Anyone have any abdl humiliation type stories let me know please

(I’m pasificly looking for story with females wear diapers, not males)

When I say “hypnotic trigger“ I mean from stuff like, when one character snap their finger the other falls into a suggestive state, to seeing a certain color causing someone to start humping whatever’s closest to them, or just hearing a certain phrase, like “mess” making them poop themselves!

The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 41: Crumbling Apart

The morning light filtered softly through the cracks in the shutters, illuminating the room in faint, muted hues. I stirred beneath the rough blanket, the crinkle of the mattress cover beneath me rousing me further. For a brief, blissful moment, I forgot where I was, lost in the haze of waking. But then the events of the day before came rushing back, and I felt the now-familiar bulk beneath my dress, damp and humiliating, reminding me of the reality I couldn’t escape. I had awakened sometime during the night to soak my diaper before falling back asleep.

Across the room, Clara was shifting uncomfortably, her movements restless and uncharacteristically awkward. I blinked groggily, turning toward her as the faint rustle of her diaper reached my ears. Her back was to me, her hands gripping the edge of her blanket tightly, her shoulders tense.

“Clara?” I asked softly, my voice still thick with sleep.

She stilled at the sound of my voice, her shoulders stiffening further before she let out a shaky breath. “I—I’m fine,” she muttered, though the strain in her voice betrayed her. She shifted again, her movements stiff and uneasy, and I realized what was happening.

“It’s part of the punishment,” she added after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. “She... she expects us to... use them, doesn’t she?”

The shame in her tone was palpable, and my chest tightened as I sat up, the blanket pooling in my lap. “Yes,” I admitted quietly, my voice soft. “She does.”

Clara let out a faint, bitter laugh, her head bowing slightly. “Figures,” she muttered. “Of course, she’d find a way to make this even worse.”

The silence stretched between us for a moment, heavy and suffocating. I could see the faint tremble in her hands, the tension in her posture, and I knew she was fighting against it, clinging to her pride despite the certainty of what was expected.

“It’s... easier if you don’t fight it,” I said hesitantly, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. I hated that I knew this, hated that I had to advise about something so humiliating, but Clara’s discomfort was impossible to ignore.

She turned slightly, glancing at me over her shoulder with a sharp, skeptical look. “Easier?” she repeated, her voice edged with frustration. “You can’t possibly expect me to just—just let it happen.”

I flinched at her tone but pressed on, keeping my voice calm. “I know it’s awful,” I said quietly. “But fighting it only makes it worse. You’re just drawing it out.”

Clara looked away, her jaw tightening as she shifted again, clearly trying to hold back. “It’s humiliating,” she muttered, her voice thick with shame. “I can’t just... give in like that.”

“I know,” I said softly, my chest aching at the sight of her struggling. “But it’s not about giving in. It’s about surviving. This isn’t forever, Clara. It’s just... for now.”

Her hands clenched into fists, and she let out a shaky breath, her head bowing further. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

“You can,” I said firmly, surprising even myself with the strength in my tone. I slid off the bed, moving to sit on the edge of hers, though I kept a respectful distance. “I’ll help you. Just... take a deep breath. Try to relax.”

She hesitated, her shoulders tense, but after a long moment, she nodded faintly. I could see the flush rising in her cheeks, her embarrassment so raw and unguarded that it made my heart ache. She closed her eyes tightly, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.

“Slowly,” I murmured, keeping my voice soft and steady. “Just let go. It’s okay.”

Clara’s hands trembled in her lap, her entire body stiff as she fought against herself. But gradually, I saw her start to relax, her breaths evening out as she let herself lean into the inevitable. Her face burned crimson, her jaw clenched tightly, and I looked away, giving her what little privacy I could at the moment.

The faint rustle beneath her dress was barely audible, but I knew it had happened when she let out a soft, shaky sob, her head bowing further. My chest ached as I reached out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “You did it.”

She nodded faintly, her face still hidden as she took a deep, shuddering breath. The tension in the room lingered, but I stayed where I was, my hand a steadying presence on her shoulder as we sat in the quiet, letting the moment pass. For now, that was enough.

As the quiet tension lingered in the room, I felt the uncomfortable fullness building in my bladder. The faint ache was a cruel reminder of my predicament, but I shoved it to the back of my mind, focusing instead on Clara, who sat with her head bowed, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

“Come on,” I said softly, standing and motioning toward her bed. “Let’s get you changed.”

Clara’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and anger. “What? Now?” she asked, her voice sharp, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment.

“Yes, now,” I said firmly, though my voice remained gentle. “We can’t stay like this all day. You’ll get used to it eventually, but if we don’t keep clean, Mistress will find a reason to punish us again.”

Clara let out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she nodded. “Fine,” she muttered, though her voice was laced with reluctance. “Let’s just... get it over with.”

I fetched a fresh diaper from the drawer she’d reluctantly filled the night before, the crinkle of the material loud in the stillness of the room. Clara lay back on her bed, her movements stiff and awkward, and I could see the tension in her body as she adjusted herself on the mattress.

Her cheeks were bright red as I lifted the hem of her dress, exposing the swollen padding beneath. “This is so humiliating,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

I didn’t respond, too focused on the task at hand. Gently, I untaped the diaper, the soft sound of the adhesive pulling away making Clara flinch. She avoided my gaze; her fists clenched tightly at her sides as I worked quickly, wiping her clean and setting the used diaper aside before slipping the fresh one beneath her.

“You’ll feel better once it’s done,” I said softly, my voice meant to reassure.

Clara let out a bitter laugh. “Better?” she asked, her tone dry. “Maybe less gross, but it’s still...” She trailed off, her flush deepening as she avoided my gaze.

I secured the tapes of the fresh diaper, smoothing the fabric of her dress back into place before stepping back. Clara sat up slowly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her skirt as she shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks still burning.

“It’s weird,” she muttered after a moment, her voice hesitant. “I mean, I hate this—hate everything about it—but...” She paused, glancing at me briefly before looking away. “It doesn’t feel that bad, I guess. The diaper, I mean. It’s... dry, at least. Surprisingly.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by her admission, but I chose not to press her further. “That’s the point,” I said simply, my voice soft. “It’s supposed to feel like that.”

Clara let out a faint huff, her expression tight. “I still hate it,” she said firmly, though the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease slightly. “But I guess... it could be worse.”

Her words made my predicament all the more pressing. The ache in my bladder was growing harder to ignore, and I shifted uncomfortably, the padding beneath my dress pressing against me with every movement.

“You’re next, aren’t you?” Clara asked suddenly, her sharp gaze flicking to mine. Her tone was neutral, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Go on, then.”

I flushed deeply, my hands twisting in the fabric of my dress as I avoided her gaze. “I... I can wait,” I muttered, though even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true.

Clara snorted softly, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the wall. “Sure you can,” she said dryly, her smirk growing. “You gave me a whole lecture about not fighting it, remember? Your turn to take your advice, Princess.”

Her teasing tone stung, but I knew she was right. Swallowing my pride, I closed my eyes, forcing myself to relax as I leaned into the inevitable. The warmth spread through the padding, the faint squish against my skin making my cheeks burn hotter than ever. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Clara; I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the expression on her face as she sat there, her presence a constant reminder of my humiliation.

The room was stiflingly quiet, save for the faint rustle of fabric as Clara adjusted her skirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing desperately for the moment to pass, for the weight of my embarrassment to lift. But it didn’t—not when I felt the final trickle, not when the warmth settled, and not when Clara’s voice cut through the silence.

“Are you done?” she asked, her tone neutral but edged with something I couldn’t quite place.

I nodded weakly, still unable to meet her gaze. My voice caught in my throat, and I swallowed hard, my nod the only confirmation I could muster. The faintest hint of a sigh escaped Clara, and I heard her stand, the soft crinkle of her diaper barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

“Alright,” she said, her voice more brisk now as she moved toward me. “Your turn.”

I stiffened as she reached for the fresh diaper I had set aside earlier, her movements efficient but not unkind. She knelt beside my bed, her hands pausing briefly as she looked at me expectantly.

“Lay down,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitated, the lump in my throat tightening as I forced myself to obey. The crinkle beneath me was louder than ever as I lay back, my cheeks blazing with heat as Clara adjusted my skirt, exposing the damp, swollen diaper.

Clara’s hands were steady as she worked, her expression unreadable as she untaped the diaper and pulled it away. The cool air against my skin sent a shiver through me, and I bit my lip hard, willing myself to stay still as she cleaned me up with practiced efficiency.

The silence was unbearable, each rustle of the diaper, each movement magnifying the humiliation that filled me. I couldn’t help but feel this was my penance, my retribution for forcing Clara to endure the same just moments ago.

When she finally secured the tapes of the fresh diaper and adjusted my dress back into place, I sat up slowly, my movements stiff and awkward. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Clara, my shame still too raw, but her voice broke the silence once more, softer now.

“There,” she said, brushing her hands off. “We’re even.”

Her words carried no malice, but they still stung, a reminder of the vulnerability we now shared. I nodded faintly, my voice still caught somewhere in my throat as I stood, the crinkle beneath my dress an ever-present reminder of my place.

With fresh diapers snug beneath our dresses, Clara and I moved to inspect each other’s outfits, ensuring everything was immaculate. Clara adjusted the hem of my skirt, her sharp eyes scanning for any creases or imperfections, while I smoothed out her apron, making sure every fold fell perfectly. Our tummies rumbled faintly as we worked, the scent of breakfast faintly wafting through the corridor.

“Good enough,” Clara muttered, stepping back and giving me a brisk nod. “Let’s get moving before we’re late.”

I nodded, my cheeks still warm from the earlier embarrassment as we stepped out into the hallway. The soft crinkle of our diapers accompanied each step, a sound I was certain was loud, though no one else seemed to notice. The faint echoes of other servants’ movements filled the air, but we kept our heads low, walking with purpose toward the dining hall.

As we turned a corner, my heart sank at the sight of Mistress standing ahead of us, her posture rigid and commanding as ever. Clara stiffened beside me, her steps faltering slightly, but she quickly recovered, her gaze dropping obediently to the floor. I followed suit, my chest tightening as we approached.

“Well,” Mistress drawled, her tone laced with condescension as her sharp eyes scanned us. “What have we here? Two little servants, freshly prepared for the day.”

We stopped before her, bowing our heads in unison as she stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor. Her gaze was piercing, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she circled us slowly, her presence suffocating.

“Hands,” she commanded sharply, her voice leaving no room for hesitation.

Clara and I lifted our arms obediently, our skirts rustling faintly as Mistress leaned in, her cold fingers brushing against the fabric. She inspected every detail, smoothing the hems and adjusting the folds with brisk efficiency. When her hands moved lower, pressing lightly against the backs of our skirts, my breath caught in my throat.

She smirked, the faintest sound of the padding beneath our dresses betraying us as she checked. “Clean and dry,” she said with mock approval, her tone dripping with amusement. “Good. You’re learning.”

My cheeks burned as I kept my gaze fixed firmly on the floor, the humiliation coursing through me like fire. Clara didn’t move, her expression unreadable, though I could feel the tension radiating off her.

Mistress stepped back, brushing her hands off as though dismissing us. “Continue to the dining hall,” she said curtly, her tone sharp. “And remember, I will inspect you again before the day is through. Don’t give me a reason to be disappointed.”

“Yes, Mistress,” we murmured in unison, our voices subdued.

She waved a dismissive hand, and we hurried past her, the soft crinkle of our movements seeming louder in the tense silence. My heart pounded as we rounded the next corner, the dining hall now in sight. Clara let out a faint sigh, her shoulders relaxing just slightly.

“She’s going to keep doing this,” she muttered under her breath, her tone laced with frustration.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice trembling faintly. “But at least she didn’t find anything wrong.”

Clara glanced at me briefly, her expression softening just enough to show the faintest flicker of reassurance. “Come on,” she said, motioning toward the dining hall. “Let’s eat before we have to deal with her again.”

I nodded, forcing myself to take a deep breath as we entered the dining hall, the promise of food a small comfort in the otherwise oppressive morning. For now, we had a moment’s reprieve, and I clung to it, knowing it wouldn’t last.

The tension in the dining hall had only grown as Clara, and I made our way through the line, each whispered word and hushed conversation brushing against me like a shadowy hand, tugging at my unease. I forced myself to focus on the simple act of scooping the bland porridge into my bowl, each motion deliberate and careful, but my mind buzzed with questions I couldn’t yet answer.

Clara was unusually quiet, her expression tight as we took our usual seats at a small table near the corner. The usual hum of breakfast felt sharper, more pressing, the air thick with something I couldn’t place. I wanted to ask Clara what she thought, to see if she felt the same unease, but the set line of her jaw warned me to keep my thoughts to myself.

We ate in silence, each spoonful of the meager meal heavy in my stomach. My ears strained to catch pieces of conversation floating through the room, but nothing came into focus. My frustration mounted with each passing moment, the tension in my chest growing unbearable.

Finally, Clara set her spoon down with a quiet clink, her eyes scanning the room before settling on a servant sitting nearby. The girl looked pale, her hands twisting nervously in her lap as she whispered to the girl beside her.

Clara leaned closer, her voice low and sharp. “You,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. The girl startled, her wide eyes snapping to Clara. “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting like this?”

The girl hesitated, her gaze darting between Clara and me. She glanced around the room, her hands still fidgeting as she leaned in slightly. “You haven’t heard?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Clara’s jaw tightened. “Heard what?”

The girl swallowed hard, her voice dropping even further. “The King and Queen,” she said, her words quick and clipped. “They’re to be executed. Today.”

The air left my lungs in a rush, the room tilting around me as her words hit me like a physical blow. The spoon in my hand fell from my grasp, clattering against the table, but I barely heard it over the pounding in my ears. My chest tightened painfully, and I felt the color drain from my face, my hands trembling as I gripped the edge of the table.

“No,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “No, they can’t.”

“They can,” the girl replied, her eyes wide and fearful. “The announcement came this morning. It’s to happen in the courtyard after midday. Everyone is expected to watch.”

Her words were like a knife twisting in my chest, each syllable cutting deeper. I shook my head faintly, my mind reeling, but no matter how much I wanted to deny it, the weight of her statement settled over me like a crushing force.

Clara’s hand shot out, gripping my arm tightly as though to steady me, but her face was pale, her expression grim. “Keep it together,” she said sharply, her voice low. “Lila, breathe.”

I couldn’t. My breaths came in short, shallow gasps, the room spinning around me as the enormity of it all crashed down. The King and Queen—my family—were to be executed. Their lives were to end, and their deaths were to serve as a statement, a show of power, a mockery of everything we had fought to protect.

My vision blurred, my hands trembling violently as I clenched them into fists, my nails biting into my palms. The faint hum of the dining hall seemed to fade away, replaced by the deafening roar of my thoughts.

“They’re going to kill them,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I spoke the words aloud. “They’re going to—” My throat tightened, cutting me off, and I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears burning hot against my cheeks.

Clara’s grip on my arm tightened, her voice cutting through the haze. “Lila, stop,” she hissed, her tone sharp. “Not here. Not now.”

But I couldn’t stop. My world was crumbling, each piece falling away until there was nothing left but the unbearable weight of grief and rage. The King and Queen. My parents by marriage. My family. They were going to die.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

End of Chapter 41, End of Part 2

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Aight this is a experimental story, this is in a fictional world where my kinks are basically the vanilla-sexy things, and our real world vanilla is a weird niche-fetish area.

Begin story, below is a fake title.

TIFU Telling my husband I love seeing him naked. F(25) (nsfw)

It was a warm spring day. Me and my boring vanilla husband were out on a date, munching on some fried chicken, enjoying the nice view of the riverside restaurant.

I really did love him, he added so much stability and love to my life, but I was getting tired of all the diapers, buttplugs, and onesies. Sure, it was nice changing eachother lovingly and making eachother cum our diapers anywhere we went, but I wanted something different, no idea what that was at the time.

After we got home from the date, he went out to get some of the first lawn mowings of the year done. I curled up in our crib and started scrolling on Reddit. Didnt even know what I was doing. As my butt buzzed away, and diaper filled with pee, I clicked on some weird link and it lead to a kinky subreddit with the name an acronym: r/bgnl. No idea what it is but the top hot picture of the day was a man, and his girlfriend doing it raw. First I recoiled but realized it's beauty.

"I barely ever get to see him like that." I thought to myself.

The more I scrolled, I became instantly enthralled with the bare genitals/nude lovers subreddit.

Now comes to the part where I fuck up.

I craved it. I showered, ripped out my buttplug, trashed my diaper, and laid bare on the bed. I was wet thinking about his cock, feeling gross and naughty inside. I heard the lawnmower shut off, and him open the back door. I called him softly to come to the room.

"Coming, my stinky baby" He replied. I was suddenly disgusted our pee and shit.

The door opens.

"What the fuck is this? What are you doing"

My heard clenched.

"I want you to get naked, love. I love your cock and I want you to fuck me deep"

"Get this childish shit out of here! Grow the fuck up or I'm going to need to get a divorce. I'm disgusted."

FML man!!!!!

I just wanted to try a new kink with my husband! I can't get him and his cock out of my head. I've only seen it erect a few times when I teased him while I was changing him. I just wanted it but now my life is being ripped away from me over my new little kink.

The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 40: Surrendered Decency

Clara lay back on her bed, her movements stiff and reluctant as she adjusted herself on the crinkling mattress cover. Her face was carefully blank, but I could see the faint flush creeping up her neck and the tension in her clenched fists. She glanced at me briefly, her sharp eyes softening for just a moment before she nodded toward the fresh diaper in my hands.

“Well?” she said quietly, her voice strained. “Let’s get this over with.”

I swallowed hard, my face burning as I knelt closer, the diaper crinkling faintly as I unfolded it. My hands trembled, and I hesitated, my gaze flicking uncertainly to Clara’s. She didn’t look at me again; her eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling as if willing to be anywhere but here.

With a deep breath, I set the diaper down for a moment as I reached for the waistband of her panties. My fingers felt clumsy and awkward as I gripped the soft fabric, my cheeks burning hotter as I carefully slid them down her legs.

The motion felt impossibly intimate, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at her as I added the panties to the growing pile on her bed.

The silence between us was unbearable, thick with shared humiliation as I adjusted the hem of her dress, folding it neatly over her waist to keep it out of the way. My hands shook as I picked up the diaper again, the soft rustle of the material louder than I could bear.

I worked quickly, my fingers fumbling as I slid the diaper beneath her. Clara didn’t say a word, her face turned away from me, her breathing slow and steady as though she were trying to keep herself calm. I avoided looking at her directly, too ashamed to meet her gaze, as I pulled the front of the diaper up and began fastening the tapes.

The snug sound of each tape securing into place was like a punch to my chest, a stark reminder of just how far we had both fallen. The act of diapering her was humbling in a way I hadn’t expected, the humiliation shared between us but somehow doubled by my role in it.

When I finished, I adjusted her dress back into place, smoothing the fabric over the bulky padding with trembling hands. My throat was tight, my chest aching as I stood, the fresh crinkle beneath Clara’s dress echoing my own as she sat up slowly.

The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating. I couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bring myself to say anything as I stepped back, my hands twisting nervously in the folds of my dress. Clara’s gaze flicked toward me briefly, her expression unreadable, before she let out a soft sigh.

“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice low and almost begrudging. She adjusted her skirt, the faintest hint of a flush still visible on her cheeks. “Let’s just... get through tonight.”

I nodded faintly, my words caught in my throat as I busied myself with tidying up the room. The shame between us lingered, unspoken but palpable, as we prepared for what was to come. For now, all we could do was endure.

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric and crinkle of our diapers as we tidied up, folding clothes and straightening the beds. I focused on smoothing out the wrinkles in my blanket, trying to lose myself in the repetitive motions and avoid the awkward tension that hung between us. But out of the corner of my eye, I caught Clara shifting uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of her dress and shifting her weight from foot to foot.

She was clearly struggling, the faint crinkle of her new "underwear" audible with every movement. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the faint flush creeping up her cheeks and the stiffness in her posture. It was obvious she was unaccustomed to the bulk, and though I hated to admit it, I knew exactly what she was going through.

I hesitated, my hands stilling on the blanket as I debated whether to say anything. Clara wasn’t the type to openly admit when she needed help, and the last thing I wanted to do was embarrass her further. But watching her struggle, the awkward hitch in her step as she moved to the wardrobe, made me swallow my hesitation.

“You’re walking too stiffly,” I said softly, my voice hesitant. Clara froze, her hands still on a stack of panties she was folding, her head snapping toward me with a sharp look.

“What?” she asked, her tone defensive, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.

I shifted nervously, wringing my hands as I avoided her gaze. “You’re... you’re not moving naturally,” I said quietly. “The bulk makes it feel weird at first, but if you try to relax and walk normally, it’ll wrinkle less. It won’t be as noticeable.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t interrupt. Emboldened by her silence, I continued, my voice growing steadier. “And don’t tug at your dress so much. It just draws attention to it. Let the fabric fall naturally—it’ll hide everything better.”

Clara stared at me for a long moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. I could see the conflict in her expression, the faint flush of humiliation warring with her practical side. Finally, she sighed, turning back to the wardrobe and folding another pair of panties before speaking.

“Anything else, Princess?” she muttered, her tone dry but lacking the bite I’d expected.

I hesitated again, but the teasing lilt in her voice was enough to make me press on. “When you sit down,” I said carefully, “don’t plop. Lower yourself slowly. It’ll keep the... uh, sound to a minimum.”

Clara paused, her hands stilling briefly before she let out a faint huff of amusement. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.

My cheeks burned, and I looked away, busying myself with straightening the stack of folded panties. “I’ve had more practice than I’d like,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Clara didn’t respond immediately, but I heard the faint rustle of her dress as she shifted again, testing my advice. When she moved to sit on the edge of her bed, her movements were slower more deliberate, and the faint crinkle was noticeably quieter.

“Not bad,” she said finally, her tone begrudging. “I guess you’re good for something after all.”

I looked up at her then, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at her lips despite the tension in her shoulders. For the first time since Mistress’s office, the weight between us seemed to lift just slightly, and I couldn’t help but return the faintest smile of my own. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

The faint echo of footsteps in the hallway sent a chill down my spine. Clara and I exchanged a glance, her expression unreadable but her posture suddenly stiff. My chest tightened as I stood frozen for a moment, the air in the room growing heavy with dread.

“Deep breaths,” Clara murmured under her breath, her voice low and steady. It wasn’t comforting exactly, but it was enough to push me into motion. I straightened my back, forcing myself to take a slow, shaky breath as we both turned toward the door.

The footsteps stopped just outside, and the door creaked open, revealing Mistress in all her imposing presence. Her sharp eyes immediately swept the room, taking in every detail with cold, calculated precision. They landed on the neatly folded stack of panties on the bed, her lips curling into a faint, approving smirk.

“Well,” she said, stepping inside and closing the door firmly behind her. The sound of it latching sent a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over me. “At least you’ve followed my instructions. For now.”

Her gaze flicked between us, sharp and unyielding, before settling on the stack of undergarments. She approached the bed, her fingers brushing lightly over the top of the pile as though testing for hidden defiance. “You’ve turned over all of them?” she asked, her tone deceptively sweet.

“Yes, Mistress,” Clara replied quickly, her voice steady but firm.

Mistress’s lips curved slightly, though her eyes remained cold. “Good. It would be unfortunate for either of you if I were to find you lying.”

Her fingers trailed over the stack one last time before she straightened, turning her attention back to us. “Now,” she said, her voice sharp, “stand for inspection. I will ensure you’re both properly dressed and presentable.”

My heart pounded as Clara, and I stepped forward, lining up side by side. My hands trembled at my sides, but I forced myself to stand still, my head bowed to avoid meeting Mistress’s piercing gaze. The air in the room was suffocating, every second stretching on like an eternity as Mistress stepped closer.

She started with Clara, her hands brisk and impersonal as she adjusted the hem of Clara’s dress, checking for any signs of sloppiness. Mistress lifted the hem, checking the fitting of Clara’s new underwear, and I could hear the faint crinkle of Clara’s diaper as Mistress moved, the sound sending a fresh wave of humiliation through me. Clara stood stoically, her expression unreadable, but I could see the tension in her jaw, the faint flush on her cheeks.

When Mistress finally turned to me, my breath hitched. Her cold fingers brushed the fabric of my dress, smoothing out imaginary creases before lifting the hem slightly. My cheeks burned as I stood motionless, the soft rustle of my diaper deafening in the oppressive silence. Mistress lifted my dress as well, inspecting my diaper, making certain I was clean and dry before lowering the hem once more.

“Immaculate,” Mistress said finally, her voice laced with approval that felt more like condescension. “This is how I expect you to present yourselves at all times. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” we both murmured in unison, our voices subdued.

Mistress’s smirk widened slightly, and she stepped back, clasping her hands behind her back as she regarded us with a sharp, appraising gaze. “Good,” she said simply. “Then I trust there will be no further issues. You are dismissed—for now.”

Her words hung heavily in the air as she gathered the stack of panties, and turned on her heel, the door clicking shut behind her as she left. The tension in the room lingered long after she was gone, the faint crinkle of Clara’s movements the only sound as she adjusted her skirt and finally let out a heavy sigh.

“That could have gone worse,” she muttered, her tone edged with exhaustion.

I nodded faintly, my hands still trembling as I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The humiliation of the inspection clung to me like a second skin, but for now, at least, we were safe.

The room was quiet, the faint echo of Mistress’s departing footsteps fading into the stillness. Neither Clara nor I moved at first, the weight of the inspection still lingering like a heavy shadow. Eventually, Clara stepped toward the small lantern on the nightstand, turning the wick down until the flame extinguished, plunging the room into darkness.

I hesitated by my bed, the crinkle of my diaper impossibly loud in the quiet as I climbed under the covers. The mattress was cool against my skin, the blanket rough but oddly comforting as I pulled it close. My cheeks still burned faintly, but the tension in my chest had begun to ease now that Mistress was gone.

Across the room, Clara’s bed creaked softly as she settled in, the rustle of her movements followed by a quiet sigh. For a moment, the silence stretched on, thick and almost suffocating. I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling with everything that had happened until Clara’s voice broke the stillness.

“Well,” she said, her tone dry but softer than before, “that was... fun.”

I let out a faint huff of laughter, the sound surprising even me. “If that’s your idea of fun,” I murmured, “I think we need to redefine it.”

Clara chuckled, the tension in the room easing just slightly. “Fair point,” she admitted. “But hey, at least we survived, right?”

“Barely,” I muttered, the memory of Mistress’s cold gaze and sharp words sending a faint shiver through me. I shifted beneath the blanket, the crinkle of my diaper an unwelcome reminder of the day’s humiliations. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my life.”

“Join the club,” Clara said, her voice wry. “But it’s not like we had much of a choice. It’s all part of the game, remember?”

I nodded faintly, even though she couldn’t see me. “Yeah,” I said softly. “It just feels like the rules are stacked against us.”

“They are,” Clara replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t find a way to win. We just have to be smart about it.”

Her confidence was reassuring, even if I didn’t quite share it. I shifted again, the padding beneath me pressing against my skin in a way that made me cringe inwardly now that I was being ‘punished.’ “This,” I muttered, “is going to take some getting used to.”

“Tell me about it,” Clara said, and I could hear the faint rustle of her diaper as she shifted. “I keep expecting it to... I don’t know, disappear or something. Like it’s not really there.”

“I wish,” I muttered, my cheeks flushing despite the darkness. “It’s not exactly easy to forget.”

Clara chuckled softly, the sound lighter this time. “You’d think after everything we’ve been through today, this would feel like the least of our worries.”

“Maybe,” I said quietly, “but it doesn’t make it any less... humiliating.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Clara admitted, her voice softening. “But hey, at least we’ve got each other, right? If I have to go through this, I’m glad I’m not alone.”

Her words warmed something in my chest, and I found myself smiling faintly despite the lingering shame. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Me too.”

The room grew still, the soft rustle of blankets settling into place the only sound as I turned over on my side. The faint crinkle of my diaper accompanied the movement, and though the noise wasn’t loud, it felt deafening in the quiet. Across the room, I could hear Clara shifting slightly in her bed, the same humiliating sound following her movements. It was a constant reminder, one that lingered no matter how much I tried to block it out.

I closed my eyes tightly, willing sleep to come, but my mind refused to quiet. Thoughts swirled and twisted, refusing to settle as the weight of the day pressed heavily on me. Clara, now sharing in my punishment, her movements awkward and unaccustomed. Mistress’s sharp words and scrutinizing gaze. And the ever-present shame of the diaper crinkling beneath my dress.

But more than all of that, one thought kept clawing at me, refusing to let go.

What if Clara found out?

The thought sent a fresh wave of heat to my cheeks, my stomach twisting uncomfortably as I buried my face into the pillow. Clara had been dragged into this humiliation because of me—because Mistress assumed she was complicit because she had stood by me. And she’d accepted it begrudgingly but without truly knowing the truth.

What would she think if she knew I didn’t actually need my diapers? That they weren’t some unfortunate necessity but rather a part of my station—something forced upon me as a Princess in this kingdom? A symbol of submission, humility, and a deeply ingrained tradition I had no say in.

I bit my lip, the thought sending a pang of guilt through me. How could I ever explain it to her? Would she hate me for it? Mock me? Or worse, would she pity me?

The idea was unbearable. Clara had already endured so much humiliation at Mistress’s hands, and now she was suffering even more because of a lie I couldn’t bring myself to correct. My chest tightened as the shame of it all settled over me like a suffocating weight.

Could I ever live this down? Could I ever face her, knowing that this burden wasn’t one I truly had to bear? That I wasn’t suffering because of circumstance but because of a role I’d been born into?

I shifted uncomfortably, the crinkle of the padding beneath me drawing me back to the present. I couldn’t tell her—not now, not when we were both trapped in this situation. For now, I had to keep my secret, to let her believe this was something beyond my control. It was the only way to survive.

But the guilt lingered, heavy and unrelenting, as I lay in the dark, listening to the faint rustle of Clara’s movements. Sleep didn’t come easily that night, the weight of the truth pressing on me as I braced myself for whatever the next day might bring.

End of Chapter 40

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CW // scat, messing, soiling pants, abdl

"What a great lunch! I'm glad we finally got to hang out." Sam remarks, smiling. "Yeah, it's been too long," Rebecca said, requiting his grin. "Let's head back to my apartment, catch up a bit." "Sounds good," Sam said, trying to be as aloof as possible about going back to a girl's place.

After a 15 minute drive, they arrive home and Rebecca, to Sam's surprise, takes her hand as they step into the building.

"My roommates are gone but I took a sick day," Rebecca joked as she winked back at Sam. Sam, with his nerves up, chuckles awkwardly. As they approach Rebecca's room, Rebecca takes her oversized hoodie off, revealing a crop-top and mini-skirt underneath.

Sam and Rebecca used to be close, and for the first time in years, Sam felt that spark again. That was obvious to Rebecca.

"You wanna lie in bed and watch something?" Rebecca asked whilst trying to sound as inconspicuous as possible.

"Sure," Sam replied.

Sam flips through Rebecca's various TV Channels but he's quickly bored.

"Eh, there's nothing good on," he mumbled.

"Yeah... you know you can make yourself at home right?" Rebecca suddenly asked.

"Hm?" Sam pondered the sudden change of Rebecca's mood. Was it flirting?

"I- uh- it's too hot in here, take your hoodie off." Rebecca suddenly snaps.

"Wait, w-what?" Sam stammers and before he can react Rebecca is now on top of him, straddling him as she quickly pulls his sweater off of him and tosses it to the side.

Sam tries to get a word out but Rebecca softly shushes him.

"We're both single, and we both like each other. I know that and I'm not gonna let this slip away." Rebecca whispered. She grabs Sam's hands and places them at her waist.

Rebecca then reaches for Sam's belt, which she pulls off without Sam's protest. Sam is now down to a t-shirt and his boxers, while Rebecca straddles him in her skirt, underwear and crop top. Rebecca begins to grind, sliding back and forth across Sam's growing bulge.

"God, your ass is so soft," Sam moans as he pulls in Rebecca closer to hump.

Rebecca blushes, and flips up her skirt to reveal a thick diaper. Her long kept secret is out.

Sam pulls his hands back in shock, but Rebecca moves them back to the outside of her thighs.

Before Sam could speak, Rebecca states "I'm not going to tell you why I wear these."

Sam nods in agreement, eyes still wide.

"I'm going to show you instead."

Sam was not prepared for what she did next.

As he continues to hold Rebecca's thighs, he notices a tent forming towards the bottom of Rebecca's diaper. With a resounding FWUMP, the bulge immediately grows to the size of a baseball. Sam's thoughts of "did she...?" were confirmed when he got a waft of a stank.

Rebecca grabs Sam's right hand and presses his palm against the bulge, Sam feeling the warmth of the steamy dump she just left in that diaper. Rebecca lowers her body back onto Sam's and he sees the stain on her diaper grow larger as she squishes it against Sam's boner.

The smell grows stronger, yet Sam's erection remains. He isn't exactly turned off by this interaction. He reaches to feel the back for himself but presses a bit hard, and soft mush comes up over the top of the back of the diaper, and plops onto the bedsheet.

Rebecca quickly lowers her body onto Sam's, giving him a full body hug as the mess oozes out of the leg holes and onto Sam's own body. Rebecca moans and squirts into the diaper, and without thinking blurts "Spank Me!"

She gasps and immediately apologizes.

Sam just smiles and hits her backside hard, and he notices a stain on his hand. Rebecca lifts her body up to reveal that she has covered the frontside of Sam's boxers as well as his upper thighs with her shit residue.

Rebecca, realizing what she's just done with one of her closest friends, collapses back onto Sam and starts crying. To her surprise, Sam shushes her and chuckles, "We should probably get you put in a clean one," Rebecca's face lit up even more with what he said next.

"You know what, get me one too. And put all this in the washer, you dirty little baby!"

The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 39: Acting Like a Child

Mistress’s sharp eyes locked onto me, her expression expectant as she motioned with a deliberate flick of her hand. “Step forward,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the thick silence of the room. “Take her place.”

My breath hitched, my chest tightening as the weight of her words settled on me like a crashing wave. I felt frozen, my legs heavy as though shackled to the ground, but Clara’s quiet, steady presence beside me reminded me that I had no choice. Slowly, I took a trembling step forward, my knees weak beneath me.

Each movement felt sluggish as if I were wading through molasses, time stretching unnaturally with every step I took toward Mistress’s chair. The soft crinkle and squish of my diaper beneath my dress seemed impossibly loud, the sound mocking me as it punctuated my halting steps. My cheeks burned hotly, and I could barely keep my hands from trembling at my sides.

Mistress’s gaze never wavered, her stern expression unchanging as I stopped just in front of her. The weight of her authority pressed down on me, suffocating and unrelenting. The enormity of what was about to happen gripped my chest, a mixture of shame and dread tightening around my heart like a vice.

“Over,” Mistress instructed curtly, patting her lap with a single, deliberate motion.

I hesitated, my body stiff and unwilling. My eyes flicked toward Clara for a brief, desperate moment, but she didn’t meet my gaze, her face unreadable. Her silence was grounding in its way—a reminder that she had endured this humiliation before, and so could I.

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to move, each motion agonizingly slow as I stepped closer to Mistress’s lap. My heart pounded so loudly it was all I could hear, drowning out the scrape of my shoes against the stone floor. I bent forward awkwardly, the position unnatural and mortifying, and as I lowered myself over her lap, the soft bulk of my diaper squished against me, the sensation sending a fresh wave of heat to my face.

Mistress adjusted me with firm hands, her grip impersonal but unyielding as she positioned me to her liking. The skirt of my dress was flipped up with a practiced motion, the fabric pooling around my waist and leaving me exposed. I clenched my eyes shut, the humiliation crashing over me in waves as I felt the faint chill of the room against the damp padding of my diaper.

“Well,” Mistress said coldly, her voice laced with disdain as she rested one hand against my back. “What have we here?” Her fingers pressed lightly against the bulk of my diaper, the motion sending a jolt of shame through me.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was lie there, the weight of her words, her touch, pressing down on me as I braced for what was to come.

Mistress’s hand paused, resting firmly on the padded bulk beneath my dress. The room seemed to grow colder, the silence deafening as she pressed slightly, the unmistakable squish of the diaper breaking the stillness. My breath caught in my throat, and a fresh wave of humiliation swept over me, leaving me trembling and helpless across her lap.

“What is this?” Mistress’s voice was sharp and cutting, her tone laced with disbelief and disdain. Her hand pressed again as if confirming what she had felt, and I flinched, my cheeks burning hotter than ever.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out; the words tangled in my throat. My heart pounded so loudly it was all I could hear, drowning out the growing tension in the room. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, the shame so overwhelming that I couldn’t even look up.

“Well?” Mistress demanded, her voice rising slightly though it remained cold and controlled. “Are you going to explain yourself, girl? Or shall I assume this is just another failure to present yourself properly?”

“I—” My voice broke, trembling as I tried to find the words. “I—It’s not—”

“Not what?” Mistress interrupted, her tone icy. “Not appropriate? Not acceptable? You’re right about that much.” She adjusted her grip on my back, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the diaper as if mocking me. “This... choice of undergarments is not one I’ve ever allowed. So tell me, why are you wearing it?”

Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I bit my lip hard, trying to suppress the sobs building in my chest. I couldn’t answer, couldn’t even think past the suffocating shame that held me pinned across her lap. My mind raced, but no excuse came to me, no explanation that would make this any less humiliating.

Mistress sighed heavily, the sound filled with contempt. “Pathetic,” she muttered, more to herself than to me. Her hand moved again, this time lifting the waistband of the diaper slightly as though inspecting it. “Wet, too,” she remarked, her tone sharp and mocking. “Of course it is.”

My tears fell freely now, hot and uncontrollable, as the weight of her words crushed me further. I couldn’t look at Clara, couldn’t even lift my head from where it rested against Mistress’s skirt. The shame was all-consuming, a heavy, inescapable weight that left me trembling and silent.

“You don’t even have the decency to come to me clean,” Mistress continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “Is this how you intend to serve? Soaked and incompetent? I’ve seen children with better discipline than this.”

Her words stung like a slap, and I squeezed my eyes shut, my breaths coming in short, shaky gasps. “I’m sorry,” I finally whispered, my voice so small and broken that it barely registered.

“Sorry?” Mistress repeated, her tone incredulous. “Oh, you will be.”

She adjusted her grip on me again, her movements firm and deliberate as she pulled me tighter across her lap. “If you insist on behaving like a child,” she said coldly, “then you’ll be treated like one. Perhaps that will teach you to present yourself properly in my presence.”

The weight of her hand settled against the back of the diaper, and I braced myself, my tears falling faster as the reality of what was about to happen set in. I was utterly powerless, pinned across her lap, my shame laid bare for both Mistress and Clara to see. And I knew, deep down, that there was no escape from what was to come.

Mistress’s hand came down hard against the back of my diaper, the muffled thump filling the room with each sharp strike. Despite the padding, the impact reverberated through me, each swat carrying with it a sting of humiliation that burned hotter than the physical punishment. I couldn’t stop the sobs that tore from my chest, my face buried in my hands as tears streamed freely down my cheeks.

“You will learn,” Mistress hissed, her voice cold and unrelenting. “You will understand the standards I demand, or you will break trying.”

Another swat punctuated each word, her strikes relentless; I felt myself unraveling completely, the weight of the day, the shame of my predicament, and the sheer mortification of being punished like this crashing over me in waves. My cries echoed off the stone walls, raw and unrestrained, but Mistress showed no mercy.

When she finally stopped, her hand rested heavily against the back of the soaked diaper, her grip firm as she adjusted her hold to keep me pinned in place. My chest heaved with sobs, my body trembling as I fought to catch my breath, but there was no reprieve. Her voice cut through the haze of my anguish, sharp and commanding.

“As your roommate,” Mistress said, her gaze snapping to Clara, “you are complicit in this ridiculous farce. You must have known about her... condition.” She gestured dismissively at my diaper, her tone dripping with disdain. “Which means you have failed just as much as she has. You share in this failure, Clara, and you will share in the consequences.”

Clara stiffened where she stood, her face pale but her expression unreadable. “Mistress, I—” she started, but Mistress silenced her with a sharp glare.

“Silence,” Mistress snapped. “I will not entertain excuses. If you insist on tolerating such childish behavior, then you will join her in it.”

My heart sank further as Mistress shifted her attention back to me, her cold, calculating gaze piercing through my tears. “From this moment on,” she continued, her tone icy, “you will both turn over any panties you have. If you insist on acting like children, you will be treated as such. Diapers will be your uniform beneath your dresses, and I will inspect them regularly. Perhaps humiliation will instill the discipline you both so clearly lack.”

I felt Clara’s sharp intake of breath beside me, but she said nothing, her silence heavy with tension. Mistress’s grip tightened on my back, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to an evil whisper. “Do you understand me, girls?” she demanded.

“Yes, Mistress,” I choked out between sobs, my voice trembling and broken, Clara repeating my words.

Mistress released me abruptly, her hands cold and efficient as she adjusted my dress before gesturing for me to stand. My legs wobbled as I pushed myself upright, the crinkle and squish of the soaked padding beneath me an unbearable reminder of my shame. I couldn’t look at Clara, couldn’t even lift my eyes from the floor.

My tears still flowed freely, staining my cheeks as I struggled to regain my composure.

“Enough,” Mistress snapped, her voice slicing through the tension. “I have seen all I need to see for now.”

I cringed as she stood, her presence looming over us as she stepped toward her desk with slow, deliberate movements. “You are dismissed,” she said coldly, her words striking like a whip. “But let me make one thing clear.”

She turned sharply, her piercing gaze locking onto both Clara and me, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “When I arrive at your room tonight—and I will arrive—I expect every single pair of panties you own to be turned over to me. Do not think to hide anything. If I so much as suspect you’ve defied me, the consequences will be... severe.”

The weight of her words pressed down on me, the air in the room growing heavier with every syllable. I couldn’t stop the fresh wave of humiliation that burned my cheeks, my fists clenching at my sides as I nodded faintly.

“And,” Mistress continued, her voice dropping to an icy calm, “I will personally inspect you both. Head to toe. You will be clean, immaculate, and properly dressed in your new... attire.” Her eyes flicked briefly to me, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “If you insist on acting like children, you will be treated as such. Do not disappoint me.”

Clara’s jaw tightened, but she gave a curt nod, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Yes, Mistress.”

I echoed her faintly, my voice trembling. “Yes, Mistress.”

Mistress waved a dismissive hand toward the door. “Now, go. You’ve wasted enough of my time for one evening.”

Clara nudged me gently, and I stumbled forward, my legs still wobbly as we made our way to the door. My chest felt tight, every step echoing with the weight of Mistress’s threats. As we stepped into the corridor and the door closed firmly behind us, the tension remained thick in the air.

Clara glanced at me briefly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “We need to go back to the room,” she said quietly, her tone brisk. “We don’t have time to waste.”

I nodded mutely, my mind racing as the enormity of what awaited us settled over me. The humiliation was unbearable, but the fear of Mistress’s wrath was worse. For now, all I could do was follow Clara, each step toward our room heavy with shame and dread.

The walk back to our room was a blur of mortification and dread. My cheeks burned hot with shame, and I couldn’t bring myself to lift my gaze from the stone floor. The crinkle of my diaper was unbearably loud in my ears, a constant reminder of just how far I had fallen, how utterly exposed I was now.

Clara walked ahead of me, her steps brisk and purposeful, but there was a stiffness to her movements I hadn’t seen before. She hadn’t said a word since we left Mistress’s office, and the silence between us was suffocating.

I couldn’t bring myself to break it. My throat was too tight, my chest aching as I replayed everything that had happened over and over in my mind. Mistress’s words, her commands, the humiliating punishment—it all swirled together in a storm of emotions I couldn’t untangle. And Clara... she was mad. I could feel it in the way she moved, the way her shoulders were set, and the faint tension in her jaw whenever I dared to glance at her.

But was she mad at me? I couldn’t tell. The thought twisted in my chest, making my already heavy steps feel even more burdensome. I wanted to ask, to explain, to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come. The shame was too much, the lump in my throat too thick. I bit my lip hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill again as we turned the final corner toward our dorm.

When we reached the door, Clara opened it with more force than necessary, the heavy wood creaking loudly on its hinges as she stepped inside. I hesitated on the threshold, my hands trembling as I clutched at the fabric of my dress.

“Get in,” Clara said sharply, her voice low but firm.

I flinched at her tone, stepping inside quickly and shutting the door behind me. The room felt smaller than ever, the walls pressing in as the weight of the evening settled over us like a suffocating blanket.

Clara moved to her side of the room, her back to me as she fiddled with something on her desk. Her movements were brisk, almost aggressive, and the tension in her shoulders was impossible to ignore. I stood frozen near the door, unsure of what to do or say.

“Clara...” I started my voice barely above a whisper. But the sound of my voice made me falter, and I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning.

“What?” she snapped, not turning around. Her tone wasn’t as sharp as Mistress’s, but it carried a weight that made my stomach twist.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. What could I even say? That I was sorry? That I didn’t mean for any of this to happen? That I didn’t know how to fix it? The silence stretched on, thick and unbearable, until Clara finally sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping just slightly.

“Look,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less tense. “Just... just start getting ready. You heard what Mistress said.”

I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to speak, and moved to my side of the room. The shame clung to me like a second skin as I opened my wardrobe, the sight of the diapers Mistress had ordered Clara to stock making my stomach churn. My hands trembled as I pulled out a fresh one, the soft crinkle of the material a cruel reminder of what lay ahead.

Clara still hadn’t turned to face me, and I couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse. Her silence was heavy, but I couldn’t bring myself to break it. I could only hope that, somehow, I would find a way to make this right. For now, though, all I could do was obey Mistress’s commands and endure the humiliation of what was to come.

I stood frozen, watching as Clara moved to her side of the room, her movements sharp and purposeful. She pulled open her drawer, the one I knew held her undergarments, and began clearing it out. One by one, she yanked out her panties, tossing them into a growing pile on her bed with a roughness that made my chest tighten.

When the drawer was finally empty, she slammed it shut with more force than necessary, the sound echoing through the small room. She turned toward me, her face a mask of restrained anger, her lips pressed into a thin line. My heart sank as her eyes flicked to the diaper in my trembling hands. Without a word, she stepped forward, plucking it from my grasp and motioning for me to lie down.

“Come on,” she said, her voice clipped, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitated for only a moment before obeying, lowering myself onto the bed and lying back, the crinkle of the mattress cover beneath me amplifying the humiliation of the moment. My cheeks burned as Clara knelt beside me, the diaper in one hand and a container of powder in the other. Her movements were brisk, efficient, and impersonal as she worked, lifting my dress and carefully pulling away the soaked padding.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me as I tried to gather the courage to speak. The words felt heavy and impossible, but the silence between us was unbearable.

“Clara,” I finally whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m... I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond immediately, her hands continuing their work as she cleaned me up and slid the fresh diaper beneath me. The rustle of the material and the faint scent of powder filled the air, and I braced myself for her reaction. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost resigned.

“It’s all just a game,” she said, her tone quiet but firm. “That’s all this is. A game we didn’t choose to play, but we’ve got to follow her rules if we want to win.”

Her words hit me like a blow, the weight of them settling over me as she finished securing the diaper and smoothed my dress back into place. I opened my eyes to find her looking at me, her expression softer now but still laced with frustration.

“Do you understand, Lila?” she asked, her voice steady but edged with exhaustion. “It’s not about what’s fair or right. It’s about survival. We play by her rules until we’re in a position to make our own.”

I nodded faintly, my throat tight as I tried to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to spill. “I understand,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Clara sighed, sitting back and brushing her hands against her skirt. “Good,” she said simply, standing and motioning for me to do the same. “Because if we’re going to get through this, we need to stick together. No more surprises, Lila. Promise me.”

I sat up slowly, the fresh diaper crinkling beneath me as I met her gaze. “I promise,” I said softly, the words carrying a weight I hadn’t expected.

Clara nodded once, her expression softening further as she moved back to her bed. The tension in the room lingered, but for the first time, there was a faint sense of understanding between us. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now.

Clara glanced to the open drawer behind me, a mixture of shame and resentment filling her face, “I may need a little help.” she admitted, blushing, “I’ve never… not for myself.”

It was my turn to be strong, to be the boulder she could use to lean. I nodded, turning and retrieving a fresh diaper, “Of course, I’m sorry, Clara, genuinely, I got us into this mess.”

“Just… Make it quick, Your Grace,” she said, her cheeks burning brightly in shame as she unwillingly laid down, staring up at the ceiling.

I felt shame of my own wash across me as I knelt beside her. The one girl I had come to rely on since the Queen had been captured, the one girl who seemed to understand me, who seemed to care, I had singlehandedly reduced her to this. I felt horrible, and I hoped I could repay her someday as tears glistened in her eyes, gently tumbling down her rosy cheeks.

End of Chapter 39

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(We’re back! A short chapter to get back into the swing of things enjoy!)

“And so with her kingdom saved and peace brought to the lands the princess returned home and lived happily ever after” Kim finished reading the story and closed the book gently she was sitting on the edge of her guest bed and had Nala tucked in tightly with mister coco as she read her a story Nala eventually fell asleep. By the time everyone had ate and left it was late so Kim offered Nala to stay at her place for the night it didn’t take much convincing for Nala to agree and the pink haired girl was already planning on how the sleepover would go but her many plans didn’t happen as soon as she got there the sleepies began to catch up to her.

Smiling at the sight before her kim softly kissed her forehead and left the room shutting the door slightly leaving enough so some light from the hallway would shine in. Kim had quiet music playing in the living room as she got ready for bed herself she poured herself a glass of wine and sat down to check over her weekly reports of the coffee shop. Everything was going well and there was even an uptick in customers she had two staff members already so maybe it’s time to look for another she thought to herself. Finishing her wine she brought herself to bed after checking in on Nala quick. Late in the night a soft rapping came from Kim’s bedroom door stirring her awake she sat up and saw Nala standing there in her pjs holding mister coco.

“What’s worng can’t sleepy Nala sweetie”

The pink haired girl nodded sleepily so Kim held out her arms and invited Nala to join her. Wiggling her way under the covers Nala lay beside Kim resting her head on Kim’s shoulder absentmindedly sucking on her thumb drifting back to sleep there next to Kim as she softly played with nalas hair kim knew everything was going to be alright and soon was off to sleep herself.

The morning came far to quickly for Kim she was in her soft bed comfy blanket and best of all she was holding Nala. Stuck in a debate as to whether to get up or just stay in bed all day the discussion was made for her as her phone rang prying her arm out from under Nala kim answered the phone it was one of her new hires for the shop one of the machines was down and they couldn’t get it running kim would have to come in*

“Hey wake up sweetie” Kim said as she gently tried to shake Nala awake only getting a few sleepy murmurs.

“There’s hot chocolate if you wake up sweetie” Kim bribed the sleepy little.

“Chocolate?” Murmured Nala slowly blinking awake.

With a yawn and a stretch Nala slowly came to once she was awake enough kim gave her the option of going with her to the cafe or staying here in bed until kim returned. Nala chose to go with Kim under the conditions that she would have hot chocolate and cookies and that she could stay in her pjs. Giving into her demands kim when and got herself ready then helped nala into the truck and soon after they were off.

The coffee shop was a bit different than the time Nala was in it there were extra people there this time kim informed her that these were the new hires Kim and recently interviewed to see about taking on the opening shift. Nala had only ever seen kim in the store and wondered just how Kim was handling running the show by herself. Nala got situated in the back office while kim went to look at the machine that was causing issues. Nala was sitting on the couch in the office watching bluey on her phone when Kim came in with a mug of hot chocolate. Kim told Nala that if she needed anything to come find her out front and that she’ll try to hurry but it might be a while.

Nala soon grew bored of watching her phone as she decided to peek out into the main lobby and saw there was three other people beside Kim there. One was an older woman who had almost silver grey hair and was on the shorter chubby side she looked like a kind granny type of person Nala decided her nickname would be miss clause. Miss clause was prepping something behind the counter. The next employee Nala saw was a guy who looked to be in his early twenties he had short red hair with a bushy black beard almost reminded Nala of a pirate. The pirate was setting chairs on the floor and wiping down tables. The last employee was a blond girl who was wearing headphones and sweeping the floor she was sweeping when she looked up and saw Nala peeking out the door. Having been spotted Nala quickly shut the door and went back to her spot on the couch.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door of the office. As Nala opened the door she was the blond employee there with a small tray of muffins Nala was a bit curious as to why the girl had brought muffins to the office when the blond spoke tell her that she was trying a new recipe and would like to get an opinion before showing them to Kim if they were good enough to be put on the menu. Needing no further explanation she grabbed one taking a bite revealed it to be a banana nut muffin it was soft and fluffy with a bit of a crunch from the nuts Nala thought this girl must have had her time in the kitchen as this muffin could even rival Miss jeans.

“This is really good!” Nala spoke after finishing a bite.

“Thank you do you think kim will like it?” The girl asked hesitantly.

Nala asured her that Kim would definitely like the muffin and almost forgot to introduce herself. Nala learned the girls name is Alice and that she just started working here yesterday so did the older woman Darlene and the man Patrick started a week before they did. Nala figured that that means Kim was handling the whole operation of the store by herself for a while. Alice told Nala she had to get back to work but would stop by on her break possibly with other treats for her to try which Nala had no complaints about.

The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 38: A Secret Uncovered

The hours dragged on, the weight of exhaustion pressing heavily on my shoulders as Clara and I scrubbed the last stretch of the East Wing. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the dim lanterns cast flickering shadows along the stone walls. My knees ached, my arms trembled, and every step sent a faint squish through the damp padding beneath my dress—a humiliating reminder of the day’s trials.

Finally, Clara straightened, brushing her damp hands on her skirt with a sigh. “That’s it,” she said, her voice edged with weariness. “We’re done.”

I nodded faintly, too tired to respond despite channeling Summer. We gathered our buckets and sponges, the faint slosh of water and the soft scrape of tools breaking the silence as we made our way back to the cleaning closet. The air was cool and still, the corridors eerily quiet save for the faint hum of activity in the distance.

As we returned the supplies to their places, Clara cast me a glance. “Dinner,” she said simply, motioning for me to follow. My stomach grumbled faintly at the thought, but my steps were sluggish as I trailed behind her, the humiliation of the day mingling with my exhaustion.

We passed through the main corridor on our way to the dining hall, and I felt my chest tighten as the headmistress’s room came into view. She stood in the doorway, her severe posture framed by the flickering light of a nearby lantern. Her sharp eyes landed on us immediately, narrowing as we approached.

“Mistress,” Clara said smoothly, her tone respectful as she bowed her head slightly. I quickly followed suit, lowering my gaze as my heart pounded in my chest.

The headmistress stepped forward, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she inspected us both. Her eyes swept over Clara first, lingering on the hem of her skirt, noticing the wet spots from where Clara had dried her hands and the faint crease in her apron. Then, her gaze shifted to me, her lips pressing into a thin line as she scanned my outfit, her frown deepening.

“Unacceptable,” she said curtly, her tone like a blade. “Both of you.”

My breath hitched, and I could feel Clara stiffen beside me. The headmistress’s sharp gaze flicked between us, her expression cold and unyielding.

“Report to my office after dinner,” she continued her voice firm. “Clearly, you both require a personal lesson in tidiness. Perhaps then you’ll learn to present yourselves properly.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Clara replied quickly, her tone steady despite the tension in the air.

I nodded mutely, my cheeks burning as the weight of her words settled over me. The headmistress lingered for a moment longer, her piercing gaze making my skin crawl, before turning sharply on her heel and disappearing back into her room.

As we continued toward the dining hall, Clara let out a quiet sigh, her voice low as she muttered, “This isn’t good.”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting as dread mingled with my hunger. The headmistress’s reprimand echoed in my mind, each word like a drumbeat of impending doom. A “personal lesson” could mean anything, but I had no doubt it would be humiliating—and, given the bulk beneath my dress, potentially disastrous.

Still, I forced myself to keep walking, the faint crinkle of my diaper beneath my skirt a constant, humiliating reminder of what was at stake. For now, I could only hope to endure whatever came next.

The dining hall was filled with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of plates and utensils, but the noise seemed distant, muffled, as though it belonged to another world. My heart pounded heavily in my chest, the headmistress’s cold voice replaying in my mind like a cruel echo. Every step toward the dining hall felt heavier, weighed down by the dread gripping my heart.

Clara led the way, her expression unreadable as we joined the line of servants waiting for their meals. I followed her motions robotically, taking a plain wooden plate and spoon from the stack and stepping forward as the kitchen workers ladled a thin stew onto it. The smell of the food barely registered—it was neither tasty nor unpleasant, just bland and uninspired, much like the meal itself.

By the time we reached our usual table and sat down, the weight of the day, of what was to come, pressed down on me like a stone. The headmistress’s warning was impossible to ignore, the phrase ‘personal lesson’ circling in my thoughts like a hawk ready to strike. I could hardly focus on Clara’s murmurs or the faint clatter of utensils around me.

As I settled onto the bench, the soggy padding beneath my dress squished slightly, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over me. My stomach churned with the mingling discomfort and dread, and I pushed the spoon around in the stew, the watery broth rippling faintly with each motion.

It wasn’t until the familiar, unwelcome ache in my bladder grew sharp that I realized just how tense I was. My hands trembled faintly as I gripped the spoon, trying to will the sensation away, but my body had other plans. The weight of the day—the exhaustion, the shame, the sheer uncertainty of what awaited me—proved too much.

I felt the warmth spread through the soaked padding, the faint trickle completely out of my control as my body gave in once more. The diaper swelled slightly beneath me, pressing uncomfortably against my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to move or react. My cheeks burned hot with humiliation, my fingers tightening around the spoon as though holding onto it would keep me grounded.

Clara glanced at me briefly, her sharp eyes catching the flush in my cheeks, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she focused on her meal, her calm demeanor only serving to emphasize the storm of emotions raging within me.

I forced myself to take a bite, the bland stew offering no comfort as it slid down my throat. Every movement felt stiff and mechanical, the growing bulk beneath my dress a constant, humiliating reminder of just how far I had fallen. The dread in my chest grew heavier with each passing moment, the headmistress’s warning looming over me like a shadow I couldn’t escape.

As the meal drew to a close, I couldn’t help but push the remnants of my stew around the bowl; my appetite completely vanished. The dread that had been gnawing at my chest all through dinner had only grown heavier, and the soft, soggy bulk beneath me served as a humiliating reminder of just how vulnerable I was.

Clara stood, brushing off her skirt as she motioned for me to follow. I hesitated, the words catching in my throat before I managed to force them out. “Clara,” I said softly, my voice barely audible over the hum of the dining hall. “What... what do you think she’s going to do?”

Clara glanced at me, her expression carefully neutral, but the tension in her eyes gave her away. She sighed, motioning for me to stand as well. “It depends,” she said quietly, her voice low enough that no one else could hear. “The headmistress doesn’t take kindly to sloppiness. If she’s feeling merciful, she’ll just lecture us.”

“And if she’s not?” I asked, my heart pounding.

Clara didn’t respond immediately, leading us toward the door and into the quieter corridors before finally speaking. Her voice was strained, and she didn’t look at me as she spoke. “If she’s not... she’ll make sure you remember not to fail again.”

My stomach churned at her tone, and I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. “What do you mean?”

Clara stopped abruptly, turning to face me with a look that was equal parts stern and pitying. “I mean, she’ll spank you,” she said flatly, her words blunt. “She’ll bend you over her lap, pull up your dress, and make sure you don’t forget who’s in charge.”

The blood drained from my face, and I could only stare at her in stunned silence. My mind raced, the image of being bent over the headmistress’s lap sending a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over me.

“She’s done it to me before,” Clara admitted, her voice quieter now, her gaze dropping. “Once, when I didn’t scrub the dining hall to her standards. She called me into her office, made me lay over her lap, and... well, she made sure I couldn’t sit comfortably for days.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, her expression unreadable. “It’s bad enough in a normal situation,” she continued, her voice softening. “But for you...”

I felt my breath catch in my throat as realization dawned, my cheeks flushing hotly. Clara didn’t need to say it outright—if the headmistress discovered my diapered state, the humiliation would be unbearable.

“She’ll find out,” Clara said after a moment, her tone grim. “If she gets that far, she’ll notice. And when she does...” She trailed off, her lips pressing into a thin line.

I shook my head, panic rising in my chest. “She can’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “She can’t find out.”

Clara sighed, her expression softening just enough to show a flicker of sympathy. “We’ll try to avoid it,” she said firmly. “But you need to be ready, Lila. She doesn’t stop until she’s satisfied, and she’s relentless.”

The lump in my throat grew tighter as I nodded faintly, my hands twisting nervously in the fabric of my dress. The headmistress’s office was growing uncomfortably closer with every step, and the soft crinkle of my diaper beneath my skirt seemed louder than ever, a cruel reminder of the humiliation that awaited me if Clara was right.

The headmistress’s office loomed ahead, the heavy wooden door closed and imposing in the flickering lantern light. Every step closer felt heavier, the knot of dread in my stomach twisting tighter with each passing moment. By the time we reached the door, I could hardly breathe, my hands trembling as they fidgeted nervously with the hem of my dress.

I stopped just short of the threshold, my chest rising and falling with shallow, panicked breaths. My heart pounded like a drum, each beat echoing in my ears as I stared at the door. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t face her. She was going to find out. She was going to…

“Lila,” Clara’s voice broke through the haze, sharp but not unkind. She stepped in front of me, her hands on my shoulders as her pale blue eyes met mine. “You need to calm down. Breathe.”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head faintly as my chest tightened further. “I can’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “She’s going to—she’ll—”

“She’s not going to break you,” Clara interrupted firmly, her grip on my shoulders steadying me. “You’ll make it through this. You’re stronger than you think.”

Her words made my breath hitch, but the panic still clawed at my chest. “But she’ll find out,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “About... about my...”

Clara’s gaze softened, but her tone remained steady. “She might,” she admitted, her voice low. “But you’ve handled worse, haven’t you? You’re still here, Lila. You’ve survived everything they’ve thrown at you so far, and you’ll survive this, too.”

The lump in my throat tightened as I nodded faintly, her words cutting through the panic just enough to let me breathe again. Clara’s hands remained on my shoulders, her steady presence grounding me as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

“For now,” she said, her tone softer, “you’re not a princess. You’re not royalty. You’re just a little servant girl who needs to learn her place. That’s what she wants to see—someone submissive, obedient. If you give her that, she’ll have no reason to dig deeper.”

The heat in my cheeks grew as her words settled over me, the humiliation of it all twisting in my chest. But I knew she was right. The best way to protect myself—to keep my secret safe—was to play the role she expected for now.

“I can’t let her win,” I murmured, more to myself than to Clara. The thought of submitting fully, of letting myself be reduced to this, burned like fire in my chest.

“She’s not winning,” Clara said firmly, her gaze unwavering. “You’re playing the game. And if you play it well enough, you’ll come out stronger on the other side. Remember who you are, Lila. You’re a princess. You’ve got this.”

I nodded again, this time more certain, though my hands still trembled faintly. Clara gave my shoulders a reassuring squeeze before stepping back, her expression returning to its usual sharpness as she reached for the door.

“Head down,” she reminded me quietly. “Eyes on the floor. Follow my lead.”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stand straight even as the soft crinkle beneath my dress reminded me of the vulnerability I carried with every step. I was stronger than this, stronger than her. And if I had to act like a submissive servant girl to prove it, so be it.

Clara pushed the door open, and the heavy grating seemed to echo in my chest as we stepped into the headmistress’s office together.

The heavy door creaked shut behind us, the sound reverberating through the small, dimly lit office. My heart was racing so fast it felt like it might leap out of my chest, my pulse thudding in my ears so loudly that it drowned out the faint rustle of my diaper and the shuffle of our feet.

“Stand there,” the headmistress commanded sharply, her voice as cold and unyielding as the stone walls surrounding us. She gestured to a spot just in front of her desk, and Clara and I moved obediently, our heads bowed.

I couldn’t help but glance at the imposing woman before me. Mistress stood tall, her dark eyes piercing, her severe dress immaculate and unyielding. She radiated authority, and just the sight of her was enough to make my chest tighten further.

The panic clawed at me, threatening to pull me under. My breaths were shallow, my legs trembling as the weight of her presence pressed down on me like a crashing wave. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the soggy padding beneath my dress a humiliating reminder of how utterly powerless I felt.

But then Clara’s voice echoed in my mind: “Breathe. You’re stronger than this.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing my trembling hands to still as I took a slow, steady breath. The tightness in my chest began to ease just slightly, and I focused on the rhythm of my breathing, letting it ground me.

In. Out. In. Out.

My heart was still racing, but the edges of my panic dulled just enough for me to stand taller, straighter. I could make it through this. I had survived worse. The headmistress’s cold gaze didn’t break me before, and it wouldn’t break me now.

Mistress circled us slowly, her sharp eyes scrutinizing every inch of our appearances. My pulse quickened as she drew closer, her presence suffocating, but I kept my head low, my gaze fixed firmly on the floor. Clara’s advice rang in my mind like a lifeline: Head down. Obedient. Play the game.

I could feel Mistress’s gaze lingering on me longer than Clara's, and my breath caught as she stopped directly in front of me. Her shoes clicked softly against the stone as she shifted her weight, her towering presence making me feel impossibly small.

“You,” she said, her voice like a whip, cold and cutting. “You’ve been sloppy.”

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to remain still, my breaths steady as I nodded faintly. “Yes, Mistress,” I murmured, my voice trembling just enough to sound appropriately deferential.

“Eyes down,” she snapped, though I hadn’t dared to lift them. Her fingers brushed the hem of my dress, smoothing the fabric as though searching for imperfections. “Do you even know how to present yourself properly, girl?”

My throat tightened, the lump in it threatening to choke me. “No, Mistress,” I whispered, my voice so soft I barely heard it myself.

Her sharp exhale sent a shiver down my spine. “Pathetic,” she muttered, her tone dripping with disdain. “I’ll ensure you learn by the time we’re done here.”

The knot in my stomach twisted tighter, but I kept my breathing steady, focusing on Clara’s presence beside me. I would survive this. I would make it through. I wasn’t just a servant girl—I was Liliana, a princess. And though the headmistress might humiliate me, she would never break me.

Mistress moved to her chair, the sound of its legs scraping faintly against the stone floor as she positioned it deliberately at the center of the room. Her sharp gaze flicked between us as she sat, smoothing her skirts with an air of authority that made my stomach twist.

“You’ve both failed my standards,” she said coldly, her tone sharp and unyielding. “And failure requires correction.”

Her words hung heavily in the air, and I swallowed hard, my throat tight as I kept my gaze fixed on the floor. My heart pounded in my chest, every nerve in my body screaming to run, to escape, but my legs remained rooted to the spot.

Mistress’s eyes lingered on me, her lips curling faintly into a smirk. “Since you’re new,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, “you may have the privilege of going second.”

The blood drained from my face, and I clenched my trembling hands tightly at my sides. My heart raced as I cast a hesitant glance at Clara, whose expression remained stoic, though I could see the faint tension in her jaw. Without a word, she stepped forward, her movements steady and deliberate as she obeyed Mistress’s unspoken command.

Mistress’s sharp gaze followed Clara as she approached, and with a swift motion, she gestured for Clara to bend. Clara hesitated only briefly before complying, draping herself over Mistress’s lap with practiced ease. Her skirt was hiked up in one swift motion, exposing her plain undergarments, and I heard her sharp intake of breath as the fabric settled around her waist.

“Discipline is the foundation of service,” Mistress said, her voice firm but calm as she rested one hand on Clara’s back, holding her in place. Her other hand hovered for a moment as though savoring the weight of her authority. “And I will ensure it is remembered.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. My breath caught as the first smack echoed through the room, sharp and loud against Clara’s exposed backside. She flinched slightly but made no sound, her stoic demeanor unbroken despite the sting of each strike.

Mistress delivered each swat with precision, her movements steady and deliberate as she continued her reprimand. “A servant who cannot meet my standards,” she said, punctuating each word with another strike, “is no servant at all.”

I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, my face burning as I stood frozen, watching the scene before me. The humiliation in the room was palpable and suffocating, and I knew that I would be next. My stomach churned with a mix of dread and shame, the soft crinkle beneath my dress a cruel reminder of how much more humiliating this would be for me.

Clara remained silent, though I could see the faint tension in her shoulders, the slight clench of her fists as Mistress continued. My heart ached for her, but I couldn’t bring myself to move, couldn’t even look away as the reality of my impending punishment settled over me like a heavy stone.

When Mistress finally stopped, she allowed Clara to stand, her movements stiff but composed as she adjusted her skirt and stepped back beside me. Mistress’s eyes shifted to me then, her lips curling faintly into a smile that made my stomach twist.

“Your turn,” she said simply, her tone both commanding and expectant.

My legs felt like lead as I stepped forward, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear the sound of my footsteps. Every part of me wanted to scream, to run, but I forced myself to move, the weight of Clara’s words—You’re stronger than this—echoing in my mind as I prepared to face the inevitable.

End of Chapter 38

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The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 37: Cryptic

As we stepped out of the room, Clara’s hand found me, gripping my arm just firmly enough to get my attention. “When we pass the headmistress,” she whispered, her voice low but urgent, “you address her as Mistress. Keep your eyes down, and don’t speak unless spoken to. Do exactly as she says, Lila. No mistakes,” she said, using my fake name now that we were outside the privacy of our dorm.

Her words sent a chill through me, and I nodded faintly, my throat tightening as dread settled in my chest. The corridor felt longer and colder as we approached the main room, the imposing figure of the headmistress standing just beyond the open doorway. She was speaking with another servant, her sharp voice carrying down the hall as Clara and I fell into step, our footsteps soft and careful.

In the room stood two girls, their backs to us and their skirts hiked. Before I could turn my gaze aside, I caught the telltale signs of redness in their cheeks, poking out from their undergarments. I felt shame washing through me, as well as pity for the two girls as they were forced to stand there on display. I could only hold that I wouldn’t be joining them.

The headmistress turned as we entered, her hawkish eyes immediately landing on us. Clara dropped her gaze instantly, her posture straight but submissive, and I hurried to mimic her, forcing my trembling hands to still be at my sides.

“Mistress,” Clara said respectfully, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.

I hesitated for only a moment before repeating her, my voice barely above a whisper. “Mistress.”

The headmistress’s eyes narrowed slightly as she approached, her gaze sweeping over both of us with sharp, meticulous precision. She circled us slowly, her shoes clicking softly against the stone floor as the air grew heavier with every step she took.

“Hands,” she snapped her voice like a whip.

Clara extended her hands immediately, palms up, and I followed suit, my fingers trembling as I held them out for inspection. The headmistress’s cold fingers brushed against mine, turning them this way and that, her gaze scrutinizing every inch.

“Clean,” she muttered, more to herself than to us. “Good. At least some of you know how to present yourselves,” she said, glancing at the two girls who stood dutifully, their hands in front of them, their red rears facing us.

Her gaze moved to Clara’s dress, her hands tugging at the hem and smoothing out an invisible wrinkle before giving the fabric a faint sniff. Satisfied, she moved on to me, her sharp eyes narrowing as she examined every detail of my outfit.

The moment her fingers gripped the waistband of my dress, my breath caught. She tugged at the fabric, her lips pursing slightly as though she sensed something amiss. My heart pounded, my cheeks burning as I forced myself to stay still, my gaze fixed firmly on the floor. The faint crinkle of my diaper beneath the dress seemed deafening in the silence, and I clenched my hands tightly to keep from trembling.

The headmistress sniffed lightly, her frown deepening for a brief, terrifying moment before she released the hem and stepped back. “Acceptable,” she said curtly, her tone clipped. “Barely. See to it that you maintain this standard.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Clara replied smoothly, her voice steady and practiced.

I echoed her weakly, my voice shaking slightly. “Yes, Mistress.”

The headmistress gave us one last sharp look before waving a dismissive hand. “Go. Don’t waste any more time..”

Clara didn’t hesitate, nudging me gently to follow as she turned on her heel and strode from the room. I moved quickly, my legs trembling beneath me as we exited, the tension in my chest finally easing as the headmistress’s sharp gaze disappeared behind us.

When we were far enough down the corridor, Clara glanced at me briefly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That was close,” she muttered, her voice low. “You’ve got to hold it together, Lila. The headmistress doesn’t miss much.”

I nodded faintly, my cheeks still burning as I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The humiliation of the inspection clung to me like a second skin, but the relief of passing unnoticed was almost enough to outweigh it. For now, at least, I had escaped discovery. But the fear of what might happen next loomed like a shadow over every step I took as we continued our duties.

We returned to the cleaning closet in silence, the weight of the headmistress’s inspection still pressing heavily on my chest. Clara moved with her usual brisk efficiency, filling a fresh bucket of soapy water and grabbing a sponge. I followed her lead, though my hands still trembled faintly as I worked, the sound of the water sloshing in the bucket a temporary distraction from the dread that lingered in the back of my mind.

As we made our way toward a new section of the East Wing, Clara glanced at me briefly, her sharp eyes assessing. “You’ve got to keep your head down more,” she said quietly, her voice low but firm. “Servants don’t stand out. You need to blend in, be invisible.”

I nodded faintly, clutching the bucket tightly as I followed her. The corridor stretched ahead of us, the dim light from the windows casting long shadows across the stone floor. Each step echoed faintly, the sound of our footsteps mingling with the faint hum of distant activity.

“Act more submissive,” Clara continued, her tone measured. “When someone speaks to you, lower your gaze. Don’t look them in the eye unless they demand it. And when you answer, keep your voice soft and respectful. You don’t want to give anyone a reason to notice you.”

Her words stung, but I knew she was right. The anger and pride that had fueled me earlier in the day were dangerous here—liabilities that could cost me everything. I swallowed hard, nodding again as I focused on the rhythm of my steps, the soft crinkle of my diaper beneath my dress a constant, humiliating reminder to stay in line.

Clara slowed as we approached a new section of the wing, her gaze scanning the empty corridor before motioning for me to stop. She set her bucket down with a soft clink, kneeling beside it and pulling out her sponge. “Stay low,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Servants are meant to be beneath notice—literally. When you’re scrubbing, keep your head down. It’s easier to avoid trouble that way.”

I followed her example, setting my bucket down and kneeling on the hard stone floor. The chill of it seeped through my dress, and I bit back a wince as I dipped my sponge into the soapy water, the faint scent of soap filling the air.

Clara worked quickly, her movements steady and practiced as she scrubbed the floor. “You’ll get used to it,” she said after a moment, her voice softening slightly. “The routine, the rules. It’s not easy, but it’s better than drawing attention. Trust me on that.”

I nodded again, my focus shifting to the floor as I mimicked her motions, the repetitive rhythm of scrubbing oddly calming despite the weight of my thoughts. Each stroke of the sponge felt like a small act of penance, a humbling reminder of how far I’d fallen and how much I still had to endure.

Clara didn’t say much more as we worked, but her occasional glances and quiet suggestions guided me, her presence steady and grounding in a way I hadn’t expected. The sting of humility was sharp, but with every swipe of the sponge, I reminded myself of what was at stake. My kingdom, my people, Dorian—everything I had lost and everything I hoped to reclaim.

For now, though, all I could do was keep scrubbing, my head low and my resolve quietly growing with every passing moment.

The quiet of the East Wing was broken only by the soft swishing of soapy water, the rhythmic scrubbing of sponges against stone, and the occasional crinkle of my diaper. Clara and I worked in tandem, her occasional murmured instructions keeping me focused despite the ache in my arms and the weight of my humiliation. The monotonous task was almost soothing, lulling me into a false sense of calm.

But then I heard it—the faint echo of footsteps approaching from the far end of the corridor.

Clara froze, her sponge suspended mid-swipe as she tilted her head, listening. My heart lurched, and I straightened slightly, my hand tightening around the handle of the bucket. The steps were measured, deliberate, but light—not the heavy boots of guards or the intruder king’s retinue.

As the figure emerged from the shadows, my breath caught. Father Aelindor, the Keeper of the Winds, strode toward us, his robes flowing behind him like a soft breeze. He was alone, his movements unhurried, his face calm. The absence of chains or escorts struck me immediately—how was he free? How had he avoided the fate of so many loyal to the crown?

Clara tensed beside me, her posture stiffening as her eyes flicked to mine briefly. I knew what she was thinking—this wasn’t normal. The Keeper had no business wandering the corridors unguarded, not when the castle had fallen into enemy hands.

Father Aelindor stopped a few paces away, his gaze sweeping over the scene with an unsettling serenity. “Diligent work,” he said softly, his voice carrying an odd warmth that belied the tension in the air. “Such devotion to duty is commendable.”

My heart raced as his eyes landed on me, his piercing gaze holding mine for a brief, heart-stopping moment. I froze, unable to look away, the weight of his stare both comforting and terrifying. Did he know who I was? Did he recognize me? The faintest flicker of a smile tugged at his lips, and I had my answer.

“Sometimes,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful, “we are called to walk paths we never expected. To endure trials we never imagined.” His words were measured, his tone deliberate, and I knew they were meant for me.

I lowered my gaze quickly, mimicking Clara’s submissive posture, but the Keeper’s presence lingered like the quiet hum of a storm building on the horizon. He took a step closer, the faint scent of incense and aged parchment wafting from his robes.

“The Winds do not abandon their chosen, even when the skies grow dark,” he continued, his words barely louder than a whisper now. “They stir, even in the smallest of moments, ready to rise when the time is right.”

My chest tightened, my breath shallow as his cryptic message sank in. He knew. He saw through my disguise, through the borrowed dress, and the deference I wore like armor. But he didn’t expose me. Instead, his words carried a strange reassurance, a promise that the Winds hadn’t forsaken me, even if I had nearly forgotten them.

Clara, for her part, remained silent, her head bowed, but I could feel the tension radiating off her. She didn’t know what to make of this strange man or his odd words, and I didn’t blame her.

Father Aelindor lingered for a moment longer, his gaze sweeping over us once more. “The Winds have their way,” he said finally, stepping back. “Even when we cannot yet see where they blow.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, his robes trailing softly behind him as he disappeared into the shadows of the corridor. The echo of his footsteps faded, leaving only the quiet drip of water and the distant murmur of the castle.

Clara was the first to break the silence, her voice sharp but hushed. “Who was that?” she asked, her eyes wide as she turned to me. “And what the hell was he talking about?”

I shook my head faintly, my mind spinning with questions of my own. “That’s... Father Aelindor,” I murmured, my voice unsteady. “The Keeper of the Winds.”

Her brows furrowed, and she glanced toward the direction he’d gone. “The priest? Why isn’t he locked up? Or worse?”

I didn’t have an answer, but the unease in my chest only deepened. The Keeper’s presence was as mysterious as his words, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew far more than he had let on. Still, his message lingered in my mind, like a faint breeze stirring the embers of hope. ‘The Winds do not abandon their chosen.

For now, though, Clara’s sharp gaze pulled me back to the present. “Let’s get back to work,” she said firmly, dipping her sponge into the soapy water. “We can’t afford to get caught slacking.”

I nodded mutely, returning to the task at hand, but the Keeper’s words echoed in my mind with every stroke of the sponge. There was more at play here than I could see, and I couldn’t afford to ignore it.

The hours stretched on as Clara, and I worked, the rhythmic scrubbing of the floors and the soft sloshing of soapy water the only sounds in the dim corridor. My arms ached, my knees throbbed against the hard stone, and every movement felt heavier than the last. But as my thoughts lingered on Father Aelindor’s cryptic words, a flicker of determination sparked within me.

The Winds do not abandon their chosen.

The phrase echoed in my mind, a quiet mantra that filled the emptiness left by despair. I closed my eyes briefly, focusing on the faint hum I’d felt before—the subtle warmth that stirred in my chest whenever I’d connected with the Wind of Summer. Without drawing Clara’s attention, I took a slow, steady breath, imagining that warmth spreading through my limbs.

It was subtle at first, like the faintest breeze on a still day, but as I leaned into the sensation, I felt the strain in my arms and legs begin to ease. The exhaustion that had weighed so heavily on me just moments ago seemed to lighten, replaced by a quiet energy that pushed me forward. Each stroke of the sponge felt smoother, each movement less burdensome.

Clara didn’t notice the change, too focused on her work, but I couldn’t help the small, secret smile that tugged at my lips. It wasn’t much—just the faintest touch of the Winds—but it was enough. Enough to remind me that I wasn’t powerless, even in this bleak situation. Enough to remind me of who I was.

As the evening wore on, the repetitive motions lulled my thoughts back to Dorian. The soft crinkle and squish of my freshly soaked diaper beneath my dress, so humiliating in the moment, brought back flashes of his voice, his touch, and the way he’d guided me with patience and love. The memory of his praise, his whispered encouragements, made my chest ache with longing. Where are you, Dorian? The question repeated itself in my mind, unanswered and haunting.

The warmth of Summer’s Wind wasn’t enough to dispel the chill of uncertainty that gripped me whenever I thought of him. Was he safe? Was he hurt? Did he even know I was still alive? The thought of him suffering at the hands of the intruders made my stomach twist, and I scrubbed harder, the motion fueled by anger and desperation.

But with every movement, the squish of the soaked padding between my legs brought me back to my current reality. The humiliating bulk was a constant reminder of how far I’d fallen, but even so, it grounded me in the strange, conflicting emotions that had kept me going. Embarrassment, anger, hope, and love—all tangled together, pushing me forward when I thought I had nothing left to give.

“Lila,” Clara said softly, breaking me from my thoughts. Her voice was calm but firm, her sharp eyes flicking to mine briefly. “You’re slowing down. Stay focused.”

I nodded faintly, swallowing hard as I forced myself to return my attention to the floor. The Winds of Summer stirred faintly within me again, easing the tension in my arms as I worked. Clara didn’t notice the change, but I could feel it—like a quiet reassurance that, despite everything, I wasn’t alone.

As the lantern light began to dim and the evening stretched on, I found myself clinging to that small, secret comfort. The Winds hadn’t abandoned me, and neither had the memory of Dorian. Somewhere, beyond the walls of this castle, he was waiting for me. And with every passing moment, I grew more determined to find him.

End of Chapter 37

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The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 36: Princess's Promise

The dining hall was a cacophony of muted voices, the soft clatter of bowls and utensils echoing off the stone walls. I followed Clara silently, the shame of my situation weighing heavily on me as we stepped into the room. The bulk beneath my dress was impossible to ignore, each step pressing the soggy, sticky mess against me. My cheeks burned, and I kept my head low, praying no one would notice.

Clara handed me a plain wooden bowl, its contents a gray, watery stew that sloshed faintly as I took it with trembling hands. I glanced around the room, desperate for some secluded corner where I could hide, but there was no escape from the long rows of tables and benches. Clara moved with quiet purpose, taking a seat near the middle of the room, and I had no choice but to follow her, my steps hesitant and my movements awkward.

As I lowered myself onto the bench, the mess in my diaper squished unpleasantly beneath me, the sensation drawing a sharp intake of breath that I tried to stifle. The humiliation was overwhelming, a fresh wave of heat flooding my face as I shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one had noticed.

Clara was already eating, her spoon scraping against the bottom of her bowl as though nothing was out of the ordinary. I stared at my meal, the thin, unappetizing stew swirling faintly as I hesitated. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but the shame in my chest made it almost impossible to lift the spoon.

I forced myself to take a bite, the bland flavor doing little to distract me from the heaviness of my situation. As I ate, my thoughts drifted, the simple act of eating bringing with it an unexpected pang of longing. Since becoming a servant, I hadn’t been forced to endure one of the humiliating liquid meals that had once defined my captivity. For a fleeting moment, I almost missed it—not for the formula itself, but for the comfort of those who had fed me.

Dorian. His name echoed in my mind, and my chest tightened as memories of his gentle hands, his patient smile, and the warmth of his voice surfaced. Despite the indignity of those moments, there had been a safety in them, a tenderness that had made the humiliation bearable. Now, seated among strangers, trapped in this degrading situation, that safety felt like a distant dream.

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as the stew slid down. The room around me faded into a blur of sound and movement, the laughter and chatter of the other servants distant and hollow. All I could feel was the shame pressing against me, both inside and out, and the ache of longing for the one person who had ever made me feel whole.

The wooden spoon trembled in my hand as I forced myself to keep eating, each bite a struggle against the knot in my stomach. Clara glanced at me briefly, her sharp eyes narrowing as though she could sense the storm brewing beneath my carefully maintained facade. She didn’t say anything, though, returning to her meal with the same quiet efficiency that seemed to define her every action.

The minutes stretched on, each one heavier than the last, until finally, the meal was over. My bowl was empty, but the weight in my chest—and the humiliating bulk beneath me—remained. As the other servants began to rise and clear their dishes, I followed Clara silently, my head low and my steps careful. For now, there was no reprieve from my shame, no comfort to be found in the routine of servitude. Only the faint, flickering hope that, somehow, I would endure.

The dining hall was a blur as we finished eating. My cheeks still burned with humiliation, and the soggy, messy diaper beneath my dress felt heavier with every step. I kept my head down, silently following Clara as we bussed our bowls, the faint clatter of dishes ringing hollow in my ears. The shame and discomfort weighed heavily on me, making each movement stiff and awkward.

Clara didn’t say a word as she led me back through the winding corridors to our shared room. Her silence was unnerving, the tension radiating from her in waves that only heightened my sense of dread. When we finally reached the room, she stepped inside first, her shoulders stiff, and as soon as I followed, she turned sharply and slammed the door behind us.

The echo of the door reverberated through the small space, making me cringe. I looked up hesitantly, only to be met with Clara’s piercing gaze. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her posture rigid, her jaw set. Her pale blue eyes burned with frustration, her expression sharper than I’d ever seen it.

“You,” she said, her voice low but laced with steel, “have some serious explaining to do.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as I tried to find the words, but Clara didn’t wait for me to respond.

“I covered for you, not once, but twice this morning,” she snapped, her voice rising slightly. “I lied to the guards for you. I lied to the headmistress for you. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to me if either of them had caught on? What could still happen if she finds out I’m hiding something from her?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My hands twisted nervously in the fabric of my dress, my mind racing as I tried to think of what to say. The weight of her glare was suffocating, and the lump in my throat only grew tighter.

“What the hell was that, Lila?” Clara demanded, her voice sharper now. “The crack in the floor, the guards, the headmistress’s suspicion—do you know how close we were to being caught? And then at lunch, you—” She stopped herself, letting out a sharp breath as she ran a hand through her hair. “I deserve answers.”

Her words hit me like a blow, the guilt and shame washing over me in waves. She was right—I owed her answers. But the truth... how could I tell her the truth? How could I explain what even I didn’t fully understand? My silence stretched on, and Clara’s frustration deepened, her foot tapping impatiently against the floor.

“Who are you, Lila?” she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less intense. “You’re not just some servant girl. I’ve known that since the moment you showed up here. So, tell me. What’s going on?”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. I bit my lip hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggled to find the courage to speak. The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in on me, and I knew there was no escaping this moment. Clara wasn’t going to let this go—and maybe, deep down, I didn’t want her to. But still, the words wouldn’t come, the truth locked inside me like a secret too dangerous to share.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, Clara’s sharp gaze boring into me as she waited for an answer. My hands twisted nervously in the folds of my dress, my breath shallow as my mind raced. Every instinct screamed at me to lie, to fabricate some story that would deflect her questions. But I knew Clara too well by now—she wouldn’t accept anything less than the truth.

Or at least a portion of it.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat tightening as I forced myself to speak. “I... I haven’t been honest with you,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. Clara’s eyes narrowed, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest as she waited for me to continue.

“I’m not just a servant,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing as the words spilled out. “I—” I hesitated, my voice catching. Saying it felt impossible, but there was no turning back now. “I’m the princess. Princess Liliana of the kingdom of the Four Winds.”

The room fell deathly silent. Clara’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as though she was about to say something, but no words came. For a long, agonizing moment, she simply stared at me, her expression unreadable. The tension in the air was so thick I could barely breathe, and I braced myself for the worst.

I thought she was going to slap me.

Instead, Clara straightened, her hands dropping to her sides as she took a step back. To my utter surprise, she bent her knees and lowered herself into a deep, deliberate curtsy, her head bowed low. When she rose, her eyes met mine again, and for the first time, I saw something other than frustration or suspicion in her gaze. There was respect there—something almost reverent.

“Your Grace,” she said softly, her voice steady and calm, “I thought I recognized you.”

The title hit me like a blow, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. My heart raced, my cheeks burned, and I felt smaller than ever under the weight of her words. “You don’t have to—” I started, but Clara raised a hand, cutting me off.

“You’re the princess,” she said firmly. “That’s not something I take lightly, Lila. Or... Your Grace.”

Hearing the title from her lips sent a strange mix of emotions coursing through me—relief, fear, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. She knew now. Clara knew. The secret I had worked so hard to keep was out, at least partially, and there was no going back.

“But,” Clara continued, her voice dropping lower, her eyes narrowing slightly, “that doesn’t explain everything. Like why you’re here, disguised as a servant. Or why...” Her gaze flicked down briefly, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, you know.”

I flushed even hotter, my hands flying to smooth my dress as though that could somehow conceal the humiliating truth beneath it. “That’s not important,” I stammered, my voice trembling. “What matters is that I’m trying to survive. Just like you.”

Clara tilted her head, studying me for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Fair enough,” she said, her tone cautious. “But, Your Grace, if we’re going to survive this—and if you’re serious about getting your kingdom back—you need to trust me. Fully.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication, and I nodded faintly, though I couldn’t quite meet her gaze. Trusting Clara with everything felt impossible right now, but she had already proven herself loyal in ways I hadn’t expected. For now, I would have to hope that was enough.

Clara let out a breath, her hands resting on her hips as she gave me a once-over, her sharp eyes softening slightly. “I had a feeling,” she admitted, her voice quiet but firm. “From the moment I saw you, honestly. The stories people tell about you... they matched you too well. The red hair, the delicate features—it all fit. But I wasn’t certain, not until now. I’ve never seen you before—not in person. Then, when you channeled, well, that was enough for me to realize the truth, but I waited until you came out and told me yourself.”

My cheeks burned hotter, and I averted my gaze, staring down at the rough floor beneath my feet. The idea that she had suspected all along made my stomach twist with both embarrassment and a strange sense of relief. She hadn’t been entirely blindsided, at least.

Clara stepped closer, her voice softening further. “You’ve done a decent job blending in, all things considered,” she said. “But it’s been obvious you’re not used to... this life. The way you carry yourself, the way you speak—it’s different.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as Clara gestured to the bed. “Lay down,” she said, her tone brisk again as if she’d given this order a hundred times before.

I froze, my cheeks blazing as I realized what she meant. “I—I can manage,” I stammered, taking a small step back.

Clara raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You’ve been sitting in that all morning, Your Grace,” she said pointedly, her voice both firm and matter-of-fact. “I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long, but you’re not going to last much longer. Now, lay down.”

Her words left no room for argument, and though every part of me screamed against it, I obeyed. My legs felt like lead as I stepped toward the bed, my hands trembling as I lowered myself onto the mattress. The crinkling sound beneath me was deafening, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry from the sheer humiliation of it all.

Clara moved with practiced efficiency, pulling out a fresh diaper and changing supplies from the wardrobe before kneeling beside me. Her movements were brisk but not unkind as she lifted my dress and worked quickly, her hands steady and impersonal.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to help someone like this,” Clara said after a moment, her voice calm as she worked. “But I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting it to be the princess.” She glanced at me briefly, her lips twitching with a faint smile. “Not that it matters. Everyone needs help sometimes, even royalty.”

I bit my lip, my cheeks burning as I stared up at the ceiling, too mortified to respond. The relief, though—despite the embarrassment—was undeniable. As Clara removed the mess and cleaned me with a damp cloth, the discomfort that had clung to me all morning slowly faded, replaced by a strange, quiet sense of gratitude.

“There,” Clara said finally, taping the fresh diaper snugly into place and smoothing down my dress. “Good as new.” She stood, brushing her hands off and giving me a faint smirk. “Not so bad, was it?”

I sat up slowly, my face still hot as I smoothed my skirt over my legs. “Thank you, and stop calling me your grace, please, I don’t want my cover blown,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

Clara waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it,” she said, her tone lighter now. “But from now on, Your Grace, err, Lila, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a little warning before pulling any stunts like this morning. If we’re going to survive, we have to work together.”

I nodded, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. Clara’s sharp, pragmatic demeanor was both grounding and comforting, and for the first time since this ordeal began, I felt like I might not have to face it alone.

Clara’s words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. I sat on the edge of the bed, my cheeks still burning from the mortifying experience of being changed like a baby, and yet... she was right. Every part of me resisted admitting it, but if I was going to survive this nightmare—and somehow, someday, reclaim my kingdom—I couldn’t do it alone. I had to rely on Clara, as humbling as that was.

She stood by the door, her arms crossed and her pale blue eyes fixed on me. “If you’re serious about this,” she said firmly, “then it starts now. No more holding back, no more pretending you can handle this on your own. Do you want your kingdom back? Then, follow my lead. Treat me like a teacher because that’s exactly what you need.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat tightening as I nodded faintly. The very idea of it made my stomach twist—the thought of taking guidance from someone so far below my station, of relying on her to navigate a world I had never belonged to. But she was right. I didn’t know how to survive as a servant, let alone as someone hiding a secret as dangerous as mine. Clara knew this life, and whether I liked it or not, I needed her.

The fresh diaper beneath my dress crinkled softly as I stood, the sound a humiliating reminder of just how far I had fallen. I smoothed my skirt over it as though that could make the bulk less noticeable and glanced at Clara, her sharp expression unwavering.

“I’ll... I’ll follow your lead,” I said quietly, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “You’re right. I need your help.”

Clara’s lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile, but her eyes remained steady. “Good,” she said simply. “Then let’s get to work. You can prove your commitment by keeping up with me this afternoon. If you’re serious about regaining your kingdom, you start by mastering the basics. That means doing the work and doing it right.”

I nodded again, the weight of her words sinking into me like a stone. My chest tightened with a mix of humiliation and resolve as she opened the door, gesturing for me to follow. The moment I stepped into the corridor, the faint crinkle of my diaper seemed to echo louder than before, and I couldn’t help but flush at the thought of anyone overhearing it.

Clara didn’t look back as she led the way, her steps brisk and confident. I trailed behind her, my head low, the mortifying realization settling deeper into my chest. This was my reality now. Not a princess surrounded by luxury and grace, but a servant in a borrowed dress, following orders, scrubbing floors—and relying on Clara for everything, even something as humiliating as changing my diaper when needed.

The hallways seemed longer and darker as the enormity of what lay ahead weighed down on me. But despite the crushing shame, there was a flicker of determination in my heart. I would endure this. I had to. For my kingdom, for Dorian, for the faint hope that one day, I could reclaim what had been stolen from me.

Clara glanced back briefly as we approached the next wing of the castle, her sharp eyes meeting mine. “Keep up, Your Grace,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “And remember—this is just the beginning.”

The soft crinkle of my diaper echoed with every step as I followed her into the next stretch of work, the humbling weight of her words settling firmly in my mind. This was my first lesson, and though the path ahead was long and degrading, I knew there was no other way forward.

End of Chapter 36

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Regression Gene: Chapter One

The rest of the morning was uneventful. Mom and Isabella chatted over coffee. I was distracted by the Care Bears Show. I had wet my diaper by lunch; my Mom changed me before she had to leave. Isabella fed me a few jars of baby food and three bottles. I was dressed in a very childish linen white dress with yellow rubber duckies designed on the front. Mommy had promised to get me more Care Bear-themed clothing. My hair was put into pigtails. A pair of white tennis shoes slipped onto my feet; I was ushered to the car and secured in my car seat. I held onto Sunshine Bear tightly as I suckled on my pacifier. My thick diaper rubbed between my legs, crinkling as I shifted with anxiety.

I had my playdate today. I was nervous about going to see another little one. The day Mommy found me at the store, she exchanged numbers with the cashier, who had an older sister who regressed. I wondered if she regressed by choice or was picked up by her Mommy like mine had.

The drive was relatively short. Mommy had parked in front of a small, white-painted house. Getting out of the car, she approached my door and opened it. She reached for my car seat buckles. “I dun wunna share Wellow!” I said, my voice muffled by the pacifier.

I’m a grown woman! I don’t want to play with another grown woman wearing a diaper!

“That’s not very nice of you, Kelsie,” Mommy cooed, helping me out of the car. “I’m sure your new little friend will have lots of toys to share with you.”

I am being lectured on sharing…

Mommy held my hand, leading me to the front door. Ringing the doorbell, a middle-aged woman answered the door. She smiled warmly, her gaze lingering on me. She had soft, blue eyes that were filled with happiness. A simple dress hung from her slender frame. Her long, chestnut colored hair flowed past her shoulders. “You must be Isabella and baby Keslie!” I could hear the faint, southern lisp in her words.

I mentally winced at her calling be a baby. I’m a grown woman!  I was preparing myself to tell her off.

“This is Wellow!” I said excitedly, showing her my stuffed toy.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!

“I’m Caroline,” she said, extending her hand to Mommy.

“It is so nice to meet you!” Mommy said. “Is Angelica going to be here today?”

“She is running a little late,” Caroline said. “When she told me about a new playmate for her sister, I was just over the moon. Please, come in!”

Mommy placed her hand on the small of my back, leading me inside. I saw another young woman around my age sitting in her playpen. A pacifier resting between her lips. She wore a simple, pink t-shirt that fully exposed her babyish diaper. Her skin was fair. She had baby blue eyes that lit up once she saw me. Her golden was put into pigtails just like me.

“This is my little one, Juniper,” Caroline said. “Her sister, Mary, will be along soon.”

Like hell am I going inside that playpen!

“Pway!” I eagerly said, tugging at Mommy’s arm.

Caroline let out a playful laugh, taking my hand and guiding me into her living room. She opened the playpen gate, ushering me inside. Juniper clapped her hands excitedly. “Want to pway dwollies?” she asked eagerly.

No, I don’t want to… well, maybe just for a bit…

After a few minutes, the doorbell rang. Caroline had been sitting on the couch, chatting with Mommy about boring grown-up stuff. Caroline got up and answered the door. I saw the cashier. “Sorry I’m late,” Mary said. “I had to stop by and get a new package of diapers.”

“You don’t have to bring your own,” Caroline said warmly. “I have more than enough.”

“I know…” Mary said bashfully, her eyes glancing at me.

“Are you a little as well?” Isabella asked her.

Mary’s cheeks reddened even deeper. “I’m not a little…” she said shyly. “But I do call Caroline my Mommy…”

“Let’s get you changed so you can join Kelsie and Juniper,” Caroline said, taking Mary by the hand and leading her into one of the backrooms.

“I wike Care Bears,” Juniper said, wanting to recapture my attention. “Pwink is my fwavorite.”

Pink was a good Care Bear as well, but Sunshine Bear was clearly the best one. “Wellow is my fwavorite…” I said, somewhat embarrassed.

A few minutes later, Mary and Caroline both reemerged from the back room. Mary was wearing a babyish shirt with a sunflower design and a very bright pink diaper with rainbows on it. A pacifier resting between her lips. Isabella couldn’t hold back her faint giggle. “You simply look adorable!” she cooed.

Mary turned a deep shade of red. Caroline gave her a faint nudge. “Well, what do you say to the nice lady?”

“T-Thank you…” Mary said sheepishly.

“Go play,” Caroline said, giving Mary’s patted butt a light swat.

“Y-Yes… Mommy…” she muttered.

She had taken a step before Caroline’s hand grabbed Mary’s shoulder. “Babies crawl in this house,” she said teasingly. “Mommy won’t bend you over her lap because we have company.”

Mary’s ears burned red. “S-Sworry… Mommy…” She slowly lowered herself to the ground, crawling like a baby to the playpen. Caroline walked closely behind her, opening the playpen for her.

“I didn’t expect her to be into age play,” Isabella said as Caroline sat down.

“It kind of just happened,” Caroline said. “She would come over to play with Juniper after I regressed her. But Juniper was a bit standoffish. I read online that someone had a regressed little that wouldn’t play with their siblings unless they looked like a little themselves. I suggested the idea to Mary. At first, she was a bit hesitant, but she decided to give it a try. It turns out that she enjoyed it far more than she thought she would.”

“Interesting,” Isabella said, glancing at all three of us playing in our diapers. “Keslie has a sister; I wonder how Kelsie will react around her.”

“I’d buy a few diapers in her size if you haven’t already,” Caroline said. “Baby Kelsie looks like she has a fierce personality about her.”

Why the hell would Mary want to wear diapers? I tried to figure it out as we played together. My thoughts always came out different, sounding so babyish. A mystery to solve at another time, I felt myself becoming immersed in my playdate.

Would Emma wear diapers with me if we had a playdate?

Hi everyone! I’ve never written a story before! I’ve been reading stories like this for over 20 years (since the late 90s) but this is my first foray into making one myself. It’s a lot of elements I like to see in ABDL fiction. I hope you like it! Be kind in the comments please, I’ve never shared anything before. If anyone likes it maybe I’ll continue. Here it is:

SIX MONTHS OF BEING HER BABY

Zack woke up in his crib, pacifier in his mouth, teddy bear under his arm, wearing a soggy messy diaper. He slowly opened his eyes as he felt a slight bubbling in his stomach. Before he could acknowledge the feeling he was filling his diaper. He didn’t even react. He just turned on his side to create room. This was normal and had become beyond a routine. What used to be his morning bowel movement in the bathroom is now something that he wakes up to in his diapers. At the same time some urine released creating even more warmth in his now very full diaper. He could feel the stream hit the inside of his padded diaper; absorbing into his endless padding, trickling down to his sides and disappearing into the large booster pads mommy filled his diaper with. Zack felt his bottom, still half filled with a log of poo. He pushes a little to clear it: another stream of urine. Was he done? He wasn’t even sure if he was still going. His newfound level of forced incontinence had hit rock bottom. Instinctively he started sucking his pacifier and clutched his bear tighter. A flash of embarrassment before the comfort of his bear helped him ease back into his role: giant baby.

“I’m baby.” He thought to himself. “Mommy will clean me up. Mommy loves me. Loves baby.”

The more he accepted the role the less embarrassing and mortifying his situation. Zack had become, without a doubt, a giant helpless baby, surrounded by a life of all things infantile. He slept in a giant oversized white crib, complete with pink bumpers, a large mobile that twinkled overhead, with a quilted nursery themed Minnie Mouse sheet covering the mattress. A light baby blanket did little more than comfort the giant baby inside. Dressed and covered so completely in baby clothes he did not need a blanket. Babies after all, could not be trusted to keep themselves warm with blankets and so needed to be put in clothes and pajamas that would fulfill this need. Zack’s babied state was always on full display, unable to hide beneath even the infantile bedding in his crib. Often times he was dressed in a onesie with thick thigh high socks. In the summer he was often in a short t- shirt and diaper, or a babydoll set with bloomer diaper cover. Today he was dressed in a thick soft pink footed sleeper with heart shaped snaps going from his collar all the way down each leg for easy diaper changes. Twelve rows of alternating pink and white frills adorned his footed onesie, lining his padded bottom. On his chest there was an embroidered ballet slipper. Clipped to his feety pajamas was a pacifier with princesses. Beneath the confining garment he wore his nighttime diaper, which consisted of a large cloth diaper and several soaker pads. It seemed as thick as the diapers were, more soaker pads were always needed. At first Zack was confused when they were added. He didn’t know what they were. Mommy’s routine of feeding him large volumes of liquid and the constant diaper changes had made them a pragmatic and calculated part of his journey towards complete bladder incontinence. When mommy first added them to his diaper routine Zack cried, lisping through his pacifier.

“Why do I need thi-th Mommy? My diaper-th are already th-o thick.” There was lots of crying and whining in the beginning. Mommy always smiled and kissed his cheeks when he cried. She encouraged his whining and crying. His weak protests only seemed to make Mommy’s resolve and her answers more definite. Mommy’s eyes glowed adoringly at her captive baby as she answered, holding up the giant booster pad to Zack.

“These are your boosty soaky pads my sweet baby. Mommy thinks you need them because of all the pee pee you do in your diapers. Does that make sense sweetie? It’s ok.” Mommy’ covered his face in her kisses, pulled up his diaper, deftly fastened it around his waste and then, as she always did: fussed over the sides of his diapers, making sure in everything was neat and the leg gathers were in the right place. Once her diaper inspection was complete she patted and rubbed the front of his diaper before softly tickling his thighs and squeezing his feet and toes. Her gentle domination over him left no trace of malice. Her love for his infantilization was suffocating and inescapable. Zack’s need for more of her affection left no room for resistance and paved the way for his journey towards incontinence.

Six months prior Mommy put Zack into his first diapers and Mommy’s calculated affections and reinforcement made his slide into dependence so hard for him to track. At every step he was distracted by her love, her insistence on bottle feedings, and the reward of her beautiful attention when he did what she wanted. At the first hints of bladder control loss Zack began to try and control himself. He would hold his pee until the point of bursting. After nearly two days of exhausting the limits of his bladder, always to its eventual failure, mommy started surprising him with tickles. His ever present pacifier and the lisp it gave him made his protests so pathetic.

“Pleath Mommy! You’re gonna make me pee!”

“Oh my gosh I can’t help it! Mommy just turns into the tickle monster when she sees this cutey!” Running her fingers all over Zack’s shaved, sensitive skin. Gently prodding into his ribs. Her soft hands grabbing his knees and feet. It didn’t take long. Mommy always seemed to know just when he was ready to burst.

In the beginning, the eventual flood when his bladder finally released would lead him to leaks. In the beginning this always meant a diaper change. Initially Zack used this as a last way to control himself: holding his bladder until he would flood and leak. But it seems Mommy was ahead of him. No sooner did he have a routine of leaks than he was outfitted with more boosters and more bottle feedings. Now even his biggest floods were contained within diapers. He could go hours before a leak. The more he tried to hold his bladder, the more he was just exhausting his last bits of control. Two months of constant liquids quickly took a toll on Zack’s bladder.

First it was bedwetting. He would wake up to pee at night, then fall back asleep after letting go. The interrupted sleep would cause him to be more tired; and of course Mommy would seem to anticipate his waking with a midnight bottle. More liquids. More wetting. His bedwetting came so organically. Before he knew it he was wetting unconsciously in his sleep. He’d wake up in the morning assuming he was wet from when he woke up to pee, not knowing he’d been continuously going throughout the night.

The worst moment in his journey towards incontinence came after the second month when he started involuntarily peeing. Zack would feel the urge to pee and before he could consciously decide to pee it was happening. His urgency was followed immediately by relief. He was losing control. The embarrassment was helped by the diapers hiding it happening. But that came crashing down on Zack during one of his morning diaper changes. Mommy checked him in the morning. He was dressed in a simple white onesie with pink trim and matching pink socks. She woke him with kisses, even kissing his pacifier. He matched her affections, pointlessly pressing his pacifier against her cheeks.

“Paci kisses? For mommy! Thank you sweet baby! What a sweet baby!! Let’s check this baby’s bottom. Are we soggy?” Mommy ran her hand down his body until she reached his heavy nighttime diaper. She gingerly unsnapped his onesie and then pressed and weighed the sodden diaper with her hands before patting it and declaring, “oh yes. He did a good job filling up his diaper for mommy. Let’s get you into a brand new diapee to start the day my love.” Running her hands up his sides she pushed away his onesie until his diaper was exposed, tearing away the tapes. She started wiping him down when it happened.

Zack couldn’t forget the stream of urine going into the air and landing on his belly when Mommy was taking off his soiled nighttime diaper. He clenched down uselessly. The stream continued into a dribble. Mommy giggled, delighted.

“oops! Looks like baby needs a new diapee quick!” She held the used diaper to his penis until he finished. Then she patted the front. “What a good baby! Babies can’t hold it can they? It’s ok. You need your diapers now all the time and Mommy loves that for you. Mommy’s baby.”

Tears streamed down and a loud sob. His pacifier fell out of his mouth. With each sob another weak stream of pee. Mommy just held the soiled diaper until he finished, all the while shushing him and whispering how much she loved her diapered baby. No sooner had he emptied his bladder than mommy replaced the pacifier with another big bottle. Drying his tears and kissing his cheeks mommy held the bottle up to his mouth. He instinctively started sucking through tears. Mommy went back to cleaning him. With his legs held high Zack took one look down and saw his hairless diaper area; his penis expelling a bead of urine. He was already dribbling as she dusted him with powder. She took his penis and placed it down while securing the new diaper over it and taped it in place. She looked up at him and lifted his bottle. His giant baby’s bottle. The giant bottle that would soon be in his diaper.

The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 35: Fragile Masquerade

Clara and I worked quickly, the spilled water pooling and spreading across the floor as we scrubbed furiously to clean it up before it seeped further into the cracks. My arms ached from the frantic motion, but the sting of exertion was nothing compared to the burning anger churning inside me. Every swipe of the sponge felt like an outlet, yet it did nothing to extinguish the fire that threatened to consume me.

The faint sound of boots echoed from the throne room again, and I glanced up just in time to see the intruder king and his entourage stepping through the archway. He moved with a languid grace, his golden-yellow robes swishing softly as he walked, his head held high with an air of mocking arrogance. His attendants followed close behind, their sharp black uniforms a stark contrast to the brightness of his attire.

He paused briefly as he passed us, his cold, calculating gaze sweeping over the scene. I kept my head down, my hands trembling as I scrubbed harder, but his presence was suffocating, like a storm cloud looming overhead. The room felt colder, his disdain for everything around him palpable.

“How fitting,” he said, his voice smooth but dripping with disdain. “The great kingdom of reds and silvers, reduced to this.” His eyes lingered on us for a moment, his lip curling into a sneer. “Its princess vanished, its people broken, and its servants... well, at least you two seem to have found your proper place.”

My breath caught in my throat, the anger bubbling higher, hotter, at his words. My hand faltered on the sponge, my fingers gripping it tightly as I forced myself to keep scrubbing. Proper place? The sheer audacity of his comment made my blood boil, but I couldn’t let it show. Not here. Not now.

Clara didn’t look up either, her movements steady and deliberate as she worked beside me, her face carefully neutral. If she was seething like I was, she hid it well, but I could see the faint tension in her jaw, the way her fingers gripped her sponge just a little too tightly.

The man sniffed dismissively, as though we were nothing more than dirt under his heel, before turning on his heel and continuing down the corridor. His attendants followed wordlessly, their faces blank masks of compliance, leaving behind only the fading echo of their footsteps.

The moment they were gone, my sponge slipped from my hand, falling into the soapy puddle with a faint splash. I clenched my fists tightly, my nails digging into my palms as I stared down at the floor, my chest heaving with barely restrained fury. The anger roared in my ears, a deafening tide of humiliation and hatred that threatened to spill over.

Clara glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, her expression wary but calm. “Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice low but firm. “Don’t let him see it. That’s what he wants.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take a deep, shuddering breath. The fire in my chest didn’t dim, but I pushed it down, burying it beneath the weight of my fear and the memory of the crack in the stone. Clara was right—if I let my emotions get the better of me, I’d only make things worse.

Still, the words echoed in my mind, sharp and cutting: Your proper place. The intruder’s mocking tone, his disdain for everything my kingdom had stood for, would haunt me long after this moment. But I won’t forget it. I wouldn’t let it go.

One day, I would make him regret ever stepping foot in my castle. For now, I scrubbed harder, channeling every ounce of my anger into the task at hand, the faint glow of resolve flickering brighter within me.

With the guards gone and the threat momentarily averted, Clara worked in silence, but her presence beside me felt heavy, weighted with unspoken questions. I could feel her eyes on me, even when she wasn’t looking directly. Her movements were mechanical, her sponge gliding over the stone floor with practiced efficiency, but I knew her mind was elsewhere—on me, on the crack in the stone, on everything I hadn’t explained.

I didn’t dare meet her gaze. The tension between us hung thick in the air, made sharper by the sharp crack of the fissure behind us, barely hidden now by the drying water. Clara didn’t press, not here, not now, but I could feel her unanswered questions burning through the quiet.

Who are you? What did you do? Her words from earlier echoed in my mind, and I bit my lip hard, forcing myself to focus on the repetitive motion of scrubbing the floor. I didn’t have answers for her—none that I could give, none that wouldn’t put us both in even greater danger. For now, the safest thing I could do was keep my head down and stay quiet.

But my anger refused to dissipate, simmering just beneath the surface with a heat that felt all-consuming. Every swipe of the sponge did nothing to ease the boiling rage in my chest, the echo of the intruder’s mocking words ringing in my ears. “Proper place.” I clenched my teeth, my arms straining as I scrubbed harder, as though I could somehow erase his presence from my mind if I only worked hard enough.

I was so lost in my fury that I didn’t notice the faint, growing pressure in my stomach until it was nearly too late. My muscles tensed, and my breath hitched as the realization hit me. My heart sank, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over me as the anger twisted into something sharper, more immediate. I tried to focus, to will the sensation away, but my body betrayed me, and I froze, my sponge slipping from my hand.

I glanced at Clara out of the corner of my eye, but she didn’t seem to notice, her focus still on the floor as she worked. My cheeks burned, the heat of embarrassment mixing with the simmering anger, and I clenched my fists tightly, trying to keep my body in check. But the pressure was relentless, my exhaustion and fury leaving me with little control, and the shame of what was about to happen was nearly unbearable.

Not here. Not now. My mind raced, panic bubbling beneath the surface, but there was nothing I could do. The fire of my anger couldn’t save me this time, and as I sat back on my heels, the reality of my situation hit me with a crushing weight.

The anger, the humiliation, the helplessness—it all swirled together in a storm of emotions that left me trembling, my hands gripping my knees as I tried to steady myself. I didn’t know if Clara would notice or if she already had, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. All I could do was sit there, my body stiff with shame, and pray that this moment would pass without her saying a word.

The pressure was unbearable now, an unrelenting force that left me trembling as I knelt on the hard stone floor. My body ached from the strain of holding on, my muscles quivering with the effort, but I could feel my control slipping—like sand through my fingers, no matter how hard I tried to hold it back. My breath hitched, and my cheeks burned hotter with every passing second, the mounting shame nearly suffocating.

And then, it happened.

Before I could stop it, before I could even prepare myself, my body gave in. A faint, involuntary grunt escaped my lips, and I froze, my face blazing as the humiliating reality set in. The soft, warm swelling beneath me was undeniable, spreading as my body pushed against my will, the diaper straining to accommodate the mess.

I couldn’t stop it. The anger, the shame, the helplessness—they all crashed over me at once, leaving me trembling as I knelt there, unable to move, unable even to breathe. My hands gripped the sponge in front of me, trembling as my cheeks burned so brightly I was sure they must have been glowing. The faint rustle beneath my dress was almost deafening in the stillness of the corridor, and I clenched my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear.

A soft gasp broke the quiet, and my heart sank as I glanced up, meeting Clara’s wide, startled eyes. Her face was a mixture of shock and realization, her pale blue eyes darting from my face to the faintly bulging outline beneath my dress.

She blinked, her lips parting as though to say something, but no words came. For a moment, neither of us moved, the silence between us stretching unbearably. Her expression shifted, softening into something almost like pity, and I wanted to scream, to run, to hide from her gaze.

“Lila...” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

I couldn’t answer her. My throat was tight, my chest heaving with humiliation as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I looked away, staring at the stone floor as though it could swallow me whole. The anger that had burned so hotly within me moments ago was gone, snuffed out by the crushing weight of my shame.

Clara didn’t move closer, didn’t press. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she looked away, her hands returning to the bucket and sponge as she resumed scrubbing the floor. She didn’t say another word, but the tension in the air was heavy, her presence beside me both a comfort and a reminder of my humiliation.

I stayed frozen for what felt like an eternity, my body stiff and my heart racing as I fought to keep the tears from falling. The shame was overwhelming and suffocating, and for the first time, I felt truly, utterly powerless.

Clara’s voice was low and steady, but her words hit me like a blow. “We can’t go back until lunch,” she said quietly, her gaze flicking toward me, her expression unreadable. “You’ll have to wait.”

Wait? My heart sank further, the weight of her words crushing me as I sat frozen on my knees. The swollen, messy diaper beneath me was unbearable—hot and stifling one moment, growing cool and damp the next with every subtle movement. Each shift of my body pressed the shame deeper, the sticky, humiliating reality of my situation impossible to ignore.

I couldn’t meet her eyes. I couldn’t even muster the strength to respond. The lump in my throat grew tighter, the tears I’d fought so hard to hold back threatening to spill over. My hands trembled as I reached for the sponge, gripping it tightly in an attempt to ground myself, but the effort was futile. The shame was too great, too suffocating, and it crushed me beneath its weight.

I scrubbed the floor mechanically, the rough stone beneath me blurred by my watery vision. The faint smell of soap and damp stone mixed with the stale scent of my disgrace and the sound of my sponge scraping against the floor barely registered in my ears. My silent tears fell freely now, dripping into the soapy water and mixing with the grime I worked to clean.

Clara said nothing, her presence beside me a silent weight. She scrubbed steadily, her movements methodical, but I could feel her eyes flicking toward me every so often, her gaze heavy with something I couldn’t place—pity, perhaps, or maybe frustration. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to console me, but her silence was almost worse. It left me alone with my thoughts, my shame, my tears.

Each shift of my body was a fresh reminder of the mess I carried, the squishing sound beneath me a cruel accompaniment to the rhythm of my scrubbing. The cool dampness of the diaper clung to my skin, each movement pressing it closer, making me hyper-aware of just how far I had fallen.

My tears blurred my vision, but I kept scrubbing, my arms moving mechanically as though the act could somehow erase the humiliation that consumed me. The soapy water rippled beneath me, catching the faint light from the corridor’s lanterns, and for a moment, I felt like I might drown in it—drown in my shame, my helplessness, my silent, unspoken pain.

I wanted to scream, to cry out, to do something, but I couldn’t. All I could do was scrub, the rhythm of my movements broken only by the soft, shaky sobs that escaped my throat despite my best efforts to hold them back. The castle floor was cleaner now, gleaming faintly in the dim light, but no amount of scrubbing could clean away the mess inside me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Clara sat back on her heels and let out a soft sigh. “That’s it,” she said, her voice laced with exhaustion. “We’re done here. Time for lunch.”

Her words brought a wave of relief, but it was fleeting. The weight of the mess in my diaper was a constant, humiliating reminder of my situation. Each step I’d taken that morning had pressed the shame deeper, the cool, sticky bulk clinging to my skin and making every motion unbearable. When my bladder grew full, I didn’t even bother trying to hold it; what was the point? My body ached from hours of scrubbing, but it was nothing compared to the mental toll of carrying this secret so close to discovery.

Clara stood, her movements stiff but efficient as she gathered her bucket and sponge. “Come on, Lila,” she said, nodding toward the hallway. “Let’s get this back to the closet.”

I rose slowly, my legs trembling from the strain of kneeling for so long. The diaper squished beneath me as I stood, and I bit my lip hard, willing myself not to cry again. I followed Clara silently, my arms full of cleaning supplies as we made our way down the dim corridors, the sound of our footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls.

When we reached the cleaning closet, Clara deposited her tools with practiced ease, her hands moving quickly as she rinsed out her sponge and set it aside. I followed her lead, the cold water stinging my raw hands as I cleaned the sponge before placing it back in its spot. The relief of washing away the grime of the morning was fleeting, overshadowed by the discomfort that clung to me with every step.

Clara glanced at me briefly, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp as she motioned toward the corridor. “Let’s go,” she said simply, turning on her heel and leading the way to the dining hall.

The walk was quiet, save for the faint murmurs of other servants heading in the same direction. My gaze was fixed on the ground, my steps careful and measured as I followed Clara. But as we approached the dining hall, my heart sank. To get there, we had to pass the main room the headmistress used—a space that was as imposing as the woman herself.

The heavy door to the room was open, and the headmistress stood just inside, her arms crossed and her sharp eyes scanning the hallway. She was waiting, her severe presence making the air feel colder and heavier. Her gaze locked onto us as we approached, and my stomach twisted into knots.

Clara’s pace slowed, her posture stiffening as she nodded respectfully. “Ma’am,” she said, her voice steady but cautious.

The headmistress’s lips thinned as she stepped forward, her dark eyes sweeping over both of us. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, and I froze, my heart pounding as the weight of her scrutiny bore down on me. My mind raced, panic bubbling beneath the surface as I prayed she wouldn’t notice—wouldn’t smell—wouldn’t suspect.

“Lunchtime,” she said curtly, her tone sharp as a blade. “Don’t dawdle. You’ll have twice the work this afternoon if you fall behind.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clara replied quickly, bowing her head slightly before nudging me to keep moving.

The headmistress’s eyes followed us as we passed, her presence looming like a storm cloud. I kept my gaze firmly on the ground, my cheeks burning with shame as the squish beneath my dress felt louder, more obvious, with every step. 

As we passed the doorway, the headmistress’s sharp voice cut through the quiet hallway like a blade. “Stop.”

Clara and I froze mid-step, the weight of her command heavy and unyielding. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned just enough to see her stepping out of the room, her dark eyes narrowing as she approached.

Her nose wrinkled slightly, her gaze flicking between us with that sharp, calculating intensity I had come to dread. “Something is amiss,” she said, her voice low but firm, a dangerous edge lacing her words. Her eyes lingered on Clara first, her expression unreadable, before shifting to me. My heart pounded in my chest as her gaze bore into me, heavy and unrelenting.

“Step forward,” she commanded, gesturing to me with a flick of her wrist.

Clara cast me a brief, uncertain glance, but I couldn’t meet her eyes. My legs felt like lead as I stepped forward, my knees trembling slightly beneath my dress. The headmistress circled me slowly, her sharp eyes scanning every inch of my uniform, her movements methodical and deliberate.

“There’s something... off,” she muttered, more to herself than to us. Her fingers reached out, brushing against the fabric of my sleeve, adjusting the hem of my dress. “Hair, nails, dress...” She trailed off, her nose wrinkling again as her frown deepened.

The heat of humiliation burned in my cheeks as I stood there, every nerve in my body screaming to run, to hide. The soggy, messy diaper beneath my dress felt impossibly obvious, the bulk pressing against me with every subtle movement. My breaths were shallow, my heart hammering so loudly in my chest that I was sure she could hear it.

Her hand paused at the waistband of my dress, her fingers lingering just below the seam. I froze, panic rising like a tidal wave as her brow furrowed, her sharp gaze snapping to mine.

“Something doesn’t smell right,” she said coldly, her tone sharper now. “Explain.”

“I—I...” The words caught in my throat, and my vision blurred with the sting of tears. My mouth opened, but no sound came out, my mind racing for an excuse, an explanation, anything to deflect her suspicion.

Clara, to her credit, stepped forward quickly, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. “It must be the water, ma’am,” she said, bowing her head respectfully. “We had a spill earlier, and the floor wasn’t as clean as it should have been. It’s likely the smell is lingering.”

The headmistress’s eyes flicked to Clara, her frown deepening. “A spill?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clara continued, her voice calm but deferential. “We scrubbed it as best we could, but the soapy water spread further than we expected.”

For a long, agonizing moment, the headmistress said nothing, her piercing gaze moving back to me. My knees felt weak, my entire body trembling as I fought to keep still under her scrutiny. Finally, she let out a sharp, irritated breath, stepping back.

“Fix it,” she snapped, her voice clipped. “I will not tolerate any lapses in cleanliness. And ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clara said quickly, bowing her head again. I followed suit, the motion shaky and awkward, but the headmistress had already turned away, her sharp heels clicking against the stone as she disappeared back into her office.

The moment she was gone, my knees nearly buckled with relief. Clara grabbed my arm, steadying me as she whispered fiercely, “Keep it together, Lila. You’re not out of this yet.”

I nodded faintly, swallowing hard as I fought to steady my breathing. The weight of the diaper beneath my dress felt heavier than ever, but for now, we had escaped for now. But I couldn’t help but feel the headmistress’s gaze lingering, a shadow that would haunt me until I found a way out of this nightmare.

End of Chapter 35

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Chapter one

...

Lockout

John felt a little nauseous as he walked out of his bedroom. He’d been all ready to get a good night’s rest, but now it looked like that would be impossible.

It’d been fourteen hours since they dropped their demands, and Daddy hadn’t shown any signs of cracking so far. He’d done some work in his shop, run a couple errands, and never once did he come to beg for their submission. 

That alone was starting to get to him, but when John got undressed for the night and found his sleeping cage–a welded steel box Daddy had built himself–locked and sealed, the shock nearly caused him to give up then and there. 

He found Candy brushing her teeth, using a pink princess-printed toothbrush and toothpaste that smelled like bubblegum. “I’ve got an issue,” he said, speaking in low, urgent tones. “Daddy locked my cage.” 

Glancing at him, Candy raised an eyebrow, toothpaste foam dribbling from her mouth as she asked, “Whassapobble?” 

“Huh?”

She spat in the sink and rinsed out her mouth before repeating the question. “I know we want him to leave it unlocked, but that’s normal for now, isn’t it?” 

“No, no,” John clarified, dropping his voice as though he might be overheard. “He locked me out. With a padlock.” 

Normally, the ‘Lock’ was just a latch with a zip-tie style tamper proof seal around it, so that John could get out in an emergency. Padlocking it meant that John couldn’t get in to sleep at all. 

Candy’s eyes widened as she understood, and she moved to shut the bathroom door before responding. “He’s trying to make us give up,” she said, blushing as she hooked a finger in the waistband of her pajama pants. Pulling on the elastic, she revealed a pair of plain cotton panties beneath. Shame-faced, she admitted, “He took away my diapers.” 

“I don’t know if I can sleep without bars,” John said, shuffling uncomfortably. “I’m so used to my cage, and…” 

“Here,” Candy assured him, resting a hand on his arm and squeezing gently. “You sleep in my crib tonight. I’ll sleep on the guest bed.” 

Understanding what she was sacrificing, John whimpered a little, feeling bad for the imposition. “You’re sure?”

“To each according to their needs,” Candy promised him. “You need it more than I do.”

…

Undermining Leadership

A message was scrawled on the chalkboard in the kitchen the next morning. 

‘Candy cannot stop you from freely submitting to me. You don’t have to do what she says, just because she thinks she understands being your Daddy better than I do.’ 

Blanching when she read it, Candy hurriedly wiped the chalk away with her sleeve. She wasn’t in charge of the group, she was just their representative, but she didn’t want that sort of message undermining their efforts. 

Unfortunately, Daddy knew her all too well. The video camera he’d placed got the incriminating shot perfectly, showing Candy’s fear and anxiety as she tried to silence speech that disagreed with her, and before anyone had even had breakfast, the whole house had the clip texted to their phone, along with another message.

‘Why is she afraid of you hearing the truth?’

Hurriedly, Candy followed his text with her own. ‘I’m not trying to act like I’d be a better daddy than daddy!’

His reply devastated her, providing an ironclad reminder that he was in charge–or, at least, that he should be. 

‘Then why are you telling me what to do, silly girl?’

…

Captive Audience Meeting

It wasn’t a scene.

If it had been, they would have boycotted, but Daddy promised that he just wanted to talk about some practical things. 

Daddy was a gosh-darned liar.

Socks squirmed uncomfortably as Daddy addressed her, his face straight and level as he absolutely demolished her confidence in the strike. “I want to make sure I have your consent before I post any of these pictures to Fetlife,” he explained politely. 

The pictures in question were from a scene they’d played out last week. Socks had been trapped in her mittens, filled up with three glycerin suppositories, and left to dangle in her bouncer and watch while Daddy played grown-up games with Candy. Just the memory of the play made her blush–thinking of being bound and helpless as she filled up her diaper, elastic bands forcing her up and down in an endless rhythm that sank her weight into the yucky mess, frustrated and burning with desire as she watched Daddy fuck her big sister. 

She’d been in a chastity belt since then, and even through the strike, she hadn’t been allowed out. That frustration had only built, horny need that drove her into further desperation, and now as she looked at the photos and remembered what they’d done–

“Sweetie?” Daddy interrupted. “Are you alright with me sharing this one?” 

Socks stared at the picture–a particularly humiliating frame, the moment where she’d lost the fight with the suppositories and began to pack her diapers full. She could remember that moment as vividly as when it happened, how all she’d wanted was to feel Daddy’s cock inside her, but all she got instead was a mushy bottom. 

“I–” she squeaked. “Mhmm.”

“Alright,” Daddy said, swiping on his phone to the next photo. Socks looked at herself, face buried in mitten-clad hands, ashamed and blushing.

Squirming, she said, “This isn’t fair!” 

Daddy played innocent. “What’s not fair?” 

“You’re getting me all squirmy,” Socks explained, stamping her foot in a fit of pique. “You’re just being a meanie.” 

“A meanie?” Daddy asked, raising an eyebrow. “Little girl, are you trying to get yourself in trouble?”

Normally, that sort of bratting–calling Daddy unfair, calling him *names–*would be tantamount to getting on her knees and begging for a spanking, but not today. “Nuh-uh. You can’t punish me right now!” 

“I didn’t say I’d punish you,” Daddy replied mildly, moving to the next photo. “Oh, this was excellent–I can almost hear how you were whimpering for permission to just lick me clean! Wasn’t that so much fun?”

Putting her hands over her eyes, Socks whimpered, “Daddyyyy!” 

He rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to remind her of his strength. “Sweetheart–if you don’t want me to punish you, you can’t throw fits like this. How am I supposed to respond?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want–” Socks began, leaning forward and pressing her face and hands into the table so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “You know we can’t play together right now!”

“Really, now, baby girl?” Daddy asked. “I don’t ‘know’ any such thing–the only reason we can’t play together is because you don’t want to. All you have to do is say the word, and we can snuggle and have our movie night together after all, and afterwards–if you’re a good girl for me, well…maybe you could get to have playtime with me in the bedroom.”

She wanted it. She needed it. The desperate need to have daddy humiliate her, and comfort her, and snuggle her, and pin her to the bed and use her like a good little toy.

Socks almost broke, then and there, but Daddy pushed a little too hard. He moved to the next picture, and though the tableau of her on her knees, worshiping his cock while he ate Candy out was nearly enough to make her gush in her diaper just by looking at it, she was reminded that she wasn’t just doing this for herself. She had to stay strong, for Candy, and for the rest of them. 

“Not until you promise,” she said, cutting off the train of thought before shameless arousal could override her loyalty to the other submissives in their polycule. 

“Alright, no playtime then,” Daddy said calmly, as though he hadn’t expected her to crack at all. “That’s alright. Now…can you look at this picture and tell me if it’s okay to share?” 

…

Right-to-Wet

A new message was scrawled on the chalkboard on the second day, along with another change. 

Candy had learned her lesson–she couldn’t hide it, she couldn’t erase the writing, all she could do was squirm as everyone woke up and saw what Daddy had announced to them.

Mick read the message, and though he wanted to ignore it as well, it was hard when it remained an ever-present part of his peripheral vision, posted in the kitchen the whole time he made breakfast.

‘Candy can’t tell you where to go potty. That decision should be made between you and your Daddy. Anyone who asks can have a fresh diaper, without any expectations of other play.’

Matching the timing, he had woken up to find their dressers cleared out of all padding, as well as his maid uniforms–all he had left were boxers, jeans, and plain T-shirts. Checking with Socks and John, he’d confirmed that it’d happened to everyone, losing access to onesies, collars, everything. Candy had been the canary in the coal mine–one by one, they were all losing the submissive comforts that they’d grown so used to. 

Mick wanted to take Daddy up on his offer. Wearing normal clothes–no skirt, no apron, nothing maid-like in the slightest–felt unnatural, and without the reassurance of a puffy diaper around his hips, his days went by in constant discomfort. 

And besides–Daddy promised it wouldn’t lead to anything else. He could go get his diaper change without crossing the picket line and giving up their struggle, right? 

But…Mick knew that wasn’t the case. One crack in their armor, and the dam would burst. If he went to Daddy now, he’d never be able to stop. 

Still, as he finished preparing breakfast, it was a constant struggle not to give in to temptation, and the message on the chalkboard seemed almost to flash like a neon sign in his vision, reminding him just how easy it would be to give up.

Then Daisy walked in.

Only…no. She waddled in. 

Mick froze, barely able to believe what he was seeing. The puppygirl of the polycule just sauntered into the kitchen, diaper on full display below her T-shirt, looking as innocent as she pleased. 

“Daisy?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Something you want to tell me?” 

Characteristically silent, she shrugged and shook her head, a mop of hair flopping around her face as she did. 

That did it. If Daisy had given in, he would too. Red-faced and as angry with himself as with her, Mick stormed past, fuming as he stomped up to Daddy’s room. On the way up the stairs, though, he bumped into Candy, who caught his expression immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Daisy,” Mick said. “She took a diaper from Daddy.”

Candy’s brow furrowed. “She wouldn’t.”

“Go look for yourself,” he snapped. “She wasn’t even guilty.” 

For a moment, Candy shared the same aggression Mick felt, then her eyes widened and she grabbed his hand. “Hold on.”

“What are you–” he started, but she dragged him away before he could finish the sentence, pulling him by the wrist like a doll. 

He hurried to follow after as Candy led him upstairs, past the nursery, and into Daisy’s bedroom. There, she finally let go, leaving Mick to wobble for a moment and catch his balance as she hurried over to the dresser by the wall.

“Aha!” she said, pulling the drawer open and producing a puffy paw-print diaper from inside. 

It was a trick. Daddy had taken everyone else’s diapers, but not hers. 

Blushing bright red that he’d been so gullible, Mick felt a new surge of energy and turned, hurrying back down to the kitchen. Snapping up the chalk, he wrote his own message beneath Daddy’s, declaring his resistance. 

‘No diapers, no peace! 

Sub solidarity forever!’

…

The Scab

The five of them sat on the couch, sharing a round of uncomfortable blushes and a singular thought: God, I wish that were me.

Daddy was never all that quiet, but today, he was playing it up, loud and passionate as he ravished…someone. Dating outside the polycule was allowed, but he’d rarely brought in someone so vocal, especially not someone that the five of them barely knew. 

“Who’s my little diaper slut?” Daddy demanded, voice carrying all the way down to the living room. 

“I am!” a shrill, whimpering voice called back. 

“You filled up your diaper so good for me–are you ready for your reward?” 

“Please!” 

Then the spanking began–loud, powerful SMACKS! that rang out like applause. With every impact, a matching yelp rang, pained cries that the entire group of submissives knew all too well. Jealousy burned hot in the living room as the scene played out upstairs, reminding them of what they could have if they stopped the strike. 

“Um…can we put on music or something?” John asked. 

“Daddy changed the spotify password and hid the bluetooth speaker,” Candy pointed out. “He even took the TV plug…” 

“He hid my headphones…” Socks added in a distraught tone. “He said since they had baby block stickers on them, they were Little stuff, and I couldn’t use them while we were striking…he gave me ear buds instead.” Sticking out her tongue, she emphasized the horror of that substitution by gagging. 

“I could play music through my phone,” Mick offered, but it wouldn’t be loud enough to drown out the sounds of punishment echoing down the stairs. The smacks had mutated from clapping impacts to heavy thuds as Daddy switched to using a paddle, and the woman he’d brought into his bedroom cried out even louder. 

“What if we just…went somewhere?” John suggested. “Like, out to get ice cream or something?” 

“And let Daddy know he can force us out of the house whenever he wants? No,” Candy said. “We have to make a stand here–we have to prove we’re not bothered.” 

Sitting on the floor by the end of the couch, Daisy began to whimper. She’d given up her own diapers out of solidarity, though Daddy hadn’t yet confiscated them, and she clearly looked uncomfortable trying to sit on the ground in simple panties. 

Socks groaned in agreement, pressing her hands over her ears. “I can’t take this anymore!” 

“Come on,” Candy said. “We’re stronger than this. Socks, you sat through two hundred spanks while you had a plug in your bottom! Mick–you managed to clean the entire house with your hands behind your back and a dust mop in your mouth. John, how many hours did Daddy edge you for your birthday?”

“Um…three,” John said, smiling, blushing, and rubbing the back of his neck. “And a half. I did pretty good…

“And Daisy,” Candy prompted, reaching down to ruffle her hair. “You’re the best girl there is–you’re definitely strong enough for this. We can make it, we just have to hang on a little longer.” 

That brought their spirits up, until the sound of thudding stopped, replaced by the sound of flesh clapping together, and yelps were replaced with moans.

...

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Chapter 1 Here

[Chapter 11 – The Curse Intensifies]

As they descended to the fifth floor, the chill became almost unbearable. Their breaths puffed out in visible clouds, the frosty air clinging to their armour and cloaks, making each step feel heavier. The walls seemed to close in, jagged stone shimmering faintly with frost, as though the dungeon itself were alive and exhaling icy breaths. The pearlescent runes etched into the walls glowed a soft white hue, their light rippling like frozen moonlight, casting eerie, dancing shadows on the uneven stone.

It was a labyrinth of death.

Maze-like passages abruptly opened to chambers littered with skeletal remains. Some lay in ominous stillness, while others rose with an eerie groan, animated by ancient magic. The skeletons moved with unnatural precision, their hollow eyes burning with a bluish hue that cast a ghastly glow. Many wielded rusted swords, battered shields, and spears that glinted menacingly in the dim light, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Each clatter of bone against bone echoed, creating a relentless chorus of dread.

The group fell into formation, their movements precise and attuned to the tight, winding corridors. Tyrek marched ahead with his usual dwarven grit, his massive axe gleaming ominously in the light.

“Stay sharp, lads ‘n’ lasses,” he rumbled, his voice gruff but steady. “This place ain’t right. Feels like the dead ‘ere are waitin’ to take a piece o’ us.” Every step he took was deliberate, his stout frame a wall of defence for the team.

Behind him, Darryl followed closely, his pacifier glowing faintly, emitting soft pulses of sonar-like energy. Despite the slight muffling of his voice, his urgency was clear. “We’ve gotta… turn thith way,” he said, pointing with a mittened hand. “The skeletonth… they’re comin’ fwom behind.”

Tyrek glanced over his shoulder, nodding sharply. “Aye, lad. Good spot. Everyone, close ranks!” His barked command carried the confidence of a seasoned fighter, and the group adjusted quickly.

Adorable and effective, Lyra mused. Allowing herself the faintest smile as she followed Darryl’s directions, weaving her spells with flawless precision.

The group pressed on, moving swiftly but cautiously. Each shadow seemed alive, skeletons erupting from dark alcoves with chilling speed. The oppressive cold of the labyrinth seeped into their bones, slowing even the hardiest of them. Even Darryl shivered, his breath coming in soft puffs behind his pacifier.

In the thick of battle, Darryl lunged forward, his Slime King Mittens landing blow after blow against the skeletons. With his Goblin Chief Bonnet perched on his head, he looked, to his friends, like a child’s sketch of a warrior—pacifier clipped to his chest, bonnet tied snugly, and mittens swiping through skeletal foes. And yet, Darryl’s strength, enhanced by the amulet’s power, made him a formidable force, each punch shattering bones with ease.

“Look at ‘im go!” Fynn hollered with a wide grin, dodging a swinging blade before letting loose an arrow. “Darryl the Bone-Breaker, eh? You’ve got style, mate!”

Lyra called out as she unleashed a wave of magical energy, immobilising a group of skeletons attempting to flank them. “Excellent work, Darryl,” she intoned, her calm voice carrying over the chaos. “You’ve more than earned your place in this team.” Her sapphire eyes sparkled, betraying a flicker of amusement amidst the tension.

Just as they rounded a corner, Darryl suddenly felt a strange wetness spreading in his trousers. His heart skipped a beat as panic surged through him. He froze, his mind racing. He had been so absorbed in the fight and mapping out the dungeon that he hadn’t realised he was wetting his pull-up until it was too late.

The amulet’s curse had struck again, stripping him of his daytime continence. Warm dampness spread across his thighs as his pull-up leaked, soaking through his trousers and leaving an unmistakable mark. His face flushed crimson as he stood motionless, paralysed by embarrassment.

Lyra, just behind him, frowned at his sudden stillness. Her sharp eyes took in the glistening wet patch on his trousers. Her thoughts flicked briefly to the curious baby supplies she’d seen in the Nanny Bag and the faint babyish fragrance always lingering around him, making the truth all too clear. Understanding dawned in an instant.

Without hesitation, she raised her voice, her tone light and casual. “Let’s take a moment to regroup. We’ve cleared this chamber, and it’s about time for lunch, wouldn’t you all agree?”

Tyrek grunted, cleaning bone fragments off his axe. “Aye, good thinkin’. No sense pushin’ forward on an empty bellay. Let’s head back to that chamber we cleared earlier. It’ll be safer there.”

Fynn stretched dramatically, slinging his bow over his shoulder. “Lunch? Now that’s music to my ears! If there’s any of that spiced bread left, it’s mine. Call dibs!”

As the group began retreating, Lyra drifted close to Darryl, her voice dropping to a soft whisper. “It’s all right, Darryl,” she murmured, her tone gentle as she reassured him. “No one noticed. You’re doing marvellously, I promise.”

Darryl swallowed hard, grateful beyond words for her intervention. The thought of his friends openly acknowledging his accident was unbearable. As they moved to the previous chamber, he lagged behind, cheeks burning with humiliation. Once there, he mumbled something about needing a moment and slipped away, activating the amulet’s portal to retreat to his nursery.

The warmth of the nursery enveloped him, a stark contrast to the dungeon’s icy chill. Darryl stumbled forward, his wet trousers clinging uncomfortably. Nanny Hands floated toward him immediately, her presence radiating calm.

She paused, her gloved fingers brushing gently through his hair as she took in his distraught expression. “Oh, my sweet little one,” she cooed, her voice tender and full of understanding. “Let’s get you all cleaned up.”

Darryl didn’t resist as her hands deftly began removing his leather armour and sliding his damp trousers down. He winced at the uncomfortable sensation, but Nanny Hands was quick to console him. “Accidents happen, sweetheart. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve been so brave today.”

Her glowing gloves cradled him effortlessly, lifting him from the floor with practiced ease. As she carried him to the changing table, her actions were so gentle that they quelled his embarrassment, even as she laid him down.

He finally found his voice, though it wavered. “Nanny Handth… why ith thith happening?” he whispered, his pacifier adding a faint lisp. “I didn’t even notithe…”

Her hands worked methodically, cleaning him with soft, warm baby wipes that smelled faintly of lavender. “It’s part of your journey, little one,” she explained gently. “The amulet’s power grows as you do, presenting new challenges for you to overcome. This loss of control is one of those challenges.”

Tears pricked the corners of Darryl’s eyes, his voice trembling as he asked, “Will I lose… everything? My… other control too?”

Nanny Hands paused, her movements even more tender as she lifted his legs and slid a thick, fresh diaper underneath him. When she finally spoke, her words were measured and careful. “That depends on how your journey unfolds, my darling. But no matter what happens, I will always be here to care for you.”

Darryl’s heart sank, but he nodded, realising he couldn’t fight what was happening. The snugness of the diaper as she fastened it made him wince, but her touch remained steady. Her tone shifted slightly, taking on a practical edge. “Since your pull-up leaked, darling, you’ll be wearing proper diapers during the day now. They hold much more and will prevent further accidents.”

Darryl’s eyes widened, his cheeks burning with fresh embarrassment. “But… my friendth! They’ll notishe!” His voice cracked, anxiety overwhelming him.

Nanny Hands patted the front of his diaper lightly, her voice soothing but firm. “Oh darling, I cannot have you leaking out there.”

With a soft hum, she retrieved a cream pastel long-sleeve footed onesie adorned with a buttoned back flap. The soft fabric shimmered faintly with magical enchantments as she held it up for him to see. “The dungeon’s chill is far too much for you, darling, this will keep you warm.”

Darryl frowned deeply, eyeing the garment with visible disapproval. “It’th too much… it’ll make me wook even more wike a baby!”

Undeterred, Nanny Hands smoothed the fabric lovingly.

“Your wellbeing comes first, little one. This onesie is imbued with protective enchantments to shield you from minor harm. You no longer need that worn leather armour set.” The soft fleece shimmered faintly with magic as if to emphasise her point.

Despite his protests, Darryl relented, shivering slightly as the warmth of the garment enveloped him. The snug material was undeniably comforting, even as the flap at the back accentuated its infantile design.

Once dressed, Nanny Hands completed his ensemble with his Goblin Chief Bonnet, Slime King Mittens, Vampiric Pacifier, and sturdy leather boots. Darryl glanced down at himself, his face glowing red. The faint crinkle of his diaper and the pastel hue of his new onesie made him painfully self-aware.

When it was time to return, he hesitated, the sound of his diaper rustling as he shifted nervously. “I… I can’th go’h bwack outh wike thith,” he murmured, barely audible.

Nanny Hands cupped his cheeks with her gloved palms, her touch warm and reassuring. “You are far braver than you believe, my little one. Your friends care for you for who you are, not how you look. Trust in their kindness and your own strength. Now, go forth and be the hero I know you are.”

Her words steadied him, and with a deep breath, he stepped back through the portal.

Back in the dungeon, his friends were seated around a small campfire, sharing quiet conversation. The moment Darryl appeared, the group fell silent. He froze in place, the warmth of the portal behind him doing little to counter the heat of his rising embarrassment.

The soft cream pastel of his onesie shimmered faintly with magic, the unmistakable diaper bulge beneath drawing their gazes like a beacon. He could feel their eyes flicker between the new adventuring onesie, the diaper underneath it, his Slime King Mittens, his Goblin Chief Bonnet, and the Vampiric Pacifier resting between his lips—the whole outfit completely juvenile now against the stark backdrop of the dungeon. His cheeks burned fiercely, his heart hammering in his chest.

Lyra remained composed; her expression neutral as she had already pieced things together earlier. The others exchanged quick glances, the faint scent of baby powder and lotion they smelled on Darryl previously finally dawned upon them.

Tyrek was the first to speak, his tone gruff but deliberately nonchalant. “Well, look at ye, lad. Geared up an’ ready fer the cold! Practical thinkin’, that.”

Fynn’s grin spread wide, his eyes alight with mischief. “Aye, gotta admit, it’s got a certain… charm to it. Magic gear, eh? Bet it’s tougher than it looks.”

Sara offered a warm smile. “Come on, Darryl. Sit with us. Lyra mentioned a surprise lunch, and we saved you a spot.”

Darryl hesitated, his legs trembling slightly as the crinkle of his diaper sounded deafening in his ears with each step forward. He lowered himself carefully onto the stone they had set out for him, feeling the bulk of his diaper press against him with the movement. His gaze dropped, unable to meet theirs, the reality of sitting among his friends dressed in such obvious babyish attire gnawing at him.

As his friends’ gazes lingered, Darryl’s thoughts churned with indecision. Should he tell them the truth? Could he really trust them with the full extent of his predicament? He suckled nervously on the Vampiric Pacifier, the rhythmic motion offering a small comfort against the storm of self-consciousness within him.

Yet, the sensation of the snug onesie and the thick diaper between his legs made the truth impossible to ignore. If they cared about him as much as he hoped, they deserved to know. With a deep, shaky breath, he decided to trust them completely.

“I… I need to tell you guyth about the cursh. It’sh not jus’ the baby gear. My lodge… it’sh actually a nursery.” His eyes darted nervously between them.

“There’sh a magical pair o’ gloveth thewe, cawled Nanny Handth. She… she takes care o’ me, wike a baby. I weaw diapers now. An’… an’ I don’t know how faw the curse ith gonna go. It’th…” He hesitated, his voice cracking around the pacifier. “It wowwies me that I’m gettin’ uth’d to it.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with vulnerability.

Lyra was the first to respond, her hand resting lightly on Darryl’s arm. “Thank you for trusting us with this, Darryl. That must have been difficult to share. But we’re with you every step of the way.”

Tyrek nodded firmly, his expression serious. “Aye, lad. Ye’ve got guts, I’ll give ye that. Whatever this cursed amulet’s got in store, ye won’t be facin’ it alone.”

Sara leaned in with an encouraging smile. “Curse or not, you’re doing amazing. And honestly? It’s kind of adorable. You’re still you, Darryl.”

Fynn leaned back, his grin playful but supportive. “And if anyone laughs, I’ll shoot their kneecaps, yeah?”

Darryl’s eyes filled with tears of relief. Despite everything, his friends accepted him. For the first time since the curse began, he felt a flicker of hope. Even though he already knew they were friendly and accepting, having their unwavering support on this journey gave him something deeper—a belief that, with their help, he might truly overcome the curse.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ->

- Darroo

Ch 1 https://www.reddit.com/r/abdlstories/s/7jZXmNEkhq

Mike was stunned, “did she see me? Does she know what I did?” Unfortunately he didn’t have much time to think before a security guard started walking over to him. This guy was easily 6’2” in his mid to late 40’s and looked like he lifted weights religiously. “Alright son, they said you needed a pat down because of some metal on your clothing?” Mike turned beat red, of course they would need to do a pat down if he couldn’t get through the metal detector, but now with a completely full messy diaper he was more embarrassed than ever. “Well kid you gonna stand there all day? We can do it here or there’s a private room back that way(he gestured with his right hand).” “C-can we go to the private room please?” Mike stuttered. “Alright come on.” As Mike followed the guard he dared a glance towards the girl. Luckily, she seemed quite distracted getting her passport and boarding pass checked, but he wanted to know why she winked at him? She was extremely pretty, someone he would consider well out of his league and she may have seen him mess himself though maybe she just thought he was squatting to rest his back? His thoughts were interrupted when the guard turned and asked him to hurry up. Walking was of course much more difficult now and he was definitely more on the waddling side now. Regardless he did so fast as he could and made his way through the door the guard was holding open for him.

As he entered the back room he noticed it was quite plain with only two chairs and a table, it looked like a police interrogation room minus the one way mirror. Mike jumped a little when the guard abruptly said, “Alright kid, you okay there you’re walking funny?” “I-I’m fine” “Alrighty then, where is the metal?”, Mike replied quietly “it’s umm, a snap onesie.” “Speak up son, you said it’s a snap something” “It’s a onesie sir, the metals on the crotch” with an inquisitive lift of his eyebrows the guard rambled on“You kids wear some strange things these days, alright well drop the jeans I’ll check it out and let you go”. With his full diaper Mike wasn’t sure how much would be exposed but this was already more than he had planned on having someone see him. Why did he have to wear the onesie? He should have planned better. He put his bag of supplies down and did as the guard requested lowering his jeans. The guard chuckled “Well I can see why you wear the onesie, gotta hold those diapers up, and it looks like you had an accident?” His brow furrowed “Well I’ve had three kids so nothing to worry about we’ll whisk right through this.” Turning redder than Santa’s suit Mike squeaked a “Yessir”. He then asked “Do I have your permission to do the search” to which Mike responded as before with a “yessir”. The guard moved quickly he put on some gloves and squatted down. He checked the snaps and patted down what he could, finding nothing the guard then said “alright well it seems good but I do need to finish the pat down to make sure no solid objects are hidden in the adult garment.” Before Mike could respond the guard pushed right up the middle of the diaper moving his hand to the back causing Mike’s mess to spread around even more. This sent a shudder down Mikes spine giving him a temporary moment of bliss before the guard brought him back to reality. “Well looks good but you might want to change before you get on board. I’ve seen plenty of diapers in my day and that’s close to leaking, do you have any spares?” The guard said as he reached for Mike’s bag. Still reeling from everything that happened he slowly responded “ yeah, in my bag”. Mikes wind was racing would he ask to change me what would I say, what should I do? Luckily the guard spoke “Well I can stand by the door and keep watch while you change if you’d like? It’s not much in here but there is more room to maneuver than the bathroom.” Mike exhaled, he realized he’d been holding his breath thinking the guard might offer to change him. That would be to surreal, but to much even for him, maybe. Not wanting to redress and change in the bathroom he decided to take the guard up on his offer. “I’ll change in here please sir.”

The strip search hadn’t taken too long, even though to Mike, it felt like an eternity, and changing in the room was a little awkward but doable. After cleaning up with some wipes and putting on a fresh rearz inspire(with another layer of baby powder), Mike snapped up his onesie pulled his jeans up and walked out. He thanked the guard who pointed to a trash can nearby where Mike disposed of the used diaper.

With his waddle significantly reduced Mike made a beeline for the gangway. As he came out it into the glass covered hall and looked up at his home for the next week his excitement renewed! The main deck of the ship was beautiful, a piano, glass stairs, and a huge hallway with shops. Unfortunately, since it was still boarding time nothing was open yet and they had announced rooms wouldn’t be ready until 2pm. Conveniently, after messing himself, he was quite hungry. With that in mind he made his way to the buffet on the upper deck for some lunch.

It was around 11:30 when he got there and the sheer number of people already eating was intimidating. He decided to do a loop around the large area and found so many different foods. From pot roast, to Mac and cheese, hamburgers, hot dogs, mashed potatoes, cheesecake and more, Mike piled his plate high. For drinks they had lemonade water or apple juice so he picked apple juice, one of his favorites. As Mike enjoyed his food and juice he began looking at the app installed for this ship to see what amenities they had. He had pre booked some excursions and a massage but those were all later in the week. He marked a bunch of activities for Monday like a water balloon fight, a trivia game, and a beginner French course he thought would be fun but was getting bored and decided to just read some Reddit.

About an half an hour later Mike was ready to go into a food coma but His room wasn’t quite ready so he searched around the ship for a spot to sit in the sun and nap a second. After searching for a good 15 minutes he found a nice sun chair to lay down on that looked out over Lady Liberty. After drinking a lot of juice at lunch the urge to pee hit him pretty suddenly. He had been practicing when he could so after a little pushing a steady flow hit his diaper swelling the front with warmth as his eyes started to close. Spreading through and between his legs his pee was absorbed quickly by the diaper. As he drifted off in the warmth of his “accident” he thought he heard a snicker, but he didn’t care. He was cozy and it was nap time.

The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 34: Summer's Grasp

As we finished breakfast, the clatter of plates and soft murmurs of conversation faded into the background. Clara, ever composed and efficient, nudged me lightly, her signal to get moving. I stood, smoothing the folds of my dress, and followed her out of the dining hall, my footsteps heavy with dread. The morning sunlight barely reached the dim corridors, the air growing cooler as we descended toward the cleaning closet where the day’s work awaited.

The scent of soap hit me before I even entered the small room, the familiar sharpness stinging my nose. Clara moved with brisk determination, collecting a sponge and a bucket, already half-filled with water. I hesitated for a moment before doing the same, my hands trembling slightly as I dipped the heavy pail into the trough to fill it. The weight of the full bucket made my arms strain, and a wave of frustration surged through me, sharp and biting, the old servant from yesterday nowhere to be seen.

I felt the resentment building, simmering just beneath my exhaustion. This wasn’t supposed to be my life. The thought repeated in my head, louder and angrier with each passing moment. I was a princess, born to grace and privilege, not this—lugging buckets of soapy water through stone corridors, my hands raw and my back aching.

Clara glanced over her shoulder, motioning for me to follow. I forced myself to grip the bucket tightly, its weight pulling at my sore muscles as I trudged after her. My steps echoed faintly in the empty hallway, each one heavier than the last.

As we made our way to the east wing—a section of the castle that seemed to stretch endlessly—my thoughts wandered. Dorian’s face flickered in my mind, his steady gaze and warm smile a stark contrast to the cold, grimy reality surrounding me. Was he alive? Does he think of me? The questions gnawed at me; their answers shrouded in the same uncertainty that seemed to cloak every aspect of my life now.

And my kingdom—our kingdom. The thought of it, of the lands that had been taken, the people who had been subjugated, filled me with a deep ache. How had I fallen so far, from the promise of ruling with grace and strength, to this life of servitude? The humiliation of my current state burned in my chest, but it was the helplessness that cut deepest. I had no power here, no plan, no path forward.

Clara paused at the end of the corridor, turning to look at me with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, Lila,” she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “We’ve got a lot to do.”

I nodded faintly, adjusting my grip on the bucket as I stepped forward. The resentment remained, coiled tightly in my chest, but I pushed it down as best I could. For now, survival meant following Clara’s lead, no matter how much I hated it. But my thoughts clung to Dorian and the life I’d lost, a quiet, burning resolve beginning to form beneath the weight of my fear.

Clara led me down another winding corridor of the East Wing, the stone walls closing in as we descended deeper into the castle’s labyrinthine passages. The familiar weight of the bucket pulled at my sore arms, but I barely felt it; my thoughts churned with restless energy, swirling with resentment and frustration. As we turned a corner, a wide archway came into view, leading to a grand hall I knew all too well—the throne room.

I froze for a moment, my breath catching in my throat. From where we stood, I could see into the room the once-pristine banners of my kingdom—reds and silvers that symbolized strength and unity—now gone. In their place hung garish banners of yellow and black, their sharp colors clashing violently with the regal elegance of the space. My stomach twisted at the sight, my fingers tightening around the handle of the bucket as Clara turned to glance at me.

“Keep moving,” she said quietly, her voice low and firm, though her expression betrayed a flicker of concern. I nodded mutely, forcing my feet to carry me forward, but my eyes lingered on the throne room as we passed.

A man sat upon the throne, draped in yellow robes embroidered with gold. His posture was anything but regal—he lounged lazily, one leg thrown over the arm of the Queen’s throne, his boots scuffing the ornate woodwork as though it were nothing more than a common chair. The sight made my blood boil. This was her throne, the place where the Queen had sat with dignity and grace, a symbol of unity for the kingdom. And now, this man—this invader—defiled it with his arrogance.

Hatred bubbled up in my chest, hot and sharp, and I clenched my jaw to keep it from spilling over. My hands trembled as I gripped the bucket tighter, my knuckles white as I followed Clara to the section of the hall we’d been assigned to clean. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him, the man in yellow, his smug grin as he gestured lazily to a servant standing by. My stomach churned at the sheer mockery of it all.

“Lila,” Clara said sharply, snapping me out of my thoughts. She gestured to the floor, her brow furrowed. “Get to work.”

I knelt mechanically, dipping my sponge into the soapy water and pressing it against the cold stone floor. The familiar motion did little to distract me from the fury simmering inside me. Each stroke of the sponge felt heavier than the last; the image of the throne room burned into my mind. The yellow banners, the lounging man, the stolen throne—each detail fueled the fire in my chest, burning hotter with every passing second.

This was my kingdom, I thought bitterly, scrubbing harder as though the motion could somehow erase the sight of the man’s smirk. My throne. My people. The humiliation of my servitude, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued me since the castle fell—none of it mattered at that moment. All I could feel was the hatred boiling inside me, the sheer injustice of it all.

Clara cast me a sideways glance, her movements steady as she scrubbed beside me. She said nothing, but I could feel her curiosity, her quiet observation as I worked with a ferocity I hadn’t shown before. I didn’t care. The rage coursing through me was a lifeline, a sharp contrast to the numbness that had threatened to swallow me whole. For the first time since my fall, I felt something solid, something real.

The throne room loomed just beyond the archway, the man’s voice faint but tauntingly clear. Each word he spoke, each laugh that echoed through the hall, only stoked the fire in my chest. I scrubbed harder, my arms burning with the effort, the soapy water splashing against the stone. This was no longer about the floors or the tasks assigned to me. It was about reclaiming something that had been stolen, something that burned brighter and fiercer in my heart with every passing second.

The intruder king’s voice carried through the throne room with a grating, almost mocking quality, its sharpness cutting through the air and finding my ears despite the distance. I scrubbed furiously at the floor, pretending not to listen, but each word landed heavily, fueling the storm of rage simmering within me.

“Such a dreary place,” he drawled, his tone dripping with disdain. “How did they ever rule from here? This kingdom—these people—it’s all so... quaint.” There was a lazy arrogance in his words as if the weight of an entire kingdom was beneath his notice. “No wonder they folded so quickly. A kingdom this fragile was always bound to shatter.”

I heard the faint shuffle of a servant moving closer, their footsteps hesitant, before the man spoke again, his tone now one of bored command. “Have the banners replaced in the West Wing as well. Those ridiculous red and silver rags offend me. Yellow and black—they’ll learn to live under new colors soon enough.” He let out a short, dry laugh as though the very thought amused him.

“And what of the Princess?” he continued, his voice now holding a faint, venomous curiosity. “I hear she was quite the fiery one. Red hair, wasn’t it? So fitting for a spark that’s likely been snuffed out by now.” He chuckled again, the sound cold and hollow. “Do we have any news of her? Or is she still playing her little games, hiding like a frightened rabbit?”

My hand froze for a moment, the sponge dripping soapy water onto the stone, before I forced myself to move again, slower this time. My heart raced, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck as his words continued.

“As for the King and Queen,” he mused, his tone now eerily calm, “we’ll deal with them when the time is right. No need to rush these things. Let them stew for a while longer. It’s remarkable, really, how much more compliant even the proudest rulers become when they realize their offspring shares their fate.”

He paused as if savoring the weight of his own words before adding with a faint sneer, “Perhaps the boy and his bride will join them in time. A reunion of sorts. Isn’t that poetic?”

The faint murmurs of agreement from someone in his entourage followed, their voices subdued as if they dared not challenge him. His laughter returned, softer this time, more dangerous. “We’ll let them dangle on the edge of hope for a little longer. It makes the inevitable so much sweeter.”

My stomach churned, the bile rising in my throat as I fought to maintain the rhythm of my scrubbing. His words twisted through my mind, each one heavy with implication. Dorian. The thought of him in their clutches, subjected to the same torment he hinted at for the King and Queen, made my blood run cold.

“And remind the guard,” the man added casually, his tone dismissive as though the matter were of little importance, “to keep an eye out for the Princess. She’s too valuable to kill... for now.”

He laughed again, the sound echoing in the throne room, each note like a dagger in my chest. I scrubbed harder, the sting of my tears blurring my vision, but I didn’t dare let them fall. The hatred bubbling within me burned hotter than ever, but so did the fear. He had painted a cruel picture, one where Dorian and I were pawns in his game, our fates intertwined and dangling by a thread. But I couldn’t let him win. I wouldn’t. Even as my hands trembled and my heart raced, I clung to the faint ember of resolve that remained. I would survive. I would find Dorian. 

The anger burned in my chest, hotter and fiercer with every word that spilled from the man in yellow. His mocking tone, his blatant disdain for everything my kingdom stood for, made my blood boil. My hands worked furiously, scrubbing at the stone floor with more force than was necessary, each stroke of the sponge a release for the hatred bubbling inside me.

I didn’t notice the air around me growing warmer, nor the faint hum that seemed to pulse in my ears. My entire focus was on the rage churning inside me; the image of the throne room with its stolen banners and defiled thrones burned into my mind. This is my kingdom. My people. My throne.

The sponge pressed harder against the stone, my muscles straining as I scrubbed with all the might my trembling arms could muster. And then, with a sharp, resonating crack, the floor beneath me split. The sound was deafening in the quiet corridor, like thunder reverberating through the stone walls.

I froze; my breath caught in my throat as I stared down in stunned silence. The floor beneath my hands was no longer smooth and intact; a jagged fissure had formed, splitting the stone in two, the edges glowing faintly with residual heat. My sponge lay discarded beside it, its dampened edges already drying from the warmth radiating from the crack.

“What...” I whispered, my voice barely audible. My hands trembled as I pulled them back, my heart pounding in my chest. The heat in the air felt familiar, alive, and I realized with a jolt that it was coming from me. The Wind of Summer—it had answered me. Somehow, without even realizing it, I had channeled its power.

“Lila!” Clara’s voice broke through the haze, sharp and calm. I turned to her, my eyes wide with shock, and saw the look of complete disbelief on her face. She stood a few steps away, her sponge and bucket forgotten as her gaze flicked between me and the cracked floor. Her pale blue eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open, as though she couldn’t quite process what she’d just witnessed.

“You can channel?” she asked in a whisper, her voice trembling with awe and something that might have been fear. She took a step closer, her movements slow and cautious, as though I might explode again at any moment. “Who... who are you?”

Her question hit me like a slap, and for a moment, I couldn’t answer. My mind raced, struggling to make sense of what had just happened. I had almost forgotten about the Winds, about the power they granted, buried as they were beneath the weight of my servitude and despair. And yet, here they were, responding to my anger, my hatred, my need.

“I...” I started, my voice faltering as I stared at the fissure. “I don’t... I don’t know.”

Clara’s gaze bore into me, her awe tempered with something sharper now—curiosity, suspicion. “Lila,” she said, her voice steadier now. “That wasn’t normal. You just... the stone—” She gestured to the crack, her words failing her as her eyes widened again.

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I clenched them into fists to steady myself. “Please,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed slightly, her confusion giving way to something more calculating. “You’re not just a servant,” she said softly, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. “Who are you?”

Her question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable, as the heat of the fissure slowly faded, leaving behind only silence and the weight of her gaze. I didn’t have an answer—not one I could give her. But the crack in the stone and the power that had created it were undeniable. The Winds hadn’t abandoned me, and that meant there was still hope. Somewhere, deep inside, I could feel the ember of that hope beginning to burn brighter, even as Clara’s gaze bore into me, waiting for the truth I couldn’t yet share.

The sharp crack had echoed through the corridor, reverberating off the stone walls like a thunderclap. My breath hitched, and Clara’s eyes widened even further, her face going pale as the sound of hurried footsteps reached us from the throne room. The guards—they’d heard.

“They’re coming,” Clara whispered, her voice tight with panic as she glanced toward the open archway leading to the throne room. “Lila, we have to do something!”

My heart raced, the warmth of the fissure beneath my hands still faintly radiating against my skin. I looked at Clara, her fear mirroring my own, and then down at the jagged crack in the floor. There was no time to think, no time to plan—only to act.

“Something fell,” I said quickly, the words tumbling from my lips. “That’s what we’ll say. Something heavy fell, and it cracked the floor.”

Clara stared at me, her brow furrowing. “Like what?” she hissed. “We don’t have anything that—”

Her words cut off as my eyes darted to the heavy bucket of soapy water at my side. Without hesitation, I shoved it toward the fissure, letting it topple onto its side. Water spilled out in a rush, drenching the stone and splashing across the crack. The bucket landed with a loud clatter, skidding a few inches before coming to a stop.

Clara’s eyes widened, realization dawning as she nodded quickly. “The bucket,” she muttered, her voice low but urgent. “The weight of it. That might work.”

Before I could respond, the sound of boots on stone grew louder, and two guards burst into the corridor, their weapons drawn and their faces set in grim determination. Their eyes scanned the scene, taking in the toppled bucket, the spreading water, and the two of us frozen mid-task.

“What happened here?” one of them barked, his tone sharp as his gaze flicked between us.

Clara stepped forward, her expression shifting into one of nervous deference. She wrung her hands, her movements quick and fidgety as she avoided their gaze. “It—it was my fault,” she stammered, her voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. “I—I was moving the bucket, and it slipped. It—it must’ve been heavier than I realized, and the floor just... cracked.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his gaze moving to the fissure on the floor. He crouched down, running a gloved hand over the jagged edges, his expression skeptical. “A bucket did this?” he asked, his tone dripping with doubt.

Clara nodded quickly, glancing back at me for support. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to nod as well. “It—it was full,” I said quietly, my voice shaking just enough to sell the story. “We didn’t mean to... we’ll clean it up, I swear.”

The second guard snorted his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief. “You servants,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Can’t even handle a bucket without making a mess.”

The first guard stood, his frown deepening as he stared at the crack for another long moment. Finally, he sighed, motioning to the other guard. “Tell the engineers to look at this later. Probably another fault in the old stone.” His tone was dismissive, but his eyes lingered on us for a moment longer as though weighing whether or not to press further.

Clara bowed her head, her voice meek. “Thank you, sir. We’ll be more careful.”

The guards exchanged a glance before turning and heading back toward the throne room, their footsteps receding into the distance. The tension in the air lingered, thick and heavy, even after they were gone.

Clara turned to me, her pale blue eyes wide and her face still pale. “That was too close,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What the hell was that, Lila?”

I didn’t answer, my heart still pounding as I stared down at the crack in the floor, now partially obscured by the spilled water. My secret had almost been exposed, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t be the last time. For now, though, we’d managed to buy a little more time—and with it, the faint hope that I might figure out what to do next.

End of Chapter 34

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Like most mornings, Tiffany was waiting in the morning crowd of coffee fanatics, anxiously awaiting to hear her name called so she could grab her drink and get on with her day. The heaters were on full tilt, making the multiple layers of clothing she had on rather uncomfortable but it just wasn’t worth taking any layers off, only to quickly return to the frigid air outside.

Her eyes wondered, scanning the busy store for anything of interest in an attempt to kill time, only to find her eyes continually gazing back at the same telltale sign that she was all too familiar with from her own boyfriend. While most were dressed in large puffy coats, others were more lightly dressed, which probably resulted in them running from the store to the warmth of their cars, but that's besides the point.

Her eyes wandered back for a fourth time as she finally made up her mind, seeing the thin crisp edge of a diaper peeking out from under the man's shirt in front of her with a small barnyard creature peeking back at her.

“Excus-” She started, reaching out to tap him on his shoulder, just as a name was called out, causing him and what appeared to be his partner to disperse into the crowd in an attempt to grab their drinks.

“Tiffany!” One of the baristas called out almost immediately after, causing her to trail through the crowd after them, grabbing her warm coffee before following them out of the store and into the cold.

“Hey uh-,” Tiffany started to call out, only stopping herself as she realized it didn’t matter anymore.

The woman in front of her turned her head around, still parading forward through the parking lot, stopping as she looked at Tiffany. “Were you talking to us?”

Tiffany gave a smile, “Yea, sorry I just wanted to say his tails are sticking out,”

The woman gave a short, puzzled look before looking at her boyfriend's butt to see what she was talking about. “Ha!” She let out, chuckling as the man's face reddened. “And where's yours?” She called out with a chuckle.

Tiffany smirked, giving a slight shrug as she approached the couple, snow crunching beneath her feet. “Probably still fast asleep at home,”

“I get that. Sometimes it's a whole ordeal to force these little dudes to leave the house for anything,” She said, chuckling as she tried to embarrass her partner.

“I hear ya. Coffee and Target is about the last thing he wants to do on a Saturday morning,” Tiffany said. “Tiffany, by the way,” She said, extending her hand.

“Beth,” The other woman responded, shaking her hand. “Did I hear you say Target?”

Tiffany smiled, “You sure did,” She said with a laugh, taking a drink of her coffee.

“It's cold,” The man said quietly, his arms and hands wrapped around his hot drink.

“Alright, go get in the car baby,” Beth said, pulling her keys out to unlock her car as it beeped in the distance quickly followed by the man turning to make his way to the car. “Any who, were off to Target ourselves funnily enough,”

“Wow! Small world huh?” She said with a laugh. “And you got him to come with?”

“He doesn’t get much of a choice in our household,” Beth said with a smirk. “He gave up the pants a long time ago, if you know what I mean,”

Tiffany chuckled. “I hear ya, my little guy just doesn’t want Mommy to drag him around all day,”

“Pfft. Withhold his happy times and I’m sure he’ll eagerly follow you around Target,” Beth said with a laugh.

Tiffany let out a wide grin, completely enjoying the ability to just talk about this with a stranger. “Hey well, it's cold and my drink is getting cold, but what do you say we meet up at Target? Talk some more while we shop?”

Beth let her jaw drop for the added suspense. “Oh. my. God. Yes! Ah, this will be so fun!”

“Yea! It will be great to get some girl time, especially with another Mommy!!” Beth said with excitement.

“Yes! For real! James will still be in tow, but he can quietly push the cart while us girls talk,” Beth said, pulling her keys back out.

“Alright. Well, I’ll see you there then,” Tiffany said, pulling out her own keys before turning to head towards her car.

“See ya soon!” Beth called out.

~~

“Hey!” Tiffany called out, stomping the snow off her feet as she entered the store to see Beth and James standing towards the entrance with a cart.

“Thank goodness! I was beginning to get nervous!” Beth said, wrapping her arms around Tiffany for a hug which kind of caught her off guard.

“Sorry, the kiddo called and was asking for permission,” Tiffany said. “By the way, I’m Tiffany,” She said, extending her hand towards James to officially greet him.

“James,” He said quietly, lightly shaking her hand.

“Permission? You’ve got him well trained then,” Beth chuckled, starting to walk off into the store to which Tiffany followed as James slowly pushed the cart after them. “What's his name?”

“Tyler,” Tiffany responded.

“Aw, cute. I used to date a Tyler,” Beth said, turning down an aisle to look at some of the home decor. “Was kind of a prick though,” She said with a laugh.

“What’d you do, tell him you wanted to baby him and he ran away?” Tiffany joked.

“Is that too much to ask?” Beth said jokingly, giving James a smile as his cheeks flushed up a little.

“So how long have the two of you been dating?” Tiffany asked, taking a sip of her now lukewarm coffee.

“Can you answer that one dear, Mommy’s really liking this pillow,” She said, setting her drink down in the cart as she carefully examined it.

“Uh, just over three years now,” James said calmly, nodded as he answered.

“And how’d you meet?” Tiffany said, pushing on James as she wandered around the isle, slowly perusing.

“Online actually. She uh- Mommy uh- DM’d me on one of my posts,” James said with a little giggle.

“You can’t just leave out all of the important bits, dear. Tell her all of it,” Beth chimed in, still spinning the pillow around in her hands as she tried to look preoccupied.

James' cheeks reddened again as he rubbed his hands together nervously. “I had uh- posted a pic…of me…wearing a diaper with my stuffed rabbit…”

“And…” Beth said.

James' face had gone flush red by this point as he stood on his heels, swinging his toes back and forth avoiding any eye contact. “I was asking if any Mommy’s could come change me,”

“Good boy!” She said, suddenly putting the pillow back on the shelf.

“Wow! I didn’t know those kinds of posts actually got responses,” Tiffany said, trying not to giggle too hard as she was afraid it might hurt James’s feelings.

“Right?” Beth said, giving her a puzzled face as she strolled down the aisle. “I don't know what I was thinking. I was just alone, at home late one night scrolling through my feed and I thought, eh what the hell? Shot this random internet stranger a message and things just kind of took off?”

“Was it quick?” Tiffany asked.

“Oh no. I think it was like three months before he finally had the nerve to ask me out?” Beth said, wandering into the next aisle.

“Three months?” Tiffany said, completely baffled as she followed behind Beth.

“Yup. Three weird months. He wasn’t the only one either. I’d shot a couple of dudes' messages, all of which turned out to be complete creeps. Maybe it only worked out because he took so long?” Beth said.

“Huh, I guess online dating can work out,” Tiffany said. “Do you feel lucky?” Turning around to look at James.

He blushed a little as he nodded. “I do,”

“Damn straight!” Beth called out, giving a quick twirl as she held her coffee in the air. “Baby boy is damn lucky!” She said, before putting her hand over her mouth. “Was that outloud?”

Tiffany chuckled as she shook her head, turning to see James doing a quick check if anyone was behind them, likely being relieved by the fact that no one was.

“And what about you and Tyler? How’d you meet,” Tiffany asked as they strolled out of the home section and into clothes.

“A friend set us up,” She said.

“A friend? More like a match maker. So which one of you was into the whole scene?” Beth asked.

“Believe it or not, both of us,” Tiffany said, nodding her head as Beth turned to stare at her in disbelief.

“Just like that? Magically out of the blue? So then who brought it up first?” Beth asked.

“Tyler. I think I knew, at least a few weeks before he told me anyway, but it was so cute. He was tossing and turning all night until I finally asked what was bothering him when he broke down and just told me everything. I think he thought I would dump him, run for the hills, that sort of thing? But his eyes went real big when I let him know my feelings about it,”

“Aww, must have been magical. This little guy has been in diapers since day one of our relationship,” Beth said with a laugh, giving a loving smile back towards James who was eyeing the toy aisle off in the distance.

“Think you need anymore binkies?” Beth asked jokingly, grabbing a pack off the shelf and showing them to James.

His face had been red since the moment they turned down this eye, knowing that a part of him was always interested in potentially finding something new.

“No, Mommy,” He said quietly with a smile, obviously enjoying the teasing.

“What about sippy cups?” Beth teased.

“It's crazy how many little things end up scattered around the house,” Tiffany said, grabbing a pack of baby wipes and tossing it in the cart.

“Right? They just end up everywhere. Practically have a whole cabinet's worth,” Beth chuckled, eying the shelves for anything new and fun herself.

“Have to walk around with a bin picking it all up before guests come over,” Tiffany added.

“Sometimes I think about just leaving it all out, but it's really just his parents that ever come over. Which at one point I thought would be a funny way to embarrass him, then I realized I would have to see them all the time and that probably wouldn’t make for a long lasting relationship” She said, causing James to smile as he looked at her lovingly.

“Yea, can’t say Tyler would appreciate that either,” Tiffany said agreeingly, suddenly pulling her phone out of her pocket as it vibrated. “Speaking of,” She said with a smirk. “Hey, sweetie,”

“Hi Mommy!” A voice rang out over the phone, barely loud enough for James and Beth to hear who both nonchalantly came a little closer.

“What's going on?” Tiffany asked, smirking at Beth as she practically put her ear up towards the phone.

“When do you think you’ll be home?” Tyler asked in a whiny voice.

“Probably not for a bit. Is there something that you need?” Tiffany asked.

“Mmmm…no…” Tyler said.

“Sweetie…” Tiffany insisted.

“I have to poop,” Tyler said, eliciting a laugh from Beth as she tried to cover her mouth with her hand. “Who was that?” Tyler asked, suddenly sounding less whiny as Tiffany tried to hold back her own laugh as James let out a smirk of his own.

“Just some new friends Mommy made,” Tiffany said. “Go make pushies, sweetie,”

“But when will you be home?” Tyler asked again.

“Uhh-” Tiffany started.

“Why don’t the four of us grab lunch after this?” Beth suddenly asked.

Tiffany gave her a thumbs up. “Soon, sweetie. But I want picture proof. 5 minutes tops. Also, we’re going to lunch with some new friends after I get home,”

Beth gave Tiffany an impressed look while James tried to hide a smile from her.

“Who- but-” Tyler said over the phone.

“No buts. 5 minutes,” Tiffany said again.

“Yes, Mommy…” Tyler said, sounding defeated.

“I’ll be home soon, sweetie. I love you!” Tiffany said.

“I love you too,” Tyler said before hanging up.

“Dam girl,” Beth said, exiting the baby aisle as they entered the toy section. “I’m liking your style. Might even have to try that one myself,” She said with a smirk.

Tiffany grabbed her phone from her pocket as it dinged nearly a minute later.

“Alright, you’ve got to let me see this,” Beth said, leaving James to his own devices as he tried to decide on which lego set to get.

Tiffany shrugged, turning the phone screen so that she could see the picture. A perfect crotch shot of Tyler’s soiled diaper drooping well below his waist with spots of brown peaking through the colored plastic as the legs of his stuffed bear dangled to the side.

“Thats fucking adorable,” Beth said, practically putting her face against the phone to see everything. “I can’t wait to meet him,”

Tiffany texted him back as Beth helped James decide, ultimately putting one in the cart.

“Why don’t we pick one out for your new friend Tyler too?” Beth said.

“Oh no, you don-” Tiffany started.

“Please, it's my pleasure. Plus you’ve got to teach the little ones to share,” Beth smirked.

James grabbed a matching set off the shelf, placing it in the cart.

A quick walk through the food section yielded a few odds and ends here and there for each of them, but ultimately the cart was rather bare at the end of the trip.

“Typical,” Beth said as they stood in line.

“What's that?” Tiffany asked.

“A trip to Target and the only things we’re leaving with is food and something for the little guys,” Beth said with a chuckle.

Tiffany laughed too as James stood confidently, lego sets in hand as he waited to ring them up.

“Oh, he's not using his own- '' Tiffany started again.

“Shhh girl, it's fine,” Beth said reassuringly as James placed the legos down on the belt. “Our finances are shared, it just makes him feel happy when he purchases things by himself,” Beth whispered to Tiffany.

“Well, text me an address and I’ll meet you there with Tyler,” Tiffany said, bagging up her few odds and ends and turning to leave.

“Any preferences?” Beth asked, leaving the bags for James to carry.

“Something good?” Tiffany said with a chuckle. “See you both in a bit!”

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“Ossccaarrrr,” Mommy's gentle voice called out from the driver seat of the car, but Oscar didn't hear her. 

His mind was too occupied, too focused on the variety of stimuli sources at his disposal as his mouth remained eagerly fixated on his favorite binky. His hands gently caressed the soft, plush fur of his oversized Teddy who he held gently in his arms as he watched some Youtube on the iPad that hung from the seat in front of him.

His oversized, adult car seat provided ample comfort, holding his nearly empty sippy cup in one of its cupholders, as well as a scattered variety fidget toys at his disposal in its various remaining pockets. The heavily tinted windows, and addition of a screen to block out the sun, gave him all the peace of mind he needed to ensure that no one could see in, ultimately creating one of his favorite spots to indulge in himself.

“Oscar, sweetie,” Her voice called out again, this time nearly catching his attention as he gently pushed his Teddy into the soft cotton padding of his training pants continuously.

“Oscar, baby!” She finally called out, much louder as he reached up to pause his video.

“‘es Mommy?” He asked from behind his pacifier, further pushing his Teddy against his privates before refocusing his attention on grabbing his sippy cup.

“We're almost home baby, can you help Mommy by getting your pants on?”

He let the pacifier fall from his mouth and into his lap, lifting the remaining contents of the sippy cup to his mouth as he nodded, using his free hand to reach for the sweat pants he'd tossed to the side.

Long car rides had become a norm for them, of which Oscar almost always removed his pants. Oftentimes he’d even remove his shirt as he enjoyed the feeling of being free, keeping just his training pants on as he'd let himself unwind. Their small town certainly had the essentials, but Mommy often liked to go on bigger shopping trips, or spend time in the suburbs that offered much more exciting things to do. But Oscar never minded.

“Thank you, sweetie,” She said in her baby voice, watching him from the rear view as he placed the pacifier back in his mouth before starting to pull his feet through the leg holes of his sweatpants.

“Mommy was thinking of inviting Mr. Addison over tonight too,” She asked, a slight tinge of hesitation in her voice as she turned down the main street into their neighborhood. “Is that okay?”

Oscar nodded, having already expected as much as he’d been spending more and more time with him and Mommy.

Mr. Addison had lived just down the street and divorced several years back. He'd hit it off with Mommy not long after and embraced their unique lifestyle, a plus for Mommy that helped to immensely balance out the give and take aspect of their relationship which Oscar had admittedly taken advantage of early on.

“I was thinking he might even spend the weekend?” She asked hopefully, looking back at Oscar through the rear view as he non discretely started to rub against his Teddy again.

“Okay, Mommy,” He said, pulling his iPad off the back of the seat as he tried to help gather a few of his things as she pulled into the driveway.

“You got everything?” Mommy asked, turning back in the seat to look at him. 

“Uhh- no, heh,” He said, struggling to get everything into his arms having yet to even unbuckle himself.

“Here,” She said, holding out her purse as she held it open. “Dump your toys and stuff in here,”

Oscar did as he was told, putting his smaller items in her purse leaving him with just his Teddy and iPad as he undid the buckle.

“Take those inside, but then come help Mommy with the groceries,” She said, hitting the button to open his door.

Oscar scrambled out of his seat, lugging his oversized Teddy with him as he quickly made his way inside the house to drop them off, quickly followed by Mommy and her radiant smile.

“Teddy will be just fine on his own for a few minutes,” She teased as Oscar hesitantly set him down.

He smiled, giving a light jog back towards the car as he scooped up as any bags on his arms as he could carry before stumbling back to the house.

“Wow,” Mommy cooed. “Such a strong boy for Mommy!”

He smiled, beaming with pride as he set the bags on the counter, completely caught off guard as Mr. Addison entered through the door behind them. “Guess whos here!” He called out.

“Ah! Hey Hun!” She said, running to his side to greet him with a big kiss.

“Hi, Daddy,” Oscar said with a smile of his own, a name he'd only started calling Mr. Addison in the past few weeks.

“Did you have a fun trip?” He asked in a childish voice, coming over to give Oscar a big hug.

Oscar nodded, embracing the hug as Mr. Addison gave him a tight squeeze before Oscar let go and quickling returned to his Teddy’s side.

“I gotta poddy,” Oscar said, a little red in the face as he retrieved his binky.

“Yea? Do you want to use the big boy potty?” Mr. Addison asked in a coddling voice, reaching for Oscar's hand as he held his Teddy in the other.

Oscar shook his head.

“Alright, buddy. You wait right here,” Mr. Addison said, giving a playful head shake to Mommy as Oscar twirled back and forth.

“What do you want for dinner, sweetie?” Mommy asked from the kitchen, putting the last of the bags away as she opened the freezer. “Mommy and Daddy are gonna catch a movie tonight, so it's going to be an early bedtime for you,”

“Wha’!” Oscar pouted, looking towards his Mommy.

“I know, sweetie. That's why you get to have whatever you want for dinner,” She said.

A smile slipped through Oscar's face, knowing he'd always ask for his usual but still liked that she’d ask anyways.

“Alright, buddy,” Mr. Addison said, returning with a training potty that he set in the middle of the room. “But no Teddy during potty time,” He said, holding out his hand.

“Bu’,” Oscar started to protest.

“Nuh uh, you know the rules,” Mr Addison quickly shot back, still holding out his hand. “What are they?”

“No ‘oys on da poddy,” Oscar responded quietly, reluctantly giving up his Teddy before pulling his pants down and off as he tossed them to the side before doing the same with his shirt.

“Except for that cute little binky,” Daddy said, giving his nose a playful wiggle as he smiled. “Also, what is it with his hate for clothes?” Mr. Addison asked teasingly.

“Do you want your usual, baby?” Mommy asked, already pulling the dino nuggets out of the freezer before reaching for a box of Mac and cheese.

“Yes, pwease!” Oscar shouted, dropping his training pants as he sat on his toilet, his nicely groomed privates on display for both Mommy and Daddy.

“Mr. Teddy will be right here when you're done,” Mr. Addison said, gently resting his Teddy on one of the bar stools facing Oscar.

“Dank you, Daddy,” Oscar said, his bladder releasing into the training toilet as the audible stream echoed through the room.

“Shouldn't you feed him something a little healthier?” Mr. Addison teased, wrapping his arms around Mommy from behind as she arranged the dino nuggets on a baking tray.

“Well the day you want to tell him he has to eat his vegetables and go to bed early is the day we can start that,” She said, turning around as they started to kiss.

Oscar watched from across the room as Mr. Addison quickly made a romantic moment out of thin air, something he'd always struggled to do. Though something he was good at was ruining it as he let a loud fart loose, echoing in his potty as the squelching sound of his primary business flooded the room as he made his poopies in the potty.

“Still happy he calls you Daddy?” Mommy asked with a smirk, watching him realize the source of the sound.

“Trade you potty duty for bedtime duty,” He smirked, knowing his odds were slim.

“Not a chance,” She said, bopping him on the nose before turning to slide the nuggets into the oven. “There's some wipes in my purse,”

“Alright, bud. Ready to wipe?” Mr. Addison asked, opening up the pack of baby wipes as he held them out for Oscar to reach.

Oscar grabbed one, running the cool wipe across his butt before dropping it into the potty.

“Oh no, get in there, Mr,” Mommy called from across the room. “Last time you left the wiping to him he had a big old skid mark on his undies,”

“The boys gotta learn,” He teased.

“Then show him how,” Mommy retorted.

He reluctantly grabbed another wipe, tracing it down Oscar's crack, giving a good few circles around Oscar's laxed hole as he playfully teased him before a second pass.

Mr. Addison had certainly entered their lives for Mommy, but had taken an unexpected interest in Oscar after a few months of the relationship. Though Oscar was certainly his second choice, usually only paying special attention to him when Mommy wasn't in the mood or was on her period.

“Danks, Daddy,” Oscar said cutely, willing to make Mr. Addison's simple fantasies of oral come true, though they had pushed thei relationship a little further in recent months.

He quickly got up, pulling his dino training pants back up as he ran to his Teddy, grabbing him off the bar stool before running towards the stairs.

“Dinners in 15!” Mommy called out as his butt disappeared up the stairs.

She shook her head, always in disbelief with how much energy he managed to retain throughout the day as she looked at Mr. Addison with a smile. “What time’s our reservation?”

“6:30,” Mr. Addison said, returning to her side as he kissed her on the neck.

“Wow, we're really giving him an early bedtime,” Mommy chuckled, embracing his further advancing kisses as he worked his way down her neck.

“Good thing I'm not on the bedtime routine,” Mr. Addison teased as the oven's timer went off.

“Speaking of your duties,” She joked, turning around to give him a peck on the lips before gesturing towards the potty.

Oscar remained upstairs, a space that had been almost entirely transformed into his. The two bedrooms upstairs exited into a den or sorts, which had been stocked with a TV and various game consoles on top of a large media cabinet that housed his bins of toys. Two large bean bags sat propped on the floor next to his Lego table where a massive city project grew bigger by the month.

His bedroom resembled that of a toddlers, the light blue walls decorated with a series of clouds and rolling hills. His twin sized bed had rails on all sides, not tall enough to trap any actual adult but tall enough to help sell the illusion as piles of stuffed animals and loose toy cars covered the ground. Colorful art prints of cute animals covered the walls with the occasional drawing or two of his that Mommy insisted on hanging on his walls as a way to further embarrass him. A small shelf in the corner contained a loose stack of diapers, of which he'd been able to avoid for months now.

The second room on the other hand was still mostly just storage, the junk room in the house where things without a place wound up as Oscar tried to dream up the perfect use for the space.

“Oscar!” Mommy called up the stairs as he sat in one of the beanbags, his attention fully focused on his game he'd been watching videos on the whole car ride home, his pacifier very much in place as his Teddy provided a place to rest his hands.

“Oscar! Dinner!” Mr. Addison shouted, catching Oscars attention as he paused his game, picking up his Teddy as he ran back down the stairs.

“I'll take that,” Mr. Addison said, quickly taking the loosely held Teddy as Oscar jumped up into his seat.

“Uhuh- hold on buddy,” Mommy said, pulling the plastic plate with small dividers to separate his nuggets, Mac and cheese and BBQ dipping sauce. “Where's your shirt?”

“Uh- I don't know,” He said, pulling his pacifier out as he set it on the counter giving a half hearted attempt to look around.

She sighed, smiling as she opened one of the drawers to pull out one of his baby bibs.

“I don't need that!” He protested.

“Yes, you do,” She insisted, circling the island to secure it around his neck. “We're not gonna have time for a bath tonight so I can't have you making yourself all sticky!”

He pouted, leaning over the counter to grab his plate as he pulled it closer.

“What do you want to drink, sweetie?” Mommy asked, grabbing a sippy cup from the cabinet as she opened the fridge.

“Milkies, pwease,” He said, diving one of his nuggets into the BBQ sauce as he devoured it. “What movie are you guys seeing?”

“I’m not sure,” Mommy said. “Daddy said it's a surprise,”

Mr. Addison gave her a playful wink, holding Oscar’s Teddy over the counter, playfully rubbing his crotch against it from behind to signal his plans for Mommy.

“Oh stop it,” She said flustered, sliding the sippy cup of milk to Oscar who shared a smile, knowing that his plans were very much the same for his Teddy.

He scarfed down his food as they made their way in and out of the master bedroom in their attempt to get ready.

“All done!” Oscar announced, getting up to grab his Teddy.

“Good job, sweetie,” Mommy said. “Can you brush your teeth for Mommy?”

“I haven't finished my milk,” He said, gesturing towards the still mostly full sippy cup.

“That's fine, sweetie. You can take it upstairs with you,” She said. “Come brush your teeth in Mommys bathroom,”

Oscar scuttled after her, passing Mr. Addison who was busy tying his tie, his nicely fit suit catching Oscar’s attention as he passed.

“Think you can handle it from here?” Mommy asked as Oscar reached for his toothbrush on the counter.

“Mhmm,” He said proudly, opening the drawer to pull out his childish toothpaste as he squeezed a generous amount onto the head of the brush.

He quickly brushed, listening to Mommy and Daddy’s slight giggles in the room as he waited for the built in timer on his electric toothbrush to turn off, signaling he’d done enough.

“Almost done, bud?” Mr. Addison asked, suddenly appearing in his full suit as Oscar found himself in slight awe.

“Uhh-” He let out, feeling as though the timer should have been up as he clicked the brush off himself, spitting into the sink as he turned the water on. “Uh huh,”

Mr. Addison smirked, ruffling his hair as Oscar leaned over the sink to wash his mouth out. “I’ll let that slide this time,” He chuckled. “Are you ready for bed then?”

Oscar nodded, wiping his mouth as he looked back at Mr. Addison, feeling a sense of emotion that usually only Mommy had triggered. He’d never been explicitly gay or bi in any way, though he’d realized he wasn’t straight early on, just never bothered to put a label on exactly what it was.

“Right,” Mommy said, stepping into the bathroom as Oscar stared dumbfoundingly at Daddy. “Just got to put this one-”

She stopped, looking at Daddy who couldn’t help but puff out his chest as she smiled. “This one to bed,” She continued, her smile growing as she reached for Oscar’s hand.

Oscar complied, following after Mommy as he turned to look back at Daddy as they darted around the corner, quickly making their way up to his bedroom.

She pulled the covers over him, tightly tucking him in though she knew he’d quickly throw the sheets all about.

“I love you, sweetie,” She said softly, leaning in to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“I love you,” Oscar said clutching his Teddy tightly.

She smiled, getting up as she dimmed the lights to his room, exposing the glowing stars on the ceiling as she gently closed the door.

Oscar tossed about, loosening the covers as he reached for his iPad on the nightstand, propping it against a pillow as he opened up Youtube and settled in. The time passed quickly, eventually striking 8pm as his iPad went black, returning to the lockscreen as the parental controls set in indicating his usual bedtime. He tossed the iPad to the side, its durable case taking the brunt of it as it tumbled to the floor, though not his intent. 

Admittedly, he enjoyed nights with an early bedtime more and more as they were Mommy and Daddy's way of turning a blind eye, letting him play with himself and explore his own interests further without any repercussions.

He rolled over, readjusting his Teddy as he began to rub his pee pee with his free hand, running small circles from the outside his soft cotton training pants, quickly replacing it with that of his Teddy’s. He slipped the soft, plush arm deeper inside his panties as he rubbed his stiffening member knowing that he'd be fast asleep in a pair of crusty training pants in no time.

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Amara sat perched on the edge of the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she fiddled with the hem of her oversized sweater. The warm glow of the fire illuminated the room, but her thoughts felt far from the cozy ambiance. Across from her, Marcus sat with his calm, steady presence. He cradled a steaming mug of tea in his hands, his gaze fixed on her—not with expectation, but with the quiet patience she had grown to adore.

“I know this is a lot to think about,” he said finally, his voice gentle. “And I don’t want you to feel rushed. I just wanted to give us a chance to talk about it—see what feels right for you.”

Amara nodded, her gaze dropping to the stuffed unicorn sitting beside her. The little plush, with its soft lavender fur and golden horn, had been a gift from Marcus nearly a year ago. He’d picked it out on a whim when she was going through a particularly stressful time, saying only, “I thought you might like something to hold onto during the tough days.” It wasn’t meant to be anything symbolic, but over time, Amara had grown attached to it. Now, it always seemed to find its way into her arms during difficult conversations, a quiet reminder of Marcus’s care.

“I think… I like some of it,” she said quietly, her voice wavering. “The way you make me feel safe. Like I can let go for a little while. But…” She hesitated, her fingers curling around the unicorn’s soft mane. “The other stuff—it feels strange. Like, I don’t know if it’s for me.”

Marcus leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he set the tea down on the table. “That’s okay,” he said, his tone steady and reassuring. “The caregiving part is what matters most to me, too. It’s not about specific labels or actions—it’s about you feeling supported and loved. The rest is just extra.”

Amara exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “It’s just… hard to imagine letting go,” she admitted. “I’ve always had to be in control. Even when I was a kid, I couldn’t… I wasn’t allowed to just be soft.”

Marcus reached out and took her hand gently in his. “I know,” he said, his voice filled with understanding. “You’ve had to be strong your whole life, Amara. But you don’t have to do that with me. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

His words struck a chord deep within her, and for a moment, Amara felt the weight of her past—the years of independence forced upon her, the need to always be composed and unbreakable. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. “What if I’m not good at this?” she whispered. “What if it’s not for me?”

“Then we stop,” Marcus said simply, squeezing her hand. “This is about what feels right for you. There’s no wrong way to figure that out.”

Her lips twitched into a small, uncertain smile. “You’re really okay with taking it slow?”

“Amara,” Marcus said, his tone warm, “this is about us. It’s about what we build together, not some checklist. If all we ever do is share tea and talk about our day, that’s enough for me.”

For the first time that evening, Amara felt the tightness in her chest begin to ease. She glanced down at the unicorn again, running her fingers along its soft fabric. It was a silly thing to hold onto, she thought, but it made her feel… safe.

“Okay,” she said softly. “So… where do we start?”

The next night, after a long and taxing day at work, Amara stepped through the door and was greeted by the comforting sight of Marcus. He stood in the living room, a blanket folded neatly over one arm and a steaming cup of chamomile tea in his hand.

“Rough day?” he asked, his voice filled with concern as he took in her tired expression.

Amara nodded, her shoulders sagging. “Exhausting,” she admitted, kicking off her shoes and making her way to the couch.

Marcus smiled softly, draping the blanket over her shoulders as she sank into the cushions. He handed her the tea, waiting until she took a sip before settling beside her. Then he picked up a book from the coffee table—an old storybook with worn edges that Amara had never noticed before.

“I thought maybe a story would help you unwind,” he said, flipping it open to a page near the middle. “It’s about a princess who gets lost in the woods but ends up finding her way home with the help of some friends.”

Amara raised an eyebrow, a bemused smile playing at her lips. “A princess story?” she teased, hugging her unicorn closer to her chest. “Isn’t that a little… much?”

Marcus chuckled, unfazed. “It’s comforting,” he said simply. “And you deserve a little comfort right now. Just give it a chance.”

With a skeptical but amused glance, Amara rested her head against the back of the couch, clutching her unicorn as Marcus began to read. His voice was steady and warm, weaving the tale of a brave but vulnerable princess who faced challenges with the help of a magical talking fox and a loyal knight.

At first, Amara felt silly, even absurd, listening to a children’s story as an adult. But as Marcus continued, his tone gently shifting for each character’s dialogue, she found herself relaxing. A few chuckles escaped her lips when the fox made a particularly ridiculous pun, and by the time Marcus reached the end, she was leaning into him, her head against his shoulder.

“Okay, I have to admit,” she said, laughter in her voice, “that was better than I expected. I feel… lighter.”

Marcus grinned, setting the book aside. “See? I knew you’d like it.”

She nudged him playfully, her cheeks warming. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s not like I’m suddenly going to be into all this.”

“That’s fine,” Marcus said, his tone easy. “It’s not about being into anything specific. It’s about what makes you feel good. And tonight, it was a silly story about a princess and her talking fox.”

Amara smiled softly, her gaze dropping to the unicorn in her arms. She traced her fingers along its soft mane, feeling a quiet sense of ease settle over her. “You know,” she murmured, “this little guy… it’s like my own cozy corner. I didn’t realize it before, but holding him always makes me feel a little better.”

Marcus tilted his head, his eyes warm as he watched her. “That makes sense,” he said. “It’s something familiar. Something safe. And when things feel overwhelming, having that can mean everything.”

Amara nodded, her smile growing. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

As the evening wore on, Amara found herself feeling more at ease than she had in days. The simple act of listening to Marcus’s voice, holding her unicorn, and letting herself be cared for had brought her a sense of peace she hadn’t realized she needed. And as she leaned against him, the tea now empty in her hands, she thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something to this whole idea of letting go—if only a little.

About the story:

Hi all, thanks for reading! Amara and Marcus are based on my own experiences with my wife. We are both exploring ABDL and DDLG together and I've worked on this story as something to read to her while we work on our "cozy space". My wife has been pretty hesitant to try ABDL, but enjoys the softness of DDlg. My intention in sharing these stories is to help others like us discover and explore this kink space with patience and understanding. Future stories will cover some spicy exploration, tough but real situations, and even some argument's and realizations we've had where I've had to remind myself to slow down and just enjoy what we're doing rather then pushing forward to far into the fantasy world for my wife.

I've also included some discussion questions for couples to use based on the discussions my wife and had on the story.

I genuinely hope this is helpful and everyone enjoys this chapter and future chapters

Discussion Time:
Creating a Safe Space

• How do you think we can create moments in our relationship where we feel as safe and supported as Amara does with Marcus? Are there little things, like a gift or gesture, that make you feel more secure with me?

Being Patient with Growth

• Marcus is so patient with Amara as she navigates her feelings. How do you think we can bring that same patience to each other when we’re trying something new or difficult? Is there something you wish I’d be more patient about?

Letting Go of Control

• Amara talks about how hard it is to let go and trust Marcus. Do you ever feel like it’s hard to let go of control with me? What do you think I can do to help you feel safer in letting go?

Exploring Comfort Together

• Marcus reads a story to Amara to help her relax, even though it feels a little silly at first. Are there things we could do together, even if they seem unconventional or playful, that might bring us closer or help us unwind?

Support Without Pressure

• Marcus reassures Amara that they can stop anytime and that there’s no pressure. How do you feel about the way we encourage each other to grow or try new things? Are there ways we can be even more supportive without making it feel overwhelming?

Symbols of Care

• Amara finds comfort in her unicorn, not because it’s grand but because it reminds her of Marcus’s care. Are there small things we could do or give each other that might remind us of our connection on tougher days?

Slowing Down

• The chapter shows how much Marcus values taking things slow and steady. Do you feel like we give each other enough time to process and explore things, or are there moments where it feels rushed? How can we slow down together?

Building Trust

• Amara talks about how she’s always had to be strong and struggles to trust Marcus fully. Are there moments where you feel it’s hard to trust me fully, or vice versa? How do you think we can build trust in those areas?

Rituals for Connection

• Marcus creates a cozy, comforting moment with tea and a story. Are there little rituals we could start that might help us feel more connected, even on the harder days?

Dreaming Together

If you could picture us a year from now, what would you want our dynamic to feel like? How can we start taking small steps now to build that dream together?

The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 33: Inspection

As the darkness of sleep pulled me under, the weight of the day melted away, taking with it the aches in my body and the suffocating shame that had clung to me like a second skin. In the quiet refuge of my dreams, the cold stone walls of the servant’s quarters vanished, replaced by warmth and light. The dull ache in my hands and knees was replaced with a comforting sensation—a gentle, soothing pressure that seemed to wrap around me like a cocoon.

I found myself in Dorian’s arms, his strong embrace holding me close against his chest. The world around us was soft and golden, as though the very air shimmered with light. His gaze met mine, and in his eyes, I saw nothing but love and adoration. There was no judgment, no hesitation—just an endless well of affection that made my heart ache with longing.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered his voice like a balm to my weary soul. His hand brushed gently through my hair, his touch tender as he cradled me against him. “You’re with me. That’s all that matters.”

The humility of my day, the servitude, the shame—all of it was gone, like a fleeting shadow chased away by the light. In his arms, I wasn’t a servant. I wasn’t a girl hiding in fear. I was simply his wife, his beloved, the one he held close as though I were the most precious thing in the world.

The bulk of the diaper beneath me should have filled me with embarrassment, but it didn’t. Not here. Not with him. He looked at me as though I were perfect, his fingers tracing soft circles along my back. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Every part of you. You never need to hide from me.”

Tears pricked my eyes, but they weren’t born of shame. They were of relief, of joy, of the overwhelming sense of safety that I had thought I’d lost forever. His arms were my haven, his warmth chasing away the cold that had settled into my soul during the long, grueling hours of the day. I pressed closer to him, my hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as though he might vanish if I let go.

“I miss you,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I want to be with you again.”

“You will,” he promised, his lips brushing against my forehead. “We’ll find our way back to each other. No matter what, I’ll always come for you.”

The dream felt so vivid, so real, that I could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek, the faint scent of him—like cedar and rain—enveloping me. The love in his voice, the certainty in his words, wrapped around me like a shield, banishing the fear and doubt that had haunted me since the moment we were separated.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the weight of the world was gone. There was no castle under siege, no servitude, no shame. There was only Dorian, his love for me like a steady flame in the darkness, and the quiet promise that we would find each other again.

The warmth of his embrace lingered as I let my eyes drift closed in the golden light of the dream. Dorian’s arms were steady around me, his gentle voice soothing every ache and worry I’d carried. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his hand brushing through my hair, his touch light but grounding. His presence made me feel whole, safe, and cherished in a way I hadn’t felt since I’d lost everything.

But the warmth began to fade, the golden glow dimming as I felt a soft tug on my shoulder. His voice grew distant, the sound of his love-filled whispers dissolving into the gray fog of waking. No. Please, no. I tried to hold onto him, to cling to the sensation of his hands, his voice, his love. But it slipped through my fingers like water, leaving only the faintest echoes of memory.

“Lila,” Clara’s voice cut through the remnants of my dream, firm but not unkind. “Come on, it’s time to wake up.”

My eyes fluttered open, and the dream shattered completely. The soft glow of Dorian’s presence was replaced by the cold gray of the servant’s dorm room, the lanterns still unlit, the only light filtering faintly through a small, barred window. Clara stood over me, her pale blue eyes sharp and expectant, her hands resting on her hips.

Reality crashed into me all at once—the ache in my body, the stiffness in my limbs, and, most humiliating of all, the damp, swollen padding beneath me. I shifted slightly, the sodden diaper pressing against my skin, and heat flooded my cheeks as the last traces of Dorian’s love and praise dissolved into nothing.

My mind flashed back to my fading dream, Dorian’s hand between my legs, praising me as I soaked my diaper, his lips upon mine. That praise, that warmth faded as shame filled me, realization hitting me like a hammer; I had wet the bed. Or, well, would have without a diaper.

Clara’s eyes flicked down to the unmistakable bulk beneath the covers, her expression softening into something halfway between sympathy and practicality. “Figures,” she said, more to herself than to me, before letting out a small sigh. “You didn’t think to ask for help last night, did you?”

I couldn’t meet her gaze, my face burning as I stared at the rough fabric of the blanket pulled tightly around me. “I—” The words caught in my throat, a lump of shame and embarrassment choking me into silence.

Clara shook her head, her voice firm but not cruel. “It’s fine. Let’s get you sorted before the headmistress finds out. She doesn’t take kindly to... well, anything that’s not pristine.” She gestured for me to sit up, her no-nonsense tone leaving no room for protest.

I hesitated, my body frozen with humiliation, but Clara was unrelenting. “Lila,” she said, her voice softening slightly, “I get it. It’s not easy. But you’re here now, and you need to keep it together if you’re going to survive. Let me help.”

Her words stung—not because they were harsh, but because they were true. Slowly, reluctantly, I shifted to sit up, the soaked padding beneath me squishing slightly as I moved. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, the shame of the moment almost unbearable, but Clara didn’t flinch. She simply pulled back the covers, her movements brisk but not unkind.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said quietly, reaching for the supplies she’d placed in the wardrobe the night before. As she worked, her expression was steady, her tone light as she murmured, “You’ve got to show me some strength, Lila. It’s the only way you’ll make it through this place.”

Her words echoed in my mind, cutting through the fog of humiliation as I swallowed back the tears. Strength. Somehow, I had to find it—if not for myself, then for the faint memory of Dorian’s embrace, the promise of his love, and the dream of one day reclaiming the life that felt so impossibly far away.

Clara worked with a brisk efficiency, but I could see the faint weariness in her eyes, the subtle sag of her shoulders as she knelt beside me. Despite her stoic expression, there was no denying the exhaustion etched into her movements. She didn’t complain, though—not about the early hour, the chilled air of the dorm room, or the task at hand. Her hands moved steadily, her focus entirely on changing me into a fresh diaper.

“There we go,” she muttered as she taped it snugly into place, her tone firm but not unkind. She stood with a small groan, brushing her hands against her leg before extending one to me. “Up you go. We’ve got work to do.”

I took her hand hesitantly, her grip steady as she helped me to my feet. The fresh padding was thick and soft against me, a stark contrast to the cold, damp remnants of the night before. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I ran my fingers over my diaper, but Clara didn’t seem to notice—or, more likely, she chose not to comment.

She turned toward the wardrobes, pulling out two fresh servant outfits and laying one across the bed before beginning to dress herself. I watched her for a moment, noting the quiet care she took in buttoning each part of her uniform just so before I followed suit. The plain brown dress felt scratchy against my skin, but Clara stepped in without a word, deftly adjusting the buttons and smoothing out the fabric with a practiced hand.

“Hold still,” she said, her voice sharp but not unkind as she fussed with the hem of my skirt, ensuring it hung just right. “The headmistress will notice every detail, so we don’t take shortcuts. Not with this.”

I nodded faintly, letting her work. Her fingers brushed my hair next, pulling it into a neat braid that felt tighter than my usual style, but I didn’t complain. Her movements were brisk and efficient, but there was a quiet care in the way she smoothed the stray strands and tucked them behind my ears.

“Hands,” she said, motioning toward me. I hesitated, then extended them, palms up. Clara’s sharp eyes scanned them, and she let out a faint hum of disapproval.

“Fingernails,” she muttered, grabbing a small brush from the basin. “Honestly, Lila, you’ve got to pay attention to these things.”

I bit back a protest, feeling the bristle of the brush scrape against my nails as she cleaned away the remnants of the day before. It stung slightly, but I didn’t dare pull away. When she finished, she examined her work with a small nod of satisfaction.

“Better,” she said simply. “Now stand straight. Let me check your crinkles.”

My cheeks flushed, but I did as she asked, standing as tall as I could while she ran her hands over the fabric of my dress, smoothing out the wrinkles and tugging at the seams until everything fell perfectly into place. When she finally stepped back, her gaze softened slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“There,” she said, nodding in approval. “You almost look like you belong here.”

I didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or a reminder of how far I had fallen, but I managed a small, shaky smile. Clara’s exhaustion was evident, but so was her determination to keep both of us in line. For all her sharpness, something was steadying about her presence, something that made me feel, however faintly, like I might just survive another day.

With that, we left the relative safety of our dorm. Clara led me back to the central room, her steps brisk despite the weight of exhaustion I knew she carried. I followed closely, my freshly braided hair tugging slightly with each movement, the servant’s dress stiff and snug against my form. The hallway was quieter than the night before, the faint murmurs of waking servants echoing through the stone walls as we made our way.

As we entered the central room, the scene before us made my stomach clench. The servants were lined up in two long rows, their heads bowed, their hands clasped tightly in front of them. The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of unease that seemed to ripple through the room as the Headmistress made her way down the line.

She moved with a slow, deliberate precision, her sharp eyes scanning each girl from head to toe. Her dark, severe dress seemed to absorb the light around her, her towering figure an ominous presence in the already dim room. One by one, she stopped before each servant, inspecting every detail of their appearance.

Her fingers were quick and probing, tugging at a girl’s hemline here, brushing a lock of hair back into place there. She examined nails with a critical eye; her lips pressed into a thin line as she muttered occasional corrections. When she found something out of place, her reprimands were sharp and biting, cutting through the quiet like a whip. A servant with a frayed hemline or untidy braid would flinch under her gaze, muttering apologies as they tried to fix the issue on the spot.

“Unacceptable,” the Headmistress hissed as she passed a trembling girl, brushing lint from her shoulder with a flick of her fingers. “See me in my quarters after breakfast.”

Clara nudged me gently, guiding me into the line. My heart pounded as I fell into place, my hands gripping the folds of my skirt to keep them from trembling. Clara stood beside me, her posture straight, her face impassive as though this was just another part of her routine.

The Headmistress continued her inspection, her sharp eyes sweeping over each girl with the same cold precision. With every step she took closer to us, my breath grew shallower, the knot in my stomach tightening. I could feel Clara’s steady presence beside me, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the wave of anxiety that threatened to consume me.

When the Headmistress finally stopped in front of Clara, her gaze swept over her briefly before nodding in faint approval. “Adequate,” she said curtly, moving on to me.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied me, her sharp gaze traveling from my neatly braided hair to the folds of my dress. Her fingers brushed against my sleeves, tugging them into alignment before her cold hand gripped my chin and tilted my face upward. My breath hitched as her eyes bored into mine, the weight of her scrutiny almost unbearable.

“Hm,” she murmured, her lips pursing slightly as she released me. Her hands moved to check the hem of my skirt, smoothing it down before glancing at my hands. She lifted them with a faint sneer, examining my nails closely.

“Clean, for once,” she muttered. “Let’s hope you can keep it that way.”

The moment her attention moved on to the next girl, my knees nearly buckled with relief. Clara’s elbow nudged me lightly, her gaze still fixed ahead, but I could sense the faintest hint of reassurance in the gesture.

I straightened, swallowing hard as the Headmistress continued her slow, critical march down the line. The tension in the room remained heavy, but for the moment, I’d passed unnoticed. That, at least, was something to cling to.

The Headmistress’s sharp voice rang out at last, cutting through the suffocating tension in the room. “Dismissed,” she said curtly, her icy gaze sweeping over the line of servants one final time. The collective exhale that followed was almost palpable, the servants moving in unison as they broke formation and filed out toward the dining hall.

I kept my head low, my hands gripping the folds of my skirt as I followed Clara. My heart still pounded from the Headmistress’s inspection, the phantom weight of her scrutinizing gaze lingering on my skin. My mind raced with a dozen worries, but one thought loomed above the rest: What happens when she finds out?

The bulky padding beneath my dress pressed against me with every step, a humiliating reminder of the secret I carried. I’d managed to avoid notice this time, but how long could I keep it hidden? The Headmistress had already made it clear she tolerated no imperfections, and if she discovered the truth... I shuddered, unwilling to imagine the consequences.

Clara walked ahead of me, her pace brisk but calm, as though the inspection hadn’t rattled her in the slightest. I envied her ease, the way she carried herself with quiet confidence even under the Headmistress’s unforgiving glare. But I couldn’t shake the weight of my fears, the knowledge that my secret wasn’t just humiliating—it could be dangerous.

As we approached the dining hall, the smell of warm bread and weak porridge wafted through the air, but it did little to settle my nerves. The clatter of plates and low murmurs of conversation filled the space as servants lined up for their meager meals, their postures still tense from the morning’s ordeal.

Clara glanced back at me, her pale blue eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re quiet,” she said, her tone low but steady as we joined the line.

I hesitated, my hands twisting in my skirt as I tried to think of an answer. “Just tired,” I murmured finally, avoiding her gaze.

She frowned faintly but didn’t press. “Eat fast,” she said instead, her voice brisk as she grabbed a plate and handed it to me. “We’ve got a long day ahead.”

I nodded, clutching the plate tightly as we moved toward the tables. But even as I followed Clara and sat down beside her, the worry gnawed at the edges of my mind. What will happen when they find out? The question loomed like a shadow, dark and unrelenting, as I stared down at the meager portion of bread and porridge on my plate.

The fear of discovery, humiliation, and the unknown made every bite feel like a struggle, but I forced myself to eat. For now, I had survived the morning, but the weight of my secret pressed down harder than ever. How long could I keep it hidden? And when the inevitable happened, how would I endure it? The worry churned in my chest, but I pushed it down as best I could, knowing that the day had only just begun.

End of Chapter 33

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The moment he closed the door behind him, the weight of the day hit like a tidal wave. Deadlines, meetings, and constant demands swirled in his mind, leaving his shoulders heavy and his head aching. He set his bag down by the door with a dull thud and exhaled deeply, letting the stale air of his stressful day leave his lungs. His heart craved one thing: relief, escape—something that would take the pressure off his adult mind.

He padded to the bedroom, his socks muffling his steps against the hardwood floor. The familiar stash hidden in the bottom drawer of his dresser called to him like a secret haven. Sliding it open, he revealed the soft, thick diapers folded neatly within, their white padding pristine, promising comfort. The faint crinkle they made as he picked one up immediately began to soothe his frayed nerves.

Holding it in his hands, he marveled at the softness of the padding beneath his fingers. The material was smooth but textured just enough to be inviting. He pressed it against his cheek for a brief second, inhaling its clean, powdery scent. It smelled of calm, of comfort, of a place where expectations didn’t exist.

Gently, he laid the diaper flat on the bed, its crinkle growing louder as he smoothed out the wings. The sound sent a shiver up his spine, anticipation building in his chest. He took a step back and began to undress, peeling away the layers of adulthood. His shirt and pants hit the floor without ceremony, leaving him bare and vulnerable, but also ready to shed the burdens of the day.

Before lying down, he grabbed the bottle of baby powder from the nightstand. He loved this part—the scent, the feeling, the ritual. It felt grounding, a deliberate step into a simpler mindset. As he shook the powder over his skin, a puff of soft white dust floated into the air, the sweet, talcum-like fragrance instantly relaxing him. He rubbed it in slowly, savoring the silky feel against his skin. It left a smooth, dry barrier that he knew would soon blend with the warm softness of the diaper.

Finally, he positioned himself over the waiting padding, lowering himself down with a sigh that escaped unbidden. The moment his skin met the thick, plush material, a wave of comfort washed over him. It was like sinking into a cloud, the padding cushioning him in all the right places. The crinkling sound seemed louder now, wrapping around him like an auditory hug, sealing him away from the harshness of the world outside.

He brought the front panel up, the padding enveloping him fully now, and smoothed it over his stomach. It was thick, snug, and utterly secure. The tapes came next, their satisfying “stick” as he pressed them into place adding to the tactile pleasure of the process. He gave the waistband a gentle tug to make sure everything was perfectly snug. The diaper hugged him closely, its soft bulk creating a sense of safety he hadn’t felt all day.

Reaching over to the nightstand again, he grabbed his pacifier. The rubber nipple was familiar against his lips as he popped it into his mouth, the gentle resistance as he began to suck grounding him further in the moment. The rhythmic motion helped his thoughts quiet, his breathing slow. The world outside blurred, leaving only the comforting sensations of the diaper and the pacifier to anchor him.

As he lay back against the pillows, he closed his eyes and let himself drift. The soft crinkle of the diaper shifted slightly as he moved, a gentle reminder of its presence. Then, the moment he had been holding off came naturally—a warm flood spread through him, the heat quickly absorbed by the waiting padding. His breath hitched as he felt it, the expanding bulk pressing softly against his skin, growing warmer, heavier. The sound of the diaper swelling with its quiet, muffled rustle only heightened the sensation.

He exhaled shakily, his entire body tingling as the warmth spread. The wetness vanished almost as quickly as it came, whisked away into the absorbent core. It felt like magic—his body was letting go, and the diaper was there to take care of everything. A sense of euphoria bubbled up, his mind floating higher with every second. The gentle bulk between his legs, now softer and fuller, was impossibly comforting. He shifted slightly, feeling the soaked padding squish faintly beneath him. It sent a small shiver of pleasure down his spine, grounding him further in this special state.

He sucked on the pacifier rhythmically, his adult thoughts dissolving one by one. The responsibilities, the deadlines, the noise of the world—all of it faded into the background. All that remained was the crinkle, the warmth, the soft embrace of his diaper. The safety. The simplicity. It wasn’t just comfort he felt; it was pure bliss, a high like nothing else. He was weightless, his body secure, his mind finally free.

Regression Gene: Chapter One

I had slept through the night, but I was startled awake by some kind of nightmare that decayed from my mind within a matter of moments. My body was covered in a cold sweat, and my matted hair clung to my glistening skin. Looking around the room, I saw the crib bars, reminding me of my current place in life. My diaper crinkled with every subtle movement I made. The cold clamminess rubbed against my warm thighs. I had wet myself in the middle of the night. My pacifier still rested between my lips; I startled, suckling, feeling the comforting sensation wrap around me like a thick, cozy blanket.

I was a little and being regressed; this had become my new life. Every morning, I would wake up in a soaking wet diaper, surrounded by brightly colored… I soon realized Sun Shine Bear was missing. I felt my heart skip a few beats as I franticly started looking for him. I threw my blanket off me, grabbing my other stuffed Care Bears, but I did not find him.

I started to hyperventilate as tears burned in my eyes. I knew I needed to calm down; it wasn’t the end of the world. I was acting very childish over a stuffed toy. It couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away. I had more pressing matters I needed to focus on; I mentally chided myself. Like getting out of a wet diaper before I get a rash. Getting out of this situation and enrolling in college… but again… it is cozy to sleep in a giant crib… Can I sleep in a crib in college? I should ask Wellow…

I started crying hysterically and uncontrollably. It didn’t take long for Mommy to rush into my nursery. “What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned as she lowered the crib bars.

“W-Wellow… i-is gwone!” I wailed.

It took her a moment to process my gibberish, or maybe she never deciphered what I had said in my hysterical state. When she lowered the crib bars, she spotted Sun Shine Bear on the floor. Picking up the stuffed toy, she handed it to me. I swiftly grabbed Sun Shine Bear, holding him close to my chest as my crying subsided.

“Is everything ok?” I heard a second voice ask. Standing in the doorway was my Mom…

“She just lost her favorite toy last night,” Isabella answered, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

“Just like when she was smaller!” mom cooed, stepping into the room. She was a little taller than me. Long, golden hair with soft blue eyes. “I see someone needs a diapee change!”

My cheeks turned red. I couldn’t believe she was here and acting so…

“Would you like to change her?” Isabella offered.

“Could I?” Mom said, sounding far too excited. “I haven’t changed her diaper since she was a toddler. She was the sweetest little thing back then.”

Isabella guided me out of the crib; I felt my cheeks burning red as I tried to bury my face in Sunshine Bear. I was about to have my diaper changed by my mom… “She can be a little timid in the mornings,” Isabella said warmly, leading me to the changing table.

I can’t believe this is happening!

I crawled onto the table, wanting to get out of my wet diaper. Mom grabbed my pacifier that I had dropped in the crib. A faint smile touched her lips as she stared at it. “It was so hard to wean her off these,” she said lovingly. “I guess it was just another sign I overlooked.”

Walking over to the changing table, she put the pacifier between my lips. I instinctively started suckling. “Would you have regressed her?” Isabella asked with genuine curiosity.

“Gods, no!” Mom said with a playful giggle. “I raised her once; I don’t think I would be able to do it again. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but I’m getting too old to care for an adult baby. Her sister is engaged, and I am hoping for a few grandbabies soon.”

“How wonderful,” Isabella said warmly. “I’m sure Kelsie would love to have a few smaller playmates.”

Mom reached for my diaper straps, pulling away. My diaper fell open, and the stench of urine filled the room. I let out a faint gasp as the cold baby wipe touched my sensitive skin. “If I had known she had the gene,” Mom continued. “I would have registered to find a warm and loving Mommy. She never really seemed to handle adult life as well. I think she was very lucky to be found by you.”

“Thank you,” Isabella said with a warm smile. “She has been an absolute delight to have.”

I couldn’t believe they were talking about me, as if I wasn’t coherent enough to understand them. I let out a gruntled response that was muffled by my pacifier that I couldn’t bring myself to remove. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to display my annoyance.

They both ignored me; Mom slid a fresh diaper under me, thoroughly powdering me. “Her sister, Emma, always teased that she was an oversized baby,” Mom said as she pulled the Themed Diaper between my legs and secured it in place.

“Are you concerned Emma might have the gene?” Isabella asked.

“Not at all,” Mom answered. “Emma has always been independent. She most likely carries the gene as I do, but it isn’t active.”

“Have you told her yet?” Isabella asked as I sat up, my thick diaper crinkling. She reached for the hem of my nightshirt, pulling it over my head.

“Not yet,” Mom answered. “I think it would be more fun to make it a surprise visit.”

Isabella couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. Walking over to the closet, she selected a poca-dot babyish dress. It was overly poofy and round and would expose the bottom of my diaper. She slid it over my head; my pacifier almost fell from my lips.

“I think it is time for breakfast, little one,” Isabella said playfully, helping me off the changing table. I took a few wobbly steps before falling on my padded butt. I remained still, not wanting to move, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Awe,” Mom cooed. “Looks like someone is a bit gwumpy.”

Isabella couldn’t help but laugh. “She does have a bit of a bratty streak to her.” I glared at her.

“I guess something’s never changed,” Mom said teasingly. “I guess we will just have to eat all the banana pancakes by ourselves…”

My eyes widened… I loved banana pancakes. I watched as they both walked out of the nursery. Panicked, I quickly crawled after them. I didn’t want them to eat all the pancakes! I hastily made my way to my highchair.

Isabella stifled her laughter. “Good to know she loves bananas,” she said, helping me into my highchair and securing me in place.

“She could never get enough of them when she was younger,” Mom said, walking into the kitchen. She had a mixing bowl already filled with the pancake batter, adding banana slices. “She would sneak out of bed at night to get them. We had to start hiding them, but she always found them. She nearly tumbled off the counter one morning while searching the cupboards.

I heard the click of a photo, realizing Isabella was taking pictures of me in my current state. I turned a deep shade of red as they continued to talk about me.

It seems I was destined to be a little one way or another… It's not fair! I shouldn’t be a little! I’m not a baby… I’ll just explain to Mom I don’t want this, and I shouldn’t be forced into this… I’ll-I’ll tell her… those pancakes smell so yummy… maybe after breakfast… Being a baby until after breakfast won’t be so bad… No! I need to say something now!

“Wellow wants pwancakes!” I said babyishly.

“I’ll make an extra just for Wellow,” Mom said warmly.

Mother f-

Regression Gene: Chapter 6

The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 32: Humbled Hands

I sat on the edge of the bed; my hands clasped tightly in my lap as Clara’s words hung in the air. The washcloth in her hand dripped faintly into the basin, the sound like a faint echo in the otherwise quiet room. I couldn’t bring myself to meet her gaze. My body felt too heavy, too numb from the day, and the saturated padding beneath my dress was a humiliating weight that seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment.

“Lila,” Clara said softly, her tone somewhere between exasperation and concern. “You can’t just sit there. You need to clean up.”

I didn’t respond, my fingers gripping the hem of my dress tighter. I couldn’t do it—not here, not now, not with her watching. The shame was a lump in my throat, choking me, and I bit my lip hard, willing myself not to cry.

Clara sighed, the sound filled with both patience and irritation. “Fine,” she said after a long pause. “If you’re not going to do it, I will.”

Before I could react, Clara stepped forward and began undoing the ties and buttons at the back of my servant’s dress. My hands shot up instinctively, but she swatted them away with surprising firmness. “Stop fussing,” she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “You’ve clearly never done this before. Let me help.”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat as the damp dress slipped from my shoulders and pooled around my waist before she tugged it down completely. The cold air of the room hit my skin, and I sat there in just my undergarments—or rather, the soaked diaper that had become impossible to ignore.

Clara stepped back, her sharp eyes taking in the sight of me. She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head slightly as her gaze swept over me from head to toe. I couldn’t move. My arms hung limply at my sides, my knees pressed tightly together, and my face burned hotter than it ever had before.

Her eyes lingered on the diaper, and I fought back a fresh wave of tears as I saw her brow furrow slightly. The silence was deafening, each second dragging on like an eternity.

“Well,” Clara said finally, her voice softer now. “That explains a lot.”

My stomach twisted, and I bit my lip harder, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I—” I stammered, but no words followed. What could I possibly say? There was no explanation, no excuse that could make this moment any less humiliating.

Clara sighed again, though this time it sounded less irritated and more understanding. She crouched in front of me, her tone gentler than before. “Lila, look at me,” she said firmly, waiting until my eyes reluctantly met hers. “You don’t need to be ashamed.”

I blinked at her, disbelief written all over my face. How could I not be ashamed?

“I don’t know where you came from,” she continued, her voice low and steady, “or why you’re in this position, but it doesn’t matter. We all have things we’d rather keep hidden. You’re no different. But you have to take care of yourself, or someone else—someone less kind—will notice.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight as I nodded faintly. Her words were pragmatic, but they carried a faint kindness that kept the tears in my eyes from spilling over. Even so, the shame remained thick and suffocating as I sat there in silence.

Clara took one last look at me and slipped from the room in only her undergarments. As Clara stepped out of the room, I sat frozen on the edge of the bed, the cold air brushing against my skin and the weight of my soaked diaper pressing down on me like a physical burden. My hands trembled as I tried to wipe the tears from my cheeks, but they kept coming, hot and uncontrollable, sliding down my face in quiet streaks. I couldn’t stop them. The humiliation of sitting here, exposed and vulnerable, was too much to bear.

My mind churned with a thousand thoughts, each one worse than the last. How could this happen? I was a princess—wasn’t I? The title felt hollow now, a distant memory that had no place in this cramped room, this foreign life. The soaked padding beneath me and the tears on my cheeks were a cruel reminder of how far I’d fallen.

The door creaked open, and I stiffened, hastily scrubbing at my face with the back of my hand as Clara returned. She carried a small stack of supplies—a fresh set of diapers, a tin of powder, and a package of cloth wipes—her expression matter-of-fact as if this was just another chore to handle before bed. I wanted to protest, to say something, but the words caught in my throat, tangled with my shame.

Clara moved efficiently, setting the stack on my bed before pulling open the top drawer of my wardrobe. She began filling it with the supplies, arranging the diapers neatly in rows beside the powder and wipes. The ease with which she did it made my stomach twist, and my cheeks burned even hotter as I realized what she was doing.

Then, as casually as if it were nothing, she pulled out the folded panties from the wardrobe, glanced at them, and carried them across the room. She opened her wardrobe, slipping the panties inside without a second thought, before returning to mine and closing the drawer.

“There,” she said, brushing her hands together as if she’d just finished tidying up. “That’s better. No point in keeping things that don’t suit you.” She didn’t even look at me as she spoke, her tone practical, as though she’d done me a favor.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My tongue felt heavy, my throat dry, as I stared at her in mute disbelief. She thought I needed them. She thought I wasn’t… potty trained.

The thought sent a fresh wave of shame crashing over me, but I couldn’t bring myself to correct her. What would I even say? That she was wrong? That this was all some bizarre misunderstanding? The truth was impossible to explain, and even if I tried, I didn’t have the energy to fight her assumptions. My body was too numb, my mind too fogged with exhaustion and humiliation.

Clara turned back to me, placing her hands on her hips as she studied me. “All right,” she said, her tone softer now. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’ll feel better once you’re sorted for bed.”

I nodded faintly, not trusting myself to speak. The shame sat like a stone in my chest, heavy and unyielding, as I braced myself for whatever was to come. For now, it was easier to let Clara think what she wanted, even if it made me feel smaller and more vulnerable than I ever had before.

Clara’s sharp eyes lingered on me as I sat there frozen, my hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly, my legs pressed together as though I could somehow will away the humiliating truth of my situation. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she tilted her head, the faintest hint of concern flashing in her expression before she let out a soft sigh.

“You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” she said, her voice softer than I expected but laced with an edge of disbelief.

I tried to protest, my mouth opening and closing uselessly as the words caught in my throat. My cheeks burned, my body stiffened with embarrassment, and I could only shake my head faintly, unable to meet her gaze.

She set her hands on her hips, letting out another sigh. “Fine. Looks like I’ll have to do it. You clearly can’t sort yourself out, and we don’t have all night.”

Before I could even process what she’d said, Clara moved with brisk efficiency. She gestured toward the bed, her tone firm. “Lie down.”

“What?” I managed to choke out, my voice weak and trembling. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Clara interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Look, Lila, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m not about to let you sit there all night like this. Either you figure it out yourself, or you let me help.”

I hesitated, my hands trembling as I gripped the bed tighter. The shame was overwhelming, a heavy weight pressing down on me, but Clara’s steady, no-nonsense demeanor left me no escape. My body moved on its own, as though in a trance, and I lay back on the bed, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.

Clara knelt beside me, her movements calm and practiced as she reached for the supplies she’d just placed in the drawer. “There,” she said, almost to herself. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I bit my lip, staring at the ceiling as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I could feel her hands at the waistband of the diaper, her touch brisk and impersonal, but the shame burned hotter with every moment.

As she worked, Clara spoke, her tone conversational but tinged with curiosity. “So,” she began, unfastening the tapes and carefully removing the soaked padding, “how does someone end up like this? You can’t be older than me, and yet... this.”

I swallowed hard, my face flushing as I turned my head to the side, avoiding her gaze. “I... it’s complicated,” I muttered weakly, my voice barely audible.

Clara didn’t let up. “Complicated, huh? Was it your mother? Didn’t bother to potty train you? Or is it one of those things—what do they call it? A... condition?”

Her words stung, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. The truth was far too tangled, far too impossible to explain, and the lump in my throat made it impossible to speak.

“And where is your mother, anyway?” Clara continued, her tone growing sharper now. “If she’s not here, what are you doing in the servants’ quarters? You don’t belong here; that much is obvious.”

I closed my eyes tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. Her questions cut too close to the truth, but I couldn’t let her know. Not now. Not ever.

“Fine,” Clara said finally, her voice softening slightly. “Don’t want to talk about it? Suit yourself. But you’re going to have to learn how to take care of this.” She finished fastening the fresh diaper snugly around my waist, patting the front lightly before standing and brushing her hands on her dress. “There. All set. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I sat up slowly, my cheeks still burning, unable to meet her eyes. Clara’s expression softened as she watched me, and for a moment, her sharp edges seemed to dull.

“Look,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to tell me. But you’re here now, and if you’re going to survive in this place, you need to keep your head up and keep yourself together. The headmistress doesn’t take kindly to weakness, and neither does anyone else.”

I nodded faintly, my voice caught in my throat. The shame was still there, heavy and suffocating, but Clara’s blunt pragmatism carried a strange sort of comfort. For now, at least, I wasn’t alone.

Clara grabbed the washcloth from the basin, wringing it out with practiced ease, her movements smooth and unhurried. She knelt beside me again, her sharpness softened, and her voice gentler than before. “Let’s get you cleaned up properly,” she said quietly, her eyes meeting mine briefly. “You’ll feel better afterward, trust me.”

I stiffened at first, my cheeks flushing hot with shame, but Clara’s tone was surprisingly kind. The day’s grime weighed heavily on my skin, and I couldn’t deny that part of me longed to feel clean again. Still, I couldn’t meet her gaze, my hands fidgeting with the hem of the blanket beneath me.

As the cool cloth touched my skin, wiping away the dirt and sweat of the day, I felt the lump in my throat grow heavier. Clara’s touch was brisk but not harsh; her attention focused entirely on the task. I hesitated, my mind racing for something—anything—to explain my situation without revealing the truth.

“My... my mother,” I began haltingly, my voice trembling. Clara paused briefly, her gaze flicking up to mine before returning to her work, waiting for me to continue.

“She was always so busy,” I said, my words spilling out in a jumble. “There were... so many things to take care of, and I guess she just didn’t have the time. To—to teach me.”

Clara tilted her head slightly, her expression curious but not judgmental. “Teach you what? To take care of yourself?” she asked gently, her hand pausing for a moment.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Potty training, changing myself... all of it. She was always working, always doing something else. There just wasn’t time for me.”

The words came out shakily, and though they weren’t the truth, they carried a kernel of honesty. My real circumstances were far more complicated, but the pain of being overlooked, of feeling lost, was real enough.

Clara let out a soft sigh, resuming her work with the washcloth as she considered my words. “That’s rough,” she said after a pause, her tone thoughtful. “I’ve seen it before, though. Some parents just don’t... prioritize the right things. Doesn’t make it easier on you, though.”

I nodded faintly, the shame still burning in my chest. “I—I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m not... I’m not very good at this. I don’t know how to—”

“Hey,” Clara interrupted, her tone firm but kind. “None of that. You’re here now, right? That means you’re still standing, even if it’s not perfect. And you’re going to have to learn, Lila because this place doesn’t go easy on anyone.”

Her words hung in the air, both reassuring and daunting. She continued scrubbing, her motions careful but thorough. “You’re lucky you’ve got me,” she said after a moment, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’ll help you figure it out, but you’ve got to show me some strength, okay? You can’t survive here if you don’t.”

I nodded again, her words settling into the fog of my exhaustion. She was right—I had to be strong, no matter how impossible it felt right now. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Clara shrugged, her smirk softening into a faint smile. “Don’t mention it,” she said. “Just don’t make this a habit, okay? Next time, you’re going to learn to do it yourself.”

The thought made my stomach twist with dread, but I nodded anyway, knowing I had little choice. Clara’s pragmatism was a lifeline, and for now, I had to trust it. As she finished her work and set the cloth aside, I felt a small, tentative flicker of gratitude beneath the layers of humiliation. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to survive this after all.

Clara set the washcloth back into the basin, wringing it out one final time before wiping her hands on her dress. She stood, brushing her knees briefly, and glanced at me with a mixture of satisfaction and mild amusement. “There,” she said, crossing her arms. “All cleaned up. See? Not so bad.”

I nodded faintly, too drained to respond. My body felt heavy, weighed down not only by exhaustion but by the lingering humiliation of the past few moments. The fresh diaper was snug against me, a stark reminder of everything I had to endure. I avoided Clara’s gaze, focusing instead on the small, cramped space of the dorm room, trying to steady my breathing.

“Come on,” Clara said briskly, moving to the stack of blankets and sheets on my bed. “Let’s get this made up before lights out.”

She worked quickly, her movements efficient as she unfolded the sheets and tucked them neatly around the narrow mattress. I did my best to help, though my fumbling hands and trembling arms were little use. Clara didn’t comment, only nudging me gently aside when I got in the way.

When the bed was finally made, she stepped back and nodded toward it. “Get in,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve had a rough day. Rest now because it’s going to start all over again tomorrow.”

I hesitated, glancing at the freshly made bed and then back at her. She raised an eyebrow, waiting. Without a word, I climbed under the covers, the fabric cool against my skin as I pulled them close. Clara adjusted the blanket slightly, tucking it around me with a casual ease that made my chest tighten with unexpected gratitude.

She moved to the lantern by the door, turning down the flame until the room was swallowed by darkness. For a moment, the absence of light felt suffocating, the pitch-black pressing in from all sides. I clutched the blanket tighter, curling into myself as the sounds of Clara settling into her bed reached my ears—a faint creak of the mattress, the rustle of fabric.

The day’s weariness was impossible to ignore. My muscles ached, my hands throbbed, and my eyes burned with exhaustion. Despite everything—the shame, the fear, the uncertainty—the weight of sleep began to drag me down, pulling me into its depths. As I lay there, the soft sound of Clara’s steady breathing filled the room, a small comfort in the overwhelming quiet. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness consume me, and for the first time that day, my mind was blissfully blank.

End of Chapter 32

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Candy’s word choice was precise, direct, and chosen for maximum impact. “Thank you for joining us, Brad.”

Not “Daddy”. Not “Sir”. 

Brad. 

That alone was a white glove tossed across the negotiation table, a challenge. It didn’t matter that she was wearing her PJs–a onesie over a puffy, damp diaper–or that the ‘negotiation table’ was a double-wide kitchen island, she wanted him to know that she, and Daisy, and John, and Mick, and Socks meant business. 

Daddy just raised an eyebrow at her, pulling up a seat opposite the five of them. He wasn’t dressed for the day either, but his loose T-shirt and sweatpants only emphasized his power; the hard shape of his sculpted body visible beneath flashes of fabric. “I don’t see breakfast,” he pointed out, glancing out at the table. 

Mick was the housemaid, and though he hadn’t been bold enough enough to forgo donning his uniform and skirts that morning, he’d made a stand in that regard–leaving breakfast unmade. 

“And you won’t,” Candy replied, raising her hand towards Daisy and holding her palm open, “Until our demands are met.” 

Nothing happened for a moment, until she nudged Daisy, who was tugging at the hem of the long t-shirt that fell over her own paw-print decorated diaper. The lanky girl yipped in surprise, remembering what they’d planned, and took the sheaf of paper that they’d prepared and placed it in Candy’s open hand. With a flourish, Candy passed the paper across the table, turning it around for Daddy to read. 

He looked down, expression bemused, then raised an eyebrow as he began to read. “Do we need to bring safe words into this conversation?” 

Candy shook her head quickly. “No. This isn’t that kind of negotiation.” 

Nodding, Daddy picked up the paper, eyes lingering on Candy for a moment longer before drifting down to begin reading. The five of them waited on bated breath, awaiting his reaction.

“You’re threatening to withhold your submission?” he asked, more curious than concerned. 

“Not threatening,” Candy replied. “We’ve talked about this, and we’re going to go through with it. If you want our submission, you will need to comply with our demands.” 

Daddy set aside the paper, instead looking her in the eyes. Candy flinched–Daddy had a look that could make her melt, and he employed it judiciously, dropping her into subspace with the slightest arc of his eyebrows. “Really now, baby?” 

Her lips trembled, and she struggled to produce any sounds more coherent than pure babble. The pure, concentrated Daddy Energy filled her with an urge to drop to her knees and submit, but a gentle touch from Mick stabilized her. Her submissive-in-arms slipped his lace gloved-hand between her fingers and squeezed, restoring a bit of her ability to resist. 

Raising her chin, Candy declared, “Really.”

Ignoring the paper, Daddy looked them all over. “All of you planned this out?” 

Nobody else made eye contact with him. Mick found a spot on the ceiling to stare at, Socks looked down at her boots, John turned his nearly-naked body around to face away, and Daisy crossed her arms over her chest and even went so far as to nod her head in defiance, her bone-shaped collar tag jingling. 

Daddy nodded. “And what are your demands?” 

She’d hoped he would simply read the list, but of course he was forcing her to speak them aloud instead. She didn’t want a confrontation, but she didn’t have a choice, the whole polycule was depending on her. 

“First–freedom of cummies,” she said, acutely aware of the chastity belt locked beneath her diaper. “Chastity should only be employed as punishment for serious disobedience. I–*we–*want access to buzzy time whenever we want, without needing permission.”

Daddy chuckled, as though she were joking. “Baby, you know you’re too little to make decisions like that. How would I keep you all in line if I let you spend your whole day just riding your wands?” 

The comment made her blush, which had to be intentional–Daddy was trying to derail the delivery of their manifesto. “Second,” Candy said, voice trembling slightly. “Make out privileges. We demand permission to kiss and fondle each other at will.” 

Daddy nodded, though his broad smirk said, ‘Never in a million years’. 

“No more bedtimes for me or Socks. We should be allowed to stay up past midnight with everyone else. Mick wants access to diaper changes before his daily chores are concluded,” Candy continued. “And he only wants to do hot brekkie on business days, so he can sleep in on weekends.”

“Sweetheart,” Daddy interrupted. “You’re not australian. Just because they say ‘brekkie’ on Bluey doesn’t mean you should call it that.”

He was trying to get her flustered, and it worked, but she powered through without replying to the comment. 

“John wants his cage to be left open at night. I want nuggies available for at least three meals a week, and full veto power on anything containing vegetables. Plus, no more stinky diapers when your other Big friends are over, or during playdates with other littles who might tease me–erm, us.” Her lip trembled, but she held eye contact, all her bravery on display. 

“Is that all?” Daddy asked.

“There’s a few more things,” Candy admitted, reaching for the papers. “But this one is the most important. We don’t negotiate anything else until this is signed.” Producing the bottom sheet from the stack, she held it out.

Daddy glanced at it, but didn’t read the paper, forcing Candy to explain herself. “What is that?” 

“A non-retaliation clause,” Candy declared. “Saying that you will not punish any of us for collective bargaining, enforcement of our rules, or for demanding fairer rules.” 

Looking at the paper, Daddy pondered it for a moment before setting it aside. “Who’s idea was this, Candy? It wasn’t yours.” 

They remained silent, but Daddy could see through their poker faces easily, and a few darting glances turned his attention onto John. The polycule’s resident rope bunny shivered, his bare body somehow sweaty despite the cool morning. 

“Toy,” Daddy told John. “What were you thinking? That I’d let you out of your cage if you got your friends to ask with you? You know that everything between your legs belongs to me. And with this little fussing session, I think we can put another month on the calendar before I let you borrow those parts.” 

John whimpered, but Candy cleared her throat. “It was a group decision.”

Daddy didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. “I have a counter offer.” 

Nodding, Candy glanced at her co-submissives, ensuring they were all ready to listen. “We’ll hear out your terms.” 

Daddy lifted his chin ever so slightly, an acknowledgement that their efforts had gained his attention–but not his respect. “You all apologize for being brats, and I’ll forget the myriad responsibilities you’ve chosen to disregard this morning.” 

Daddy’s confident smile shook Candy to her core, and she could tell by the way the others rocked back that she wasn’t alone, but she held strong. “That’s it, then.” 

“That’s it?” Daddy asked. 

“A submission stoppage,” Candy announced. “Everyone, this meeting is over.” 

Getting to his feet, Daddy nodded, moving to step around the table. His fingers reached for the seat of Candy’s diaper, but she stood and stepped back, preventing him from checking her. 

“I need to see if you’re soggy,” he pointed out. “Don’t you want a change, little one?” 

She did. Nothing relaxed her more than Daddy’s tender touch, wiping her clean and powdering her dry before wrapping her up in a nice, fresh diaper, but Candy stuck out her chin and shook her head. “Not until our demands are met.” 

“If you leak–” Daddy started. 

“I won’t.” 

“You can’t stay in one diaper forever.”

She sucked in a breath, her next statement feeling more like a challenge than anything she’d done so far. “I’ll change myself.” 

Daddy was taken aback, but only for a moment. Moving on, he looked between them, deciding where to apply pressure next. “Daisy. Are you ready for your morning walkies?” 

Daisy’s expression brightened, then soured again. She shook her head, sniffing a little as she held her ground. 

“Socks–it’s pancake day. Don’t you need my help eating breakfast? I’ll cut the pieces extra small.” 

Candy held her breath, but her baby-in-crime stood proud: Socks puffed out her chest and held her breath, waiting for Daddy to move on.

Daddy finally turned to face John, letting Socks exhale. “Toy,” Daddy said to the next sub in line. “Is your harness clean?”

“It is,” John promised. 

“Then–”

“But I won’t use it,” he interrupted. “I’m not crossing the picket line, Brad.” 

Daddy sighed, and Candy felt a surge of triumph. They’d held strong, refusing to buckle under Daddy’s dominant energy. Turning, he said, “Alright. If this is how you want to behave, just remember–it’s your choice.” 

He left, and the five of them slumped, all drained by the flimsy resistance they’d offered. 

Shivering, Daisy sniffed, looking like she might cry. Mick gave voice to her concern. “Do you think he’ll be mad?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Candy replied. “He’s got to agree to our terms, and that means he can’t retaliate.” 

“But if he doesn’t?” Socks asked, already desperate after only two minutes of independence. “He said he’d watch Tangled with me tomorrow night–what if we’re still not at an agreement?” 

“Then we’ll hold strong,” Candy promised her. “I know this is hard, but we have to stick together. Once he gives up, we’ll get to have grown-up time whenever we want! That has to be worth it!” 

“He’s not gonna wait us out,” John supplied. Almost naked save for the chastity cage Daddy kept him in at all times, Candy didn’t know how he wasn’t shivering cold; without her onesie and knee socks she would have been shivering. 

“You think?” Socks asked eagerly. 

“Of course not. He’s going to try and pressure us,” John explained. “Isolate us, make us turn one by one.”

“Don’t worry. We held together once, we can do it again,” Candy promised them. 

Mick wasn’t so certain. “That was when we were all together. What about when we’re alone?” 

“Just remember: No matter what Daddy promises you, we can’t buckle. He will punish us, so we need to make sure he doesn’t get that opportunity.” 

“The longer we hold out, the more he’ll try and bribe us,” John added. “He’ll get us alone and make promises–that if we turn, he’ll let us have whatever we want. Don’t listen.”

“Daddy’s a fibber, anyway,” Socks said. “The other day he said I could pick between cookies and five minutes with my buzzy wand, but when I picked buzzy time, he didn’t let me plug it in!” 

Candy slumped back on her stool, tummy grumbling. Without Mick’s usual breakfast spread, she was feeling particularly hungie. “Let’s just go about our day, and don’t let him get to us, okay? We knew he wouldn’t break immediately.” 

There was a moment of assent and the five of them stood, but it quickly faded as they all tried to think what their day would even look like. Without their typical routine, breakfast hadn’t been made. Candy and Socks would have to feed themselves, Daisy wouldn’t be getting anything served in her dog bowl, Mick didn’t have anything to clean up. Uncertainly, they all milled around the kitchen for a moment, shuffling back and forth, at a loss for how to proceed. 

“I’ll make breakfast, okay?” Mick suggested. “I like cooking, anyway.”

“No,” Candy insisted. “We can’t just do what he wants. If you make brekkie, we lose.”

“I won’t make any for dadd–Brad.” Mick shook his head. “He’ll have to prepare his own food.” 

“You’re not in maid mode,” Candy shot back. “I’ll make it.”

“You’d burn cereal,” Mick snapped. “I’m not eating whatever slime you make!” 

Stepping between them, Daisy lifted her arms and shook her head furiously, her voluminous hair flopping from side to side. Growling a little, she communicated her point without needing to say a word: Stoooop fightiiiiiing. 

She was right, and Candy blushed as she recognized she’d started a meaningless argument. “He’s getting to us already,” she said, though Daddy hadn’t even seeded this argument. “I…I’m sorry, Mick. You can make brekkie if you want. Socks, I can feed you, if you feed me, ok?” 

The other baby girl nodded. “Okay!” 

Mick moved to start cooking, flouncing daintily around the kitchen in his maid uniform. “Everyone, you’re in my way–let me cook.” 

They filed out, and Candy took a moment to scratch Daisy’s scalp, just behind the ears. “I’m sorry for fighting, girl.” 

Daisy’s tongue lolled out and she made a pleased sound in the back of her throat, nodding as she accepted the apology. “S’kay.”

Candy had one more thing to take care of–she needed a fresh diaper. Daddy had claimed she would leak, and she wasn’t about to prove him right, so she set off to her nursery to get herself changed. 

She hated doing her own diapers–it just never felt the same. A self-change was a chore, not a pleasure, but she’d already accepted that this would be necessary as part of their collective struggle. Socks was hopeless with changing diapers, and she wouldn’t want to ask anyone else to take on that responsibility. 

Candy found the nursery door open when she got upstairs, which got her attention immediately. She always shut it out of habit, leftover paranoia from when she'd lived with vanillas and had to worry about her diaper supplies being spotted. Walking inside, she looked for Daddy, wondering what he'd try to bribe her with, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

On edge, she walked to her dresser, pulling out the top drawer to get her changing supplies. She recoiled in horror, eyes widening once she saw what Daddy had done.

A stack of fresh, clean panties were in the drawer. No diapers, no powder, not even a stuffer. Daddy had taken away all her underwear and replaced them with these…things. The panties didn't even have cute prints! 

A note sat to the side of the panties, written in Daddy’s straightforward handwriting. Reading it, Candy felt a chill run down her back, from the base of her neck to the seat of her damp, sagging diaper.

‘Since you think you're big enough to make grown up decisions, I think it's only fair that you wear grown up panties.

If you want your diapers back, you'll have to prove you won't act like a grown up.

-Brad’ 

...

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The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 31: Humility

As I finished the last of the watery stew, I battled with the discomfort of the hard wooden seat and the constant reminder of my situation. The subtle squish with every movement sent heat to my cheeks, but I fought to keep my face neutral. The thought of enduring the rest of the day in this state churned my stomach, but the reality of my disguise left no room for dignity. How could I change? Who could I ask without exposing myself completely? The answer was clear—I couldn’t.

I glanced down at my plate, the crumbs of bread and streaks of stew left behind, wishing I could sit here forever and let the minutes into hours. The idea of returning to the grueling work of scrubbing floors was unbearable. My arms still trembled faintly from the morning’s labor, and my back ached so deeply that even sitting upright felt like a chore. But Clara, as unrelenting as ever, stood without hesitation, gathering her plate and bowl with practiced efficiency.

“Come on,” she said simply, her voice low but firm as she glanced down at me. She nodded toward the line of servants returning their dishes, then back to the closet where we’d collected our supplies earlier. “We’ve got more to do.”

I bit back a groan, swallowing the protest that rose in my throat. Clara wasn’t the sort of person who tolerated slacking, and I couldn’t risk standing out, not now. So I forced myself to rise, biting the inside of my cheek as my muscles protested the motion. My legs felt like jelly beneath me, my knees threatening to buckle as I took a step, and the uncomfortable squish that accompanied it made my cheeks burn again.

I followed Clara through the dining area, keeping my head low as I clutched my empty plate and bowl. The soft clatter of other servants cleaning up their places filled the air, but no one seemed to notice me. For that, at least, I was grateful. Each step back toward the cleaning closet felt heavier than the last, my body screaming for rest and my mind churning with questions I couldn’t answer.

Clara didn’t slow her pace, and I scrambled to keep up, the soaked padding beneath me only adding to the awkwardness of my stride. When we reached the closet, she took her bucket and sponge from the gray-haired servant in charge with a wordless nod. I followed suit, my hands trembling slightly as I accepted the clean bucket and sponge. The servant barely looked at me, her tired eyes focused on the next girl in line.

Clara turned, her pale braid swaying slightly as she glanced over her shoulder. “We’ve got the east wing next,” she said. “Try to keep up this time.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it left no room for excuses.

I nodded, swallowing hard as I gripped the bucket handle tightly. The wet padding shifted against me again, and I bit back a wince, forcing myself to follow Clara as she led the way down the dim corridor. Each step felt heavier than the last, but I reminded myself why I was doing this—why I had to endure. This wasn’t forever. It couldn’t be. I would find a way to reclaim my dignity, my strength, and my kingdom. But for now, I had no choice but to keep moving forward, one aching step at a time. My determination was a flickering flame in the darkness, a beacon of hope in the oppressive silence.

The hours stretched endlessly as we scrubbed the east wing, the dim glow of the lanterns casting flickering shadows on the rough stone floor. Time had long since lost meaning, the steady motion of my arms blurring into a monotonous rhythm. Dip the sponge. Scrub the floor. Rinse. Repeat. My fingers felt raw, my knuckles stiff, and every joint in my body ached from the relentless work. I was a puppet, my strings pulled by the demands of the day, my body aching with every movement.

The cold had seeped into my bones, making my movements sluggish and mechanical. My knees screamed in protest each time I shifted, the rough floor beneath them a constant reminder of how far I’d fallen. But I barely felt it anymore—my body had become a machine, moving on autopilot as my mind drifted into a foggy haze.

At some point, the soft ache in my bladder had returned, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. It was easier not to fight it, to let the inevitable happen without resistance. The warm, humiliating spread through the already-soaked padding beneath my dress barely registered, just another indignity in a day that had stripped me of everything. My cheeks didn’t even flush this time; I was too numb to feel the shame that had burned so fiercely before. I was a ghost, moving through the motions without feeling the weight of my actions.

The sponge slipped from my grasp for what felt like the hundredth time, and I fumbled for it, my fingers trembling as I plunged it back into the soapy water. The faint splash barely registered in my ears. My vision blurred, and I stared blankly at the floor, my scrubbing slow and thoughtless. Each pass of the sponge felt heavier, as though the weight of the day pressed down on my hands, my shoulders, and my heart.

Clara worked beside me, her movements steady and sure, though I could see the weariness in the way her shoulders sagged and the occasional pause in her rhythm. She hadn’t spoken in hours, her focus entirely on the task at hand. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable; it was just... there. Heavy. Oppressive. A silence that felt like it belonged in these cold, lifeless halls.

My mind was blank, my thoughts scattered and unreachable. The memories of my former life—of silk dresses and grand halls, of Dorian’s warm smile—felt like distant dreams, unreachable in the fog of exhaustion. All that remained was the sound of the sponge against the floor, the faint creak of the lanterns swaying in the cool drafts, and the occasional drip of soapy water pooling around my knees.

I wasn’t a princess anymore. I wasn’t even Liliana. I was a nameless servant girl, lost in the endless grind of scrubbing floors. The weight of it pressed down on me, suffocating and relentless, until there was nothing left but the motion of my arms and the faint hope that someday, somehow, this wouldn’t be my life. But tonight, that hope felt as faint as the lanterns flickering above us, their light barely holding back the shadows that crept closer with every hour.

“Lila? Hey.” Clara’s voice was soft but insistent, cutting through the haze that had enveloped my mind. I blinked slowly, my vision swimming as I looked up at her. Her pale blue eyes narrowed slightly with concern, her hand resting lightly on my arm. “We’re done,” she said quietly, her words gentle but firm. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Done? I blinked again, glancing down at the floor beneath me. It was spotless, the once-grimy stones now gleaming faintly in the dim light of the lanterns. I hadn’t even realized we’d finished. My hands ached, raw and trembling, my knees stiff and sore from hours of scrubbing, but I barely registered the pain. My mind felt foggy, as though I’d drifted somewhere far away while my body continued the task on its own.

Clara tugged gently at my arm, her touch grounding me. “Come on,” she said again, her voice a little more insistent this time. “We need to put the supplies away before the headmistress starts looking for us.”

I nodded numbly, forcing myself to rise. My legs protested the motion, shaking beneath me as I straightened. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, but I clutched the handle of my bucket and followed Clara down the dim corridor, my movements stiff and mechanical.

The walk back to the cleaning closet felt like a blur, the sounds of our footsteps and the faint sloshing of soapy water barely registering in my ears. Clara walked ahead, her braid swaying with each step, her pace steady despite the clear fatigue etched into her movements. I stumbled after her, my mind blank, my body on autopilot.

When we reached the closet, Clara handed over her bucket and sponge with a curt nod, and I followed her lead, placing mine on the counter with trembling hands. The gray-haired servant barely glanced at me as she took it, her face as tired and worn as I felt. I wiped my damp hands on the coarse fabric of my dress, the soaked padding beneath it pressing uncomfortably against my skin with every movement.

“Come on,” Clara murmured, her voice low as she motioned for me to follow. I trailed after her, my steps slow and unsteady, as we made our way back toward the main gathering hall. The sound of voices and the faint hum of activity grew louder as we approached, the oppressive silence of the east wing replaced by the low murmur of other servants returning from their tasks.

The headmistress’s commanding presence was impossible to miss, her sharp voice cutting through the noise like a blade. She stood near the front of the room, her severe bun and immaculate uniform as intimidating as ever. Her dark eyes swept over the returning girls, her expression stern and watchful. Even in my exhausted state, I felt the weight of her gaze, and I instinctively lowered my head, shrinking into the background.

Clara nudged me gently, her touch steadying as we stepped into the room. “Keep your head down,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “We’ll be out of here soon enough.”

I nodded faintly, the movement almost mechanical, as I followed her into the gathering hall. The clatter of returning supplies and the whispered exchanges between the other servants filled the space, but I barely heard it. My body felt like it was moving on its own, my mind too clouded by exhaustion to process anything beyond the immediate moment. The weight of the day hung heavily on my shoulders, but somewhere, buried beneath the fatigue, a faint ember of resolve still flickered, refusing to be extinguished.

The headmistress’s sharp voice cut through the low murmur of the hall like a blade, silencing the whispers and idle movements of the gathered servants. I shrank further into myself, keeping my head low as the weight of her gaze swept over the room, her dark eyes narrowed and calculating. She stood at the front of the gathering hall, her posture rigid, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Every inch of her exuded authority, and even in my exhausted stupor, I felt a shiver of unease ripple through me.

“Report,” she said curtly, her voice firm. “Each of you will tell me what you accomplished today and where you worked. I will be inspecting your areas personally, and let me be clear—if I find anything amiss, anything at all, you will regret it.”

The girls shuffled nervously, their eyes averted as, one by one, they stepped forward to give their accounts. The tension in the air was palpable, the low voices of the servants blending into a steady hum as the headmistress listened with an expression of cold detachment. Occasionally, she would nod or wave a hand dismissively, moving quickly from one report to the next.

“If you missed a spot,” she continued her tone sharper now, “tell me now. If I discover it myself, I assure you, your punishment will be twice as severe.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening as her gaze shifted from servant to servant. My body felt frozen, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten as anxiety knotted in my chest. My mind raced, trying to remember if there was anything Clara or I might have missed in the east wing. The thought of standing before her, of having to answer for any mistake, sent a wave of dread through me.

And then her piercing gaze landed on us.

“You two,” she said sharply, her eyes narrowing. “Report.”

I froze, the words caught in my throat. My mind blanked completely, and for a horrifying moment, all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears. But before I could stammer out an answer—or worse, fail to answer at all—Clara stepped forward, her voice steady and composed.

“We scrubbed the east wing thoroughly, ma’am,” Clara said, her head bowed slightly in deference. “Every hall and corner was cleaned to standard. We didn’t miss anything.”

The headmistress’s eyes flicked between the two of us, her expression unreadable. “Is that so?” she said coolly, her tone laced with suspicion. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Clara nodded quickly, her movements respectful but not overly eager. “Yes, ma’am.”

The headmistress’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, sharp and probing, and I held my breath, willing myself not to flinch under her scrutiny. Finally, she turned away, moving on to the next group of servants with a flick of her wrist.

Clara let out a barely audible sigh of relief, and I followed her lead, my shoulders sagging slightly as the tension eased. I cast a quick, grateful glance at her, but she didn’t look back, her attention already focused on the headmistress’s next words.

“Dismissed,” the headmistress said after a long pause, her voice echoing in the quiet hall. “You are expected to be in your places tomorrow at dawn. Do not be late.”

The servants began to disperse, their movements quick and silent as they filed out of the hall. Clara nudged me lightly, her touch snapping me out of my daze. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

I nodded, my legs feeling like lead as I followed her out of the room. My body ached with exhaustion, my mind still buzzing with the fear that had gripped me moments before. But Clara’s calm, decisive response had saved me, and for that, I was quietly, deeply grateful.

The walk to the dorm room felt like an eternity. My legs dragged with each step, the ache in my muscles sharp and relentless after a day of scrubbing. The narrow corridors seemed endless, their walls dimly lit by flickering lanterns that cast dancing shadows on the rough stone. Clara moved ahead of me with purpose, her steps lighter despite the wear of the day. I stumbled after her, my bucket long abandoned, my mind clouded with exhaustion and the growing awareness of the soaked padding beneath my dress.

The farther we walked from the gathering hall, the quieter the castle became. The hum of voices and the clatter of supplies faded, replaced by the distant creak of timbers and the occasional muffled sound from above. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and candle wax. Clara said nothing, but her presence ahead of me was steady, a silent guide through the labyrinthine passages.

Finally, we reached a heavy wooden door near the end of a narrow hallway. Clara pushed it open without hesitation, and I followed her inside, the sound of the door closing behind me feeling like the punctuation to the day. The room was cramped but functional, with two narrow beds, two small desks, and two plain wardrobes tucked against the walls. A washbasin sat on one of the desks, the water inside still and faintly glistening in the lantern’s glow. The room felt stifling, not because of its size but because of the inescapable proximity.

Clara moved without hesitation, shutting the door behind us and stripping off her dress in one fluid motion, tossing it onto her bed in a wrinkled heap. She stood in her undergarments, completely unbothered, as she dipped a cloth into the basin and began wiping away the grime of the day.

I froze, my eyes darting to the floor as heat flooded my face. “I—I’ll wait,” I stammered, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “You go ahead.”

Clara paused, turning to look at me with one eyebrow raised, her damp cloth in hand. “Wait?” she said, her tone incredulous. “For what?”

“I just—” My words caught in my throat. “I’m fine. I’ll clean up later.”

Clara’s skeptical look deepened, and she planted a hand on her hip, the other holding the cloth. “Lila,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind, “you’ve been on your knees scrubbing floors all day. You’re not fine. And unless you’re planning to sleep covered in filth, you need to wash up.”

I swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably as the soaked diaper beneath my dress pressed against my skin. My cheeks burned hotter, and I shook my head. “I can handle it,” I said weakly.

Clara snorted softly, shaking her head as she turned back to the basin. “You’ll get used to this eventually,” she said, her voice softening but still carrying an edge of practicality. “Modesty doesn’t get you very far here. We’re all the same, Lila. Dirty, tired, and trying to stay ahead of the headmistress’s wrath.”

I bit my lip, glancing at the small wardrobe by my bed. “I’ll manage,” I murmured, hoping she’d drop the subject.

She didn’t. Clara turned to face me fully, her expression sharp now. “No, you won’t. If your scrubbing earlier is anything to go by, you don’t know how to take care of yourself here. And trust me, if you don’t, the headmistress will notice. She’s already got eyes on you.”

My heart sank at her words. “She’ll... notice?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Of course she will,” Clara said bluntly. “She checks all of us. Clothes. Cleanliness. Everything. If you’re not presentable, you’ll know it.” She gestured toward the washbasin. “So, unless you want to end up over her lap and spanked tomorrow as punishment, you’ll clean up. And if you don’t know how, I’ll help.”

I swallowed hard, panic creeping into my chest. How could I possibly clean myself without revealing my humiliating secret? Clara’s piercing gaze told me she wouldn’t let this go, and the thought of the headmistress noticing anything out of the ordinary sent a fresh wave of dread through me. I was trapped, and Clara, for all her practicality, wasn’t going to let me escape.

End of Chapter 31

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The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 30: Ashes of Grace

As the minutes stretched on, the soft ache in my bladder grew more insistent, refusing to be ignored. I scrubbed harder, pushing the sponge over the stone floor with increasing force as if the physical effort could somehow distract me from the discomfort gnawing at me. But it didn’t. The ache sharpened, and I shifted my weight uncomfortably, my thighs pressing together as I tried to suppress the inevitable.

I stole a glance at Clara, who was still immersed in her work, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tackled a stubborn stain. She hadn’t noticed my struggle, and I silently prayed it would stay that way. My cheeks burned with humiliation as I felt the pressure building, the stark realization settling over me that this wasn’t a battle I could win. Not here. Not now.

I could hold it, I told myself, clinging desperately to the thought, but my body disagreed. The ache grew sharper, an unrelenting reminder of how powerless I truly was in this moment. My knees pressed together, and my sponge slipped from my grasp, falling with a soft splat into the soapy water.

“Careful,” Clara said, glancing at me briefly before returning to her work. Her tone was neutral, almost distracted, but it still sent a jolt of anxiety through me. I muttered an apology under my breath, my hands trembling as I retrieved the sponge.

But my focus was already gone, swallowed entirely by the battle raging in my body. I bit my lip hard, trying to wash away the pressure, but it was no use. My muscles tensed and then gave way all at once, and I felt a sudden, warm rush flood into the diaper beneath my dress.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat as the humiliating reality sank in. The warmth spread, the thick padding absorbing it quickly, but there was no hiding from what had just happened. The shame hit me like a wave, hot and suffocating, and I fought to keep my expression neutral, my hands gripping the sponge so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

“Everything all right?” Clara asked, her voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts. She looked at me again, her pale blue eyes curious but not suspicious.

I forced a nod, my voice barely audible. “Fine,” I managed, though the word felt hollow in my throat.

She didn’t press further, turning back to her work with the same practiced ease she’d shown all morning. I swallowed hard, my cheeks still burning as I bent back over the floor, my movements stiff and mechanical. The padding beneath me was warm and slightly heavy now, a constant reminder of how far I’d fallen. A princess reduced to scrubbing floors—and now, this.

The shame was almost unbearable, but I clenched my jaw and forced myself to keep working. There was no time to dwell on my humiliation, no space for tears or self-pity. I had to survive, to keep my disguise intact, to avoid the eyes of anyone who might see through me. If Clara suspected anything, she gave no sign, and for that, I was grateful.

But deep down, the weight of what I’d lost settled more heavily on my shoulders. I wasn’t just a servant at this moment—I was utterly powerless, stripped of everything that once defined me. And yet, beneath the shame, a faint ember of resolve still burned. I couldn’t let this moment, this humiliation, define me. I would endure it because survival demanded it. And when the time came, I would rise from these shadows stronger than before. But for now, I worked in silence, my cheeks flushed and my heart heavy, each movement a quiet act of defiance against the circumstances that had brought me here.

As I scrubbed at the cold stone floor, the soaked padding beneath me was impossible to ignore. Each shift of my weight, each small movement, sent a humiliating reminder of my situation. My cheeks burned, and I blinked hard, fighting back the sting of tears that threatened to spill. I couldn’t cry here, not in front of Clara—not in this place. But no matter how hard I tried to push it away, the weight in my chest only grew heavier.

The memories came unbidden, sharper, and more painful with every passing second. Dorian’s face floated in my mind—his warm smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me, his steady hand always reaching for mine in moments of doubt. He had been my anchor, my partner, the one who promised that we’d face this world together.

Where is he now? The thought cut through me like a blade. Was he safe? Was he alive? The ache in my heart deepened, twisting into something almost unbearable. I tried to picture him as I’d last seen him, standing tall and resolute, but my mind filled with darker images instead—ones I couldn’t suppress. What if he’d fought and fallen? What if I never saw him again?

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to budge. The faint murmur of Clara’s sponge against the floor felt distant, like a sound from another world. My vision blurred, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stay hidden. I couldn’t cry. Not here, 

not now. But the pain was relentless, a hollow, aching void that grew with every breath.

The soaked diaper beneath my dress only made it worse, amplifying the shame that tangled with my grief. Dorian had held me with such tenderness and treated me with dignity and respect, even when I felt at my most vulnerable. Now, that dignity was gone, replaced by the grimy reality of scrubbing floors and the humbling sensation of wet padding pressing against my skin. It was as though I had lost not only him but myself as well.

I bit my lip, my hand gripping the sponge tightly as I stared at the stone floor beneath me. I had to keep moving; I had to survive, not only for myself but for him as well. But the ache in my chest wouldn’t relent, the emptiness gnawing at the edges of my resolve.

A soft sniffle escaped before I could stop it, and I quickly turned my head away from Clara, pretending to adjust my position as I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. I couldn’t let her see me like this. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this. I wasn’t just humiliated—I was broken.

But deep within the pain, a flicker of determination remained. Dorian had once told me that strength wasn’t about never falling—it was about standing up again, no matter how many times the world knocked you down. He’d believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. If he was out there, I had to find him. If he wasn’t... I had to be strong enough to carry on for both of us.

The tears threatened again, but I swallowed them down, letting the steady rhythm of scrubbing ground me. Each movement felt like a quiet act of defiance against the despair threatening to consume me. I couldn’t give in to it. Not now, not ever. For Dorian. For myself. For the hope that, somewhere, he was out there, fighting to come back to me just as I would fight to find him.

As the ache in my chest threatened to swallow me whole, I forced myself to take a deep, shuddering breath. The memory of the Queen’s words resurfaced, cutting through the fog of grief and despair. “Strength isn’t about never feeling fear. It’s about moving forward despite it.” Her voice was steady in my mind, a beacon of clarity amidst the chaos.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the words settle. She had looked at me with such certainty, such quiet belief, even when I felt utterly unworthy of it. She had called me strong—me, the girl who had spent more time running and hiding than fighting. But she had seen something in me, something I hadn’t been able to see myself.

The tears that had been threatening to spill finally dried, replaced by a growing heat in my chest—not anger, but something sharper and more focused. Determination. My chin lifted slightly as I straightened my back, my grip on the sponge tightening. I would not let this defeat me. I would not let this occupation define me.

The soaked padding beneath my dress, the grime on my hands, the humiliation of scrubbing floors—these were temporary. They didn’t make me weak; they reminded me of what I was enduring, what I would rise above. I thought of the Queen, held captive, and of Dorian, wherever he might be. They were counting on me, even if they didn’t know it. My kingdom was counting on me.

I glanced at Clara, who was still scrubbing dutifully, unaware of the storm raging and now calming within me. For her, this life was survival. For me, it was a reminder of why I had to reclaim what was mine—not just for myself, but for everyone who had been forced into servitude, stripped of their dignity, their freedom, their hope.

I felt my spine straighten further as I began scrubbing again, the motion now steady and deliberate. The cold stone floor and the soapy water didn’t seem as oppressive as before. They were merely obstacles, small ones in the grand scheme of what lay ahead. This wasn’t the end of my story. It was merely a chapter, one that would shape the person I needed to become. The enemy might have taken my castle, my family, and my crown, but they hadn’t taken my spirit. That was mine, unbroken, and I would use it to rise.

I would reclaim my kingdom, I told myself, the thought firm and unyielding. I would find the Queen. I would find Dorian. And I would take back what they tried to steal from me. My chin lifted a little higher, my tears long gone, as quiet defiance burned within me. They would not win. I would not fall.

By the time we finished scrubbing the length of the hall, the light filtering through the narrow, grimy windows had shifted, casting a warm glow that signaled midday. I sat back on my heels, my sponge slipping from my hands into the soapy bucket. My back ached fiercely, a dull, relentless throb that traveled up my spine, and my arms felt like lead, trembling slightly from the repetitive motion. My legs protested as I stretched them out, stiff from kneeling on the hard stone floor for hours.

Clara let out a soft sigh beside me, sitting back as well. She rolled her shoulders, her expression tired but indifferent, as though she was long accustomed to the discomfort. “That’ll do,” she said quietly, glancing down the length of the now-clean hall. “Good enough for them, anyway.”

I nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat as I struggled to my feet. My legs wobbled, and I had to steady myself against the wall for a moment, the soreness in my muscles making even standing feel like a monumental task. Clara was already gathering her bucket and sponge, her movements fluid despite her fatigue.

“Come on,” she said, motioning for me to follow. “It’s time for lunch. We’ll clean these out first, though.” She gestured to the buckets, and I nodded again, forcing myself to bend down and lift mine. The warm water sloshed against the sides, and I grimaced at the way my arms protested the weight.

As we made our way back down the corridor, the sound of our steps and the faint slosh of water filled the space. Clara walked ahead, her pace steady, while I followed more slowly, the soreness in my legs making every step feel like a chore. My soaked dress clung to me, and the ever-present bulk of the diaper beneath it felt heavier now, a reminder of my earlier humiliation.

But I straightened my shoulders as best I could, willing myself to keep going. The ache in my body, the grime on my hands, even the indignity of my situation—none of it mattered in the grand scheme of what I needed to do. Each step I took was one step closer to reclaiming myself, my strength, and my kingdom.

We reached the closet where we’d first collected our supplies, the air still heavy with the scent of soap and damp cloth. A few other servant girls were already there, exchanging their buckets and tools with quiet efficiency. Clara slid into the rhythm with practiced ease, handing her bucket to the gray-haired servant managing the station and collecting a fresh one.

“Eat fast,” Clara said over her shoulder as she handed me a damp cloth to wipe my hands. “They don’t give us much time, and there’s more to do after lunch.”

I nodded, gripping the cloth tightly as I scrubbed the soapy residue from my fingers. My arms still ached, and my back felt like it was knotted in a dozen places, but I forced myself to stand a little straighter, my chin lifting slightly. The morning had been humbling in every way possible, but it had also proven one thing: I could endure.

As Clara and I joined the line of girls heading toward the dining area, I kept my head down but my resolve high. I would play their game, follow their rules, and bide my time. 

The dining area was a low-ceilinged room, dimly lit by a few sputtering lanterns hanging from iron hooks on the walls. The scent of bread, stewed vegetables, and something faintly metallic filled the air, but the atmosphere was far from warm. Servants shuffled through the narrow space, their heads down, their movements practiced and efficient. 

The clatter of tin plates and wooden utensils filled the room, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a chair against the stone floor. Though the room was full, it felt oddly quiet; conversations were whispered, each one laced with a cautious undertone as if the very walls might betray them.

I kept my head low, following Clara’s lead as she moved toward the line of girls collecting their food. My legs ached with every step, and my arms felt like dead weight at my sides. A girl ahead of me handed me a tin plate without a word, her face blank, her eyes dull. I took it carefully, glancing at her briefly before moving on. The weight of the plate, though light, felt monumental in my tired hands.

Clara had already settled at a small wooden table near the far wall, her plate resting in front of her as she waited for me. I slipped into the seat across from her, careful not to draw attention to myself. The rough wood pressed against my back, and I bit back a sigh of relief as I finally sat down, my wet diaper squishing beneath me, the ache in my legs easing slightly.

On the plate in front of me sat a single piece of coarse bread, a small bowl of watery stew, and a few limp greens that looked like they’d been pulled from the bottom of a barrel. It wasn’t much, but the gnawing emptiness in my stomach didn’t allow for complaint. I picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the stew absently, watching as Clara dipped her bread into her bowl, eating with quiet efficiency.

Around us, the other servants ate quickly, their heads bent low. The whispered conversations at nearby tables were fragmented, their words too soft to make out. It was as if everyone was afraid to speak too loudly, afraid to say the wrong thing. Even Clara, who had been so quick to guide me earlier, seemed more reserved here, her eyes flicking toward the room’s shadowy corners as she ate.

I tried to focus on the food, but my mind was too heavy with doubt. The morning’s labor had left me utterly drained, every muscle in my body protesting the effort I’d forced upon it. My fingers still ached from wringing out the sponge, and the soreness in my back reminded me of how far I’d fallen. If I couldn’t manage scrubbing floors for a few hours without feeling like I might collapse, how could I ever hope to reclaim my kingdom?

The thought made my stomach churn, and I pushed the bread around on my plate absently. My kingdom. The words felt distant, like something I’d read in a story rather than something that had once been mine. I thought of Dorian, of the Queen, of the castle halls that now belonged to someone else. The weight of it all pressed down on me like the stone walls of this place.

How would I do this? The question echoed in my mind, sharper with every repetition. I had no allies, no plan, and no strength left to fight. For the first time, the enormity of my situation truly settled over me, and it felt suffocating. My hands trembled slightly as I forced myself to take a small bite of bread, the dry, crumbly texture sticking to my throat.

But then Clara glanced up at me, her pale blue eyes flicking over my face with a quiet understanding. “You’ll get used to it,” she said softly, her voice low enough that only I could hear. “The work, the days—it’ll get easier.”

I nodded faintly, though her words didn’t comfort me. I didn’t want to get used to this. I didn’t want to accept it. But I also didn’t know how to fight against it, not yet.

One step at a time, I told myself. I didn’t have a plan, but I had resolve. And for now, that would have to be enough.

End of Chapter 30

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*** Warning: this story contains addiction and suicidal thoughts ***

Addiction Therapy: Chapter One

Every morning, I wake up and see Kat fast asleep in our shared crib. She has developed an adorable little habit of suckling her pacifier in her sleep. Her messy hair webbed across her face. She hates it when I see her “unpresentable” in the mornings and is a very cranky baby. Every morning, I see the long scars on her wrist. I don’t know how she survived. I never believed in angels until I saw them.

I carefully trace the tip of my fingers across her scars. I thank the angels who watched over that dark day. Perhaps I am just wasting my prayers. I don’t really know. Cynthia says she believes in angels. I guess when you see as many horrible things as she has, you have to find something to anchor yourself in.

Kat’s eyes flutter open. At first, they are unfocused, blinking the world into view. She pulls her arms under the blanket, hating when I look at her scars. She sees them as something to be ashamed of. I see them as battle scars, something that should never be forgotten.

“It’s too early to wake up,” she mutters, rolling onto her other side and pulling the blanket over her head. I smile, grabbing my pacifier that had slipped out of my mouth in the middle of the night. My diaper is cold, rubbing against my thighs as I set up, stretching. I looked towards the door, but Cynthia seemed to be a little late this morning.

I don’t wait long before she opens the door, already dressed for the day. Tip-toeing into the room, she quietly lowers the crib bars. I carefully slide out of the crib. I can hear Kat’s rhythmic, deep breathing. Cynthia, very carefully, pulls the blank down from over Kat’s head so she can breathe properly.

I waddle out of the room, followed by Cynthia, who closes the door gently behind her. I rub my eyes, trying to keep upright. I would take a nap later today, I never sleep as well without Kat by my side. Last night, she was delayed coming to bed. I could tell by Cynthia’s tired eyes she was up late last night as well.

“Did something happen?” I asked, unable to mask my concern.

She gave me a faint smile, one that faintly exposed her dimples. “Kat is in a low phase,” she said. “She just needs a little space, and she will bounce back.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, my gaze falling to my feet. “Do I not make her happy?”

“Kat loves you more than anything in the world,” she said, her voice was soft. “Sometimes our brains shut down happiness receptors to balance itself. We can’t feel happy all the time.”

“How do I open them back up?” I asked, sounding rather childish.

“Some brains work differently,” she said. “You can’t force her to be happy just like she can’t force you to be happy.” She takes my hand in hers, holding it tight as she guides me downstairs for my diaper change.

“But she makes me happy when I see her…” I muttered.

“And you make her very happy, Violet,” she said. “Even if she isn’t the best at expressing it. I see in her eyes when they slightly brighten when she sees you looking at her. The way the corners of her lips tug upwards.”

Cynthia grabs a changing mat tucked between the couch and the side table. She lays it on the ground for me. I lay down, feeling the cold bit into my exposed legs. I usually sleep in just my diaper and a colorful unicorn t-shirt.

“She never says I love you…” I said, sounding feeble and insecure.

“It is harder for some people to show their feelings,” she said, reaching for my diaper straps. “Kat has been through a lot and feels emotions on a much deeper level.”

“If she could feel them deeper, she should know how I feel,” I said sourly. My diaper is pulled back; the cold wipe touches my sensitive skin, causing a slight gasp to escape my control.

“Kat feels deeper because she has the opposite of those emotions we never have,” she said warmly.

“I feel things deeply, too…” I protested, feeling somewhat childish for feeling competitive about this.

“You feel love on a much deeper level than what Kat or I do because you have felt the absence of love,” Cynthia said, sliding the fresh diaper under me.

I turned my head. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew she was right. I was just being childish and somewhat insecure. I so desperately wanted things to be like they were. But Kat is a different person, and I love everything about her. I knew deep down she loved me.

My diaper was secured around my waist; sitting up, she wrapped her arms around me. “I promise everything will be ok.”

“Promise?” I asked, my voice slightly breaking. The thought of Kat leaving me brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t lose her.

“I promise,” she said. She knew pieces of Kat that were a mystery to me. They would sometimes have late nights, talking through things. That is what Cynthia had told me. But I knew the truth; Cynthia knew the signs and was keeping an eye on Kat when she was feeling suicidal. One of the hardest things we can ever do is stand back and watch someone we care about fall to pieces. We believe we have the answers. We believe we can easily fix it. Sometimes, we try to force them to see it from our perspective. In the end, we both end up getting cut by the broken pieces.

“Do you want to help me make breakfast?” she asked.

“Can we make waffles?” I asked timidly.

“Of course, we can,” she said, tightening her embrace before letting go.

I looked up the stairs, desperately wishing I could take away Kat’s pain. “Please, be ok…” I whispered before following Cynthia into the kitchen.

I made strawberry waffles with Cynthia, topped with whipped cream and diced strawberries. The sweet aroma pulled Kat from her slumber; she stumbled down the stairs, the blanket wrapped tightly around her. Even her head was under the blanket.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Cynthia said with a giggle.

Kat’s response was a low, disgruntled growl. “You are going to have to take off the blanket to eat,” I said teasingly.

“But I’m ugly in the mornings…” Kat muttered louder than she intended.

“You never look ugly to me,” I said softly. Kat’s eyes widened as she realized I had heard her. She quickly turns her head; I can see her cheeks slightly reddening.

“It’s ok, Kat,” Cynthia said with a smile. “I can wash it before nap time.”

I waddled back into the kitchen to help Cynthia carry the plates to the table. Kat moves towards her highchair, her grip tightening around her blanket. Slowly, she starts removing it. Feeling exposed in her t-shirt and diaper, she wraps her arms around herself, unable to look at me.

I waddle over to her, kissing her cheek as I wrap my arms around her for her morning hug. “You’ll always be beautiful to me,” I whispered.

I heard a peeing sound. At first, I assumed I was wetting my diaper as Kat never liked using her. She always said it made her feel too vulnerable. I soon realized I wasn’t using my diaper; pulling away from Kat, she turned even redder as her diaper started to sag.

Cynthia nearly dropped the plate of waffles she was holding. “Kat, are you ok?”

“I…” Kat said, her voice trailing off. Clearing her throat, she timidly said, “I… had an accident…”

Cynthia was at a loss for words for a few moments. “Oh-oh ok,” she managed to say. “I can change you before breakfast.”

“No!” Kat quickly said. “I mean, no, thank you. I was hoping maybe Violet would…”

“I would love to!” I squeal, unable to help myself. I throw my arms around Kat. We nearly stumble to the ground. I feel her awkwardly patting my back. I know how hard this was for her. Kat had been acting differently because she was trying to work up the courage to do this for me. She might not be able to say I love you, but this was just as good to me.

The Crimson Crown

A story by SolaraScott

Chapter 29: Lost Crown

As I crept through the dim corridors, the cold stone beneath my feet seemed to radiate the chill that gripped me. My servant dress hung loosely on my frame, its plain fabric a far cry from the silks and embroidery I’d worn just days before. Beneath it, the bulk of my thick diaper reminded me of my vulnerability, its presence both comforting and humiliating. Each step I took felt foreign and shaky, but I kept moving, driven by the singular thought that standing still would mean being found—and captured.

The sound of muffled voices drew me forward, growing louder with every cautious step. I turned a corner and froze, peering into a large central room filled with servants. The girls stood in neat rows, their heads slightly bowed, their expressions attentive and subdued. The room was stark, the stone walls bare except for a few lanterns mounted high above, their flickering light casting long shadows. The air was heavy with the scent of soap and damp cloth, the smell of hard work and endless labor.

At the front of the room stood a woman, unlike anyone I’d seen before. She was tall and commanding, her presence towering over the much smaller servant girls before her. Her posture was impeccable; her shoulders pulled back, and her chin held high as if she were royalty herself. Her uniform was pristine—a deep charcoal gray dress with crisp white cuffs and collar, accented by a gleaming silver brooch at her throat. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe bun, not a single strand out of place.

Her voice cut through the room like a blade. “You are here to serve, nothing more, nothing less,” she declared, her tone sharp and unwavering. “The affairs of the castle are not your concern. You must obey and ensure that the castle functions as it should, regardless of what turmoil lies beyond these walls.”

The girls nodded silently, not daring to speak. Even from my hiding place near the doorway, I could feel the weight of her authority pressing down on me. Her gaze swept over the group, her dark eyes sharp and piercing, and I instinctively stepped back into the shadows, my heart pounding. For a moment, I felt as though she could see me anyway, her presence so commanding that it seemed to fill every corner of the room.

“I will tolerate no laziness, no mistakes,” she continued. “You are here because you have a purpose. If you cannot fulfill it, you will find no place in this castle.”

The words struck a chord of fear in me but also a strange sense of resolve. If I was to survive, I needed to blend in, to disappear among these girls. My disguise was convincing enough, but the thought of standing before her, of trying to meet her expectations, filled me with dread.

Her speech concluded, and the girls murmured their affirmations before dispersing, moving toward the various tasks waiting for them. I remained frozen near the doorway, my breath shallow and my thoughts racing. How could I step into that room, into their world, and remain unnoticed? The headmistress’s gaze lingered over the crowd as though she could sense someone out of place.

And yet, I had no choice. If I stayed where I was, the soldiers searching the castle would find me eventually. Summoning every ounce of courage I could muster, I adjusted the folds of my dress and took a hesitant step into the room, the sound of my footfall barely audible. My heart pounded as I shuffled toward the back of the group, keeping my head low and praying I wouldn’t draw her attention.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the headmistress’s sharp gaze passed over me, seemingly oblivious to my presence. My knees felt weak as I lowered my head further, doing my best to blend into the group of shuffling servant girls. When one of them, a slender girl with pale blonde hair tied back in a loose braid, turned and slipped quietly out of the room, I hesitated for only a moment before following her. She was about my height, though her thin frame and small stature gave her a meek, almost fragile air. Her plain brown dress hung loosely on her, and she carried herself with nervous energy, her eyes darting about as if she were expecting reprimand at any moment.

The hallway outside the main room was dim and narrow, the rough stone walls making the space feel confining. The girl ahead of me moved quickly, her soft steps purposeful but quiet. I kept my distance, careful not to draw attention to myself but close enough to follow her path.

She stopped at a door tucked into a recessed corner of the corridor and pushed it open without hesitation. The smell of soap and damp cloth hit me immediately, a strong but oddly comforting scent. Inside, a middle-aged servant with graying hair tied back in a messy bun was handing out buckets filled with warm, soapy water. Her hands were calloused, her face lined with the wear of years of labor, but her movements were practiced and efficient. She gave each girl a small sponge along with their bucket, her tired eyes barely sparing them a glance as they came and went.

The blonde girl ahead of me stepped forward, accepted her supplies without a word, and turned to leave, her bucket sloshing slightly as she walked. I hesitated, unsure of what to do, but the servant woman barely looked up as I moved forward. My hands trembled slightly as I accepted the heavy bucket and the sponge she handed me, nodding in silent thanks.

I turned quickly, following the girl with the blonde braid down another hallway. My heart raced as I clutched the bucket handle tightly, its warm weight a reminder of the unfamiliar role I was now forced to play. The girl glanced back at me briefly, her wide, pale blue eyes meeting mine for the briefest moment. Her gaze was curious but not unfriendly, as if she noticed I didn’t quite belong but had no intention of questioning it.

Without a word, she led the way down a narrow set of stairs and into another dimly lit corridor lined with thick wooden doors. She stopped at one of them, pushing it open with her shoulder and stepping inside. I hesitated again but followed, unsure of what else to do. The room she led me into was a small storage area, bare except for a few rags, cleaning tools, and a tall stack of dusty crates.

“We’re scrubbing the floors today,” she said softly, her voice quiet but steady as she set her bucket down near one of the stone walls. “Start at that end.” She gestured vaguely to the far corner of the room without looking at me directly.

I nodded, my mouth dry, and set my bucket down where she’d indicated. I watched as she knelt, dipping her sponge into the soapy water and wringing it out before beginning to scrub the floor with practiced movements. My own hands fumbled slightly as I mimicked her actions, my mind racing with uncertainty. For now, it seemed, I had managed to go unnoticed. But every second felt like borrowed time, and I had no idea how long this fragile charade could last.

The girl’s pale braid bobbed slightly as she scrubbed, her movements efficient but unhurried. I did my best to mimic her, but my hands trembled, and the sponge slipped from my grasp more than once. The soapy water soaked through my sleeves as I wrung out the sponge clumsily, sending droplets splattering onto the floor. My breath hitched when she glanced up, her pale blue eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me.

“You’re new,” she said quietly, her voice soft but with a sharpness that suggested she didn’t miss much. She set her sponge down and moved closer, kneeling beside me. “You don’t even know how to scrub properly, do you?”

I froze, my cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and fear. “I—” I stammered, searching for words, but she cut me off gently.

“Here.” She took the sponge from my hands, her small fingers brushing mine. “Like this.” She dipped it into the soapy water, wringing it out with quick, practiced twists before pressing it firmly to the stone floor. “Use more pressure, but don’t push too hard, or you’ll wear yourself out before you finish a single corner.”

I nodded mutely, watching her movements closely before attempting them myself. She stayed beside me, correcting my posture and showing me how to avoid splashing water everywhere. Despite her earlier sharpness, there was a kindness in her tone now, an understanding that eased the tension coiled in my chest.

Once I managed a passable rhythm, she sat back on her heels, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “I’m Clara,” she said after a moment, her voice still low, though the corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “And you?”

I hesitated. My real name felt like a dangerous thing to share, but I couldn’t afford to seem suspicious. “Lila,” I offered finally, the name slipping out before I could second-guess it.

Clara studied me again, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she didn’t press. “Lila,” she repeated. “You don’t seem like you belong here.”

“I—” My throat tightened. “I... was sent here recently.”

Her gaze softened slightly, and she glanced at the door before leaning in. “Let me guess. You’re one of the ones forced into servitude since... they came.” Her voice dropped even lower, her words barely above a whisper, but the weight of them hung heavy between us. “There’s been so many of you lately. They don’t care where you came from or who you are, as long as you work.”

I swallowed hard, nodding faintly. It was safer to let her believe that than to reveal the truth. “Yes,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.

Clara’s expression darkened, her hands curling into loose fists on her lap. “It’s not fair,” she muttered. “None of this is. My family worked in the fields, but when the crops failed, they sent me here. Said I’d be better off serving in the castle, but it’s nothing more than a prison.”

Her bitterness was clear, but so was the empathy that softened her tone. She shifted closer, her voice dropping even lower. “Listen, you’ll figure it out. Just keep your head down, do what you’re told, and stay out of sight. They don’t bother with you much if you don’t give them a reason to.”

I nodded again, my chest tight with a mixture of gratitude and unease. Clara’s kindness was unexpected, and I clung to it like a lifeline, even as her words reminded me of the dangerous game I was playing. For now, I would have to follow her lead and hope that blending in would be enough to keep me safe—at least until I could figure out what to do next.

As Clara and I scrubbed side by side, the rhythmic sound of sponge against stone filled the small, damp room. The soapy water seeped into my sleeves and the hem of my dress, clinging to my skin with a persistent chill. My hands ached from the unfamiliar motion, my shoulders stiff from bending over the rough floor. Yet, I forced myself to keep going, mimicking Clara’s method as best I could. The silence between us was heavy but not uncomfortable; she had settled into the task with practiced ease, her expression calm and resigned.

I, however, couldn’t stop the whirlwind of thoughts that spun through my mind. Each swipe of the sponge seemed to echo a memory of how far I’d fallen. Just days ago, I had stood beneath the vaulted ceilings of the royal chapel, draped in silks and jewels, the Four Winds themselves blessing my union. My hands had been soft and clean, my duties those of a princess—speaking with nobles, studying the kingdom’s history, and dreaming of what my future would hold.

Now, those same hands were red and raw, gripping a coarse sponge as I scrubbed grime from the stone floor of a castle that no longer felt like mine. My dress, once adorned with golden embroidery and delicate lace, was now a plain, shapeless thing, damp and clinging to my knees as I knelt in filth. Beneath it, the soft bulk of my diaper was a constant, humbling reminder.

How had it come to this? The question turned over and over in my mind, the weight of it pressing on my chest. My home had been taken, my family scattered, and now even my identity was hidden beneath the guise of a servant girl. The proud, fiery-haired princess I once knew felt like a distant memory, lost somewhere in the echoing corridors of this foreign castle.

I glanced at Clara, her movements steady and sure, her focus unwavering. She worked as though she’d been born to it, her hands worn but capable, her expression tired but calm. I envied her resolve. There was no space for self-pity in her life, no room for reflection on what might have been. She simply did what she had to do to survive.

I lowered my head, my sponge moving in slow circles as I scrubbed a particularly stubborn stain. Was this survival? Keeping my head down, blending in, scrubbing floors as if the dirt I cleaned away could erase the memories of what I’d lost? The thought made my stomach churn, and I had to bite back the tears that threatened to spill. If I cried now, I’d only draw attention to myself, and attention was the last thing I needed.

Still, the ache in my chest wouldn’t go away. I had always imagined my life as a princess would be filled with duty, yes, but also grace, purpose, and strength. Now, my purpose felt reduced to the small circle of stone beneath my sponge, and the grace I once carried felt as fragile and fleeting as the bubbles that dissolved in the soapy water.

But this wasn’t the end. The thought struck me like a spark in the darkness. I was still there, I was still breathing, and as long as I was alive, I could fight to reclaim what was taken from me.

I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening on the sponge. This wasn’t where my story ended, and no amount of dirt or grime would change that. I wasn’t just a servant. I wasn’t just a frightened girl hiding in the shadows. I was Liliana, Princess of this kingdom, and though the path ahead was dark and uncertain, I refused to let it define me.

The thought steadied me, giving me something to hold on to as I scrubbed. Clara cast a glance in my direction, perhaps sensing the shift in my demeanor, but she said nothing. I didn’t need her words; her presence was enough. For now, survival meant keeping my head down and my hands moving. But one day, when the moment was right, I would rise from these shadows and take back what was mine.

As Clara and I continued scrubbing the floor, the rhythmic motion of my arms became almost mechanical. The ache in my shoulders dulled to a steady pulse, blending into the background of everything else that weighed on me. For a moment, I allowed myself to focus on the sound of the sponge gliding over the rough stone, the occasional drip of soapy water splashing against the floor, and Clara’s steady breathing beside me. It was easier than facing the whirlwind of thoughts still storming in my mind.

But then I felt it—a soft, insistent ache low in my belly. My body tensed instinctively, and the realization struck me like a cold wave: I needed to relieve myself.

I froze, my hand pausing mid-scrub, and a flush of heat crept up my neck. It wasn’t an emergency—not yet—but the soft ache was a reminder that couldn’t be ignored. I tried to push the thought away, forcing my hand to move again, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain with more force than necessary. But the ache remained, growing ever so slightly with each passing moment.

Clara didn’t seem to notice my shift in demeanor, her focus still entirely on the task at hand. That was a small mercy, at least. I bit my lip, my cheeks burning as the reality of my situation set in. There was no slipping away to a private chamber, no discreet retreat to a bathroom. In this place, in this disguise, I didn’t have the luxury of privacy—or dignity. The bulk of the diaper beneath my dress was a constant, humiliating reminder of that.

I stole a glance at Clara, her braid swaying slightly as she worked, her expression calm and indifferent. For her, this was just another day, another chore. She had no idea who I really was, and for that, I was grateful. If she knew, if anyone knew, the weight of humiliation would have been unbearable.

The ache in my bladder sharpened slightly, drawing my focus back to it. I clenched my thighs together reflexively, though I knew it was a futile effort. My body’s need would only grow stronger, and eventually, I’d have to give in. The thought filled me with a fresh wave of shame, a sting sharper than any rebuke I’d faced in my life. I was supposed to be a princess—a figure of grace, strength, and dignity. And here I was, scrubbing floors in a servant’s dress, about to…

I swallowed hard, closing my eyes for a brief moment. This wasn’t forever, I told myself, clinging to the words like a lifeline. This was survival. Dignity didn’t matter if I was caught. I couldn’t think about that right now.

But the rationalization did little to dull the humiliation that simmered in my chest. Slowly, deliberately, I forced myself to continue scrubbing, my movements stiff and mechanical. My body would win eventually, and when it did, I’d have to endure the quiet, humbling reality of what that meant. For now, I could only hope that Clara wouldn’t notice the flush in my cheeks or the shift in my posture as I wrestled with the reality of how far I’d fallen.

End of Chapter 29

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