutily, only to find, to my horror, that there was a wet spot forming back there, too. Once again, she was back to pretending I didn’t exist, so I stayed quiet, trying desperately to think of a way to get myself out of this mess. I glanced around as I hurried to keep up with her, looking for something I could use to my advantage, only to accidently find myself looking right into the eyes of Julie, one of my friends. She was still hanging out with the group, though they’d moved to a slightly different spot. My eyes stayed on hers for a few moments, hoping she didn’t see me, that she wouldn’t recognize me, and then I was tugged along.

I do wonder now if I should have just bit the bullet and called out to her, asking for help. Sure, I didn’t want them to see me, much less realize what I was wearing, but even that would have been better than what wound up happening, right? I’m not even sure.

When we passed the sunglasses display, I started to pull on her hand, trying to get closer, to be able to grab my purse and end this madness. If anything, it just made her take me in the opposite direction more quickly. As I watched the sunglasses get further and further away, taking with them my last chance at getting out of this before finding myself Pampered, I demanded, “Stop!”

To my surprise, she did, though I also got the attention of seemingly everyone around me. I felt their eyes turn to me, and, I was sure, especially to the damp spot on my shorts, and my face turned bright red. “Well, what is it now?” she asked impatiently.

I almost couldn’t speak. The rest of the customers were moving on now, though I could see the smaller children pointing at me, their mothers whispering about how it wasn’t polite, and a few actual teenagers were snickering to see someone they perceived as one of their own in my situation. “M-My purse,” I finally managed to spit out. “It’s right over there, and we can clear this whole thing up… Please…”

She glared down at me, and for a minute, I was sure it wasn’t going to work. Then, at last, she sighed and said, “Well, lead on then.” She didn’t let go, but this time when I tugged at her hand, she followed. I made my way over to the display, turned to the shelf I’d rested my purse on… And it was gone.

“N-No…” I squeaked. “It was here, I put it here! Then you took me away, and someone must have stolen it!”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure they did. Come on, you’ve wasted enough of my time, young lady.”

“No,” I sniffled, staring back at the empty shelf as she took me away. “It was there… I know it was there… I’m not a kid…”

As my one stroke of luck, she managed to find an empty checkout lane to escort me to. It was staffed by a girl, a cute little thing probably a few years younger than my real age, who hid a rather obvious giggle as she stared from the diapers she was scanning to me, clearly knowing what was going on.

“I suppose your money was in your purse that supposedly got stolen, too, wasn’t it?” the woman asked. The only thing I could do in response was blush, yet again. “That’s what I thought. “Excuse me, miss, but do your bathrooms up front have changing stations, or is it just the ones in the back? And could I get an extra bag?”

“They all do,” the cashier reported happily. “And here you go. You two have a good day!”

I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen, and my suspicion was only confirmed as I found myself being dragged into the ladies’ room, back to the changing stall. With a surprising display of strength, she pulled the changing table down from the wall and lifted me onto it, pushing me back onto the hard plastic. “Now, are you going to be good?” she asked, “or do I need to strap you down?”

“Just let me go,” I whimpered, starting to sit up.

She sighed, pushing me back down and reaching for the strap, pulling it tight across my tummy, holding me in place. I was a little surprised the changing table held me, but it gave no sign of my weight causing any strain, and while my legs did hang over the edge from the knees down, the rest of my body fit onto it well enough, giving the woman easy access to my shorts, and what was beneath.

“Look at what a mess you made,” she shook her head, examining me. Now that I was standing still, rather than walking, the air against my wet legs felt especially cool, giving me goosebumps. As I wiggled my feet in the sneakers, they felt quite damp, as did the sodden padding beneath my bottom. I certainly had made quite a mess, I had to agree.

With that, she tugged off my shoes, then my socks, holding them by her thumb and forefinger as she dropped them into the spare bag. Then she reached up towards the waistband of my shorts. Frantically, I snatched for it as well, getting my hands smacked in return until she grew frustrated with that. She undid the strap, making me think, for just a moment, that she was fed up with me and ready to leave me to fend for myself. Then, instead, she grabbed my arms and pushed them closer to my belly, so that when she quickly re-did the strap, they were caught underneath, leaving me helpless to stop her.

“Please, don’t do this,” I pouted, thrashing uselessly back and forth.

“I really hope you’re new to St. Mary’s,” she said as she yanked down my shorts, depositing them into the bag as well. “I’d hate to think I’m sending my daughter to a school that would tolerate your behavior for long.”

“I don’t go to St. Mary’s!” I tried to tell her again. “I don’t go to any school! I’m an adult!”

“Oh, really?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she ripped the sides of the Pull-Up, sliding it out from between my legs and holding it up in front of me. “Does this look like something an adult would do?”

I couldn’t very well answer, since I knew the answer was no, but also knew that’s what she wanted to hear. She turned and threw the sodden garment away in the trash can at the corner of the stall before returning to me, now tied down and naked from the waist down. I tried again to free my arms, wanting to cover myself, not wanting another woman to see me like this, so exposed.

“Calm down,” she told me, bending down to pick up the bag of her purchases, removing the baby wipes first. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, even though I haven’t had to do this for my own daughter in a very long time.” I shivered at the cool, damp touch of the baby wipes against my sensitive skin, knowing that every inch they touched, she was getting a full view of. It was even worse than it could have been, as I had just had a full Brazilian not a week earlier, getting myself ready for bikini season. Now, instead of a sexy swimsuit, I was about to find myself in a Pamper.

Finally, after what I felt was far too long, she moved on from my crotch and started to clean my legs, all the way down to my feet. Other than still being naked, I have to admit that was nice. I felt dirty and gross, knowing the wetness there was from my own pee, and the damp feeling the wipes left behind was much fresher and cleaner, and I was grateful for it after walking around in a leaky Pull-Up for so long.

But after that came the worst part, as she threw the used wipes away, put the other back in the bag, and brought out, instead, the Pampers. “No, no,” I sniffled. “Please don’t….”

She ripped open the package, pulling a pair of the diapers out. She laid one, still folded up, on my stomach, heaving from my rapidly failing attempt not to burst into tears. The other one she unfolded and slipped beneath my bottom. Almost before I knew what was going on, she had it up between my legs, and then taped tightly in place. Before I could adjust to that, she had the second one off my tummy and over the other one. Then she put my sneakers back on my feet, un-did the strap, and lifted me down.

Even one of the diapers were even thicker than the Pull-Up, and with two, I had to stand with my legs slightly apart. They bulged out beneath my shirt, completely visible and obvious, and when she grabbed my hand and began leading me out of the stall, they gave me a bit of a waddle. I should have stopped her right away, but I was too flabbergasted by what had just happened. I was diapered. Even if I managed to get home, Adriana would find me in Pampers, rather than the Pull-Up she’d left me in, and whatever blackmail I had against her for what she was doing with her boyfriend would be invalidated by my new state.

So it was only when I saw her start to open the stall door that it hit me what was about to happen. “No!” I whined, running in front of her and blocking the door. “I can’t go out there like this!”

“Your shorts are soaked,” she told me. “I’m not putting them back on you, and you certainly are not about to get in my car wearing them. I’m parked close to the entrance, don’t worry. And I have one of my daughter’s extra skirts in my car you can wear.”

“I won’t do it!” I declared, in no uncertain terms. “I won’t!” I stomped my foot angrily, refusing to give in.

She picked me up and slung me over her shoulder, leaving my diapered bottom entirely on display. I went limp at first, the blood rushing to my head, but as I watched the bathroom floor streaming by beneath me, I began fighting again, for all the good it did me. She carted me to the store’s entrance, and then outside, with me screaming and crying all the while, then set me down  my what I presumed to be her car, dropping the bags so she could snatch my wrist when I tried to run off while unlocked her trunk at the same time. She put the bags in there, and pulled out a short, pleated, plaid skirt from inside, wrapping it over my diaper.

“I hope you know what a fool you made yourself look like in there,” she lectured as she led me, now clothed, to the passenger’s side back door of her car, unlocked it as well and putting me inside, fastening my seatbelt for me. She closed the door and then went around the car to her own seat, continuing once she sat and started the engine. “You think anyone in there would have believed your ridiculous story about being 22? I doubt they’d even believe you’re 13, or 14, or whatever you really are, since you were acting just like a naughty toddler.”

She was, once again, right, and, since I couldn’t deny it, I just sat there in her back seat, sulking. After a few minutes, it dawned on me where she was taking me, and I knew I needed to stop her. “I can tell you my address,” I volunteered meekly. “You can just drop me off there…”

“I hope you don’t seriously think I’ll believe you after all that,” she scoffed. “You’re going right to St. Mary’s, to the headmistress’s office, young lady. She’s going to hear all about this, and you can bet she won’t be as kind as I’ve been.”

And… umm… That’s where I am now, obviously. On the way to your office, we ran into Paula, unfortunately. She recognized me right away, and I could see an evil glint in her eye as she saw me standing there in her shirt and a plaid skirt just like hers.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” she said, all polite, “what are you doing with my roommate?”

And, much to my horror, the woman told her the whole story while I stood there, turning paler and paler, wishing I could sink into the floor. Every now and then, Paula would speak up helpfully, telling the woman that I must have hitched a ride into town, since I’d been there this morning, that, given my bedwetting – which is a total lie, by the way! I haven’t wet the bed in years! – she isn’t surprised I had such a big accident during the day finally.

“I feel so bad,” Paula shook her head. “They let me room with her even though she’s younger than me because she’s such a trouble-maker, and they thought I could help straighten her out, but she just won’t listen. I’ve tried everything!”

Then the woman comforted her. Her! “I’m sure you tried your best, dear. I’ve seen her, and she was almost more than I can handle. I’m not surprised you couldn’t get through to her, either.”

While the woman was in here talking to you, Paula stayed with me, watching me like a hawk. She even flipped up my skirt and took a picture of my diaper with her cell phone! She’s not supposed to have that, right? But, anyway, she sent that to my sister, who texted a message back to her saying that she was going to tell our parents that I was visiting a friend in another state so they wouldn’t worry about me for a while.

So, there you go, ma’am, the whole story! As you can see, those two are both lying! Well, I guess only Paula is really lying… But the woman just doesn’t understand what’s going on, so you can’t trust her. What? N-No, I didn’t know that Paula had reported that she’d caught me masturbating in my diapers last night, but like I said, she’s a liar and…

Umm, yeah, I assume Mary is your patron saint. Which one? I have no idea. Jesus’s mom, I assume. Mary of Egypt, huh? No, I’m not Catholic, so I don’t know what she’s the saint of. Ch-Chastity? Okay, yeah, I could see where the whole masturbation thing might be a problem, then, if I was a student and all, and it was true, but I’m not, so…

Wait, who is that? Why did you invite a nurse here? What does she have? Locking plasic pants? What for? For after what?!

Where did you get that schedule? That’s not mine! That isn’t my name! Did Paula give you that?! That’s fake! What are you writing on it? No, look, I don’t need diapers, and I don’t even go here, so I don’t need to go to the nurse for anything, much less for a change every three hours! No, stop writing that! I don’t need extra-thick diapers at night! I’m not a bedwetter! Stop talking to the nurse, I’m sitting right here! It’s not up to her whether I need extra thick diapers during the day, too! It’s up to me what I wear! I am an adult and…

Well, I’ve had about enough of you, too. Good, send the nurse off… Listen, I just need you to take me to my house, and I can prove… Wait, why is she bringing Paula and that woman back in? Wh-Why are you getting that paddle down?

Y-You believe me, don’t you?