Emily whimpered, her breath hitching as she squirmed slightly, but it was useless.

The moment the words had left Naomi’s lips, something deep inside her had cracked open.

She wasn’t thinking anymore.

She wasn’t questioning.

She was just listening.

Just obeying.

Naomi and Oliver’s smiling faces filled the screen. Their syrupy-sweet voices wrapped around her like a lullaby, warm blanket, and chain.

“Oh, sweetie,” Naomi cooed, tilting her head in that perfectly practiced way. “You’re such a good girl! You don’t need to think about it anymore, do you?”

Oliver’s grin widened, his bright cartoon eyes filled with joyful mischief. “Good Littles just let go, don’t they? That’s what Littles do, right? No more worrying, no more holding back.”

“Just listen to us, sweetheart,” Naomi purred.

And Emily did.

Her body reacted before she even knew what was happening.

She barely registered the heat blossoming in her diaper. The familiar warmth pooled beneath her, soaking effortlessly into the thick padding.

She barely noticed the gentle crinkle, the soft sigh of relief her body made for her.

But she did feel the shift.

The pressure releasing.

The slow, inevitable movement as she helplessly filled her diaper, the mush pressing against her, spreading, squishing beneath her.

And—

It felt right.

It felt good.

A soft, breathy moan slipped from her lips, her head tilting back, her body relaxing completely into the moment, into the warmth, into the helplessness.

And Naomi and Oliver praised her for it.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” Naomi’s voice hummed with approval, rich and smooth like honey. “Doesn’t it feel better when you don’t even try?”

Oliver nodded eagerly, clapping his hands in delight. “No more big thoughts, no more worries! Just listen, and let us take care of everything for you!”

Emily sighed, her body melting, her mind fogging, her lips parting slightly as the last bit of control slipped away.

There was nothing left to fight.

There's no reason to fight.

Because this was right.

This was what Littles did.

This was what she was supposed to be.

She let go.

And she didn’t even care.

The praise didn’t stop.

It wrapped around her, layer after layer, sinking deeper until it was the only thing left inside her.

“Oh, sweetie,” Naomi giggled her voice pure honey, soaking into Emily’s already-drenched mind. “This is exactly what good girls do. They don’t even think about it; they just let go.”

Oliver nodded eagerly, bouncing slightly, his eyes gleaming with pride. “They wet. They mess. And you know what?”

Naomi leaned closer, her voice soft, knowing, coaxing.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Emily’s breath hitched.

A new sensation curled through her, something warm, something tingling, something she couldn’t place.

It rushed through her, radiating from deep inside, flowing down, settling low in her tummy, blooming in her diaper.

The soft squish of the mess against her skin, the gentle, damp heat, the helplessness of it all—

It was pleasurable.

A small whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

Naomi cooed.

“That’s my good girl…”

Emily shuddered, her body so warm and light, as if floating in something safe and inescapable.

And then—

“Do you want to be an even better girl?”

Naomi’s voice sang through her, wrapping around her mind like a silk ribbon.

Emily whimpered, blinded, overcome, desperate for the warmth, the safety, the feeling.

She moaned softly, her voice barely a breath, barely her own.

“Y-Yeah…”

Then—

Something soft pressed between her legs.

A stuffed bear.

Where had it come from?

Emily didn’t know.

Didn’t care.

Because the next thing she knew, she was moving.

Her hips rocked forward, her thick, squishy diaper pressing against the plush bear, molding around it, sinking into it.

Naomi and Oliver rocked in time with her, their motions playful, gentle, and encouraging.

Emily followed.

Matching them.

Falling into a rhythm.

She moaned again, helpless, mindless, her body chasing the tingling warmth, chasing whatever Naomi and Oliver wanted her to.

She wasn’t thinking anymore.

Just moving.

Just feeling.

Just being so, so good.

Nothing else existed.

The world outside the screen faded away, dissolving into nothing but warmth, rhythm, and praise.

She rocked forward, her diaper pressing into the soft plush beneath her, the mush squishing, shifting, molding to her movements. The pressure, the warmth, the way it hugged her sent sparks through her nerves, something deep and heavy and overwhelming curling inside her.

It felt good.

So, so good.

And Naomi’s voice, so sweet, so knowing, so right, poured into her ears, wrapping around her mind like silk ribbons, tying her down, pulling her forward.

“Oh, Emily, sweetheart… look at you…”

Emily moaned softly, her hips never stopping, her body lost in the rhythm, lost in the feeling.

“Such a good girl…”

Her cheeks burned, her skin tingled, and her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, but she didn’t care.

Didn’t care if she was watched.

Didn’t care if she was seen.

Didn’t care if she was humiliated.

All that mattered was being good.

And this—

This was what good girls did.

The euphoria built, spiraling higher, tighter, like a wave about to crash.

Naomi giggled, her voice dripping with adoration, satisfaction, and control.

“That’s it, sweetheart… no more thoughts or worries. Just listen. Just feel. Just be my perfect, perfect baby girl…”

Emily whimpered, her body shuddering, teetering on the edge of something new, something bigger than her.

And she chased it.

Because she was good.

Because Naomi told her she was good.

Because this was all that mattered.

And then she orgasmed.

The euphoria building inside her culminated in one brilliant, guttural, moaning moment of utter bliss. 

The mess caking her backside combined with the soaked padding between her thighs seemed to reverberate her bliss, containing its heat as she came powerfully into her diaper. 

Emily moaned, her nipples erect, but she didn’t care; all that mattered was her squishy diaper.

The way it rubbed against her.

The way it cradled her rear.

Her entire body was stunned momentarily by the brilliance of her orgasm.

Nothing had ever come this close to feeling so good.

She was vaguely aware of Naomi praising her.

Of telling her she was a good girl.

And Emily was, Emily was a good girl.

And good girls made cummies in their wet, messy diapers.

Her body collapsed back against the couch, limbs heavy, weak, spent.

Her breathing was slow, her chest rising and falling in steady, rhythmic motions, but her mind—

Her mind was buzzing.

Not just fuzzy, not just hazy—but raw.

It was as if someone had taken a pencil to her thoughts, erased what she didn’t want, and rewritten what she did.

She blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering, the last remnants of the episode sinking deep, settling in places she didn’t fully understand.

The screen went blank, the room eerily quiet, and for the first time, she felt—

Different.

Changed.

Like something had been taken from her.

Or—

Replaced.

Her fingers twitched, reaching up to rub at her eyes, trying to clear the fog and grasp onto something that still felt like hers.

And then she saw it.

The stuffed bear.

Right there.

Sitting in front of her.

Its plush back turned toward her, its round, soft bottom facing her like an accusation.

Her cheeks burned, a sudden flare of heat flooding her face.

Because she remembered.

She remembered what she had done.

The rocking.

The pressure.

The praise.

Her hips pressing down, again and again, chasing something that felt so—so—

Her stomach twisted, shame crawling up her spine like ice, but the memory…

It wasn’t just shame.

It wasn’t just regret.

Because deep inside her, buried beneath the rawness, beneath the rewritten pages of herself, something else still lingered.

A warmth.

A tingle.

A part of her that still thought—

It felt good.

Her breath hitched.

She was different now.

And she didn’t know if she would ever be the same again.

The weight of it all pressed down on Emily, the rawness of her mind, the taint of what she had done, what had been done to her—it was suffocating.

She felt horrible.

Disgusted.

Like she had lost something, she could never get back.

But none of that compared to the dread that settled in her stomach when she looked at Hannah.

Hannah, sitting right beside her.

Hannah should have been just as shaken, just as horrified, and broken.

But she wasn’t.

Her face was blank.

Empty.

Her pacifier bobbed rhythmically between her lips, slow, steady, as if it was the only thing grounding her.

Emily’s chest tightened, and a cold wave of fear crawled up her spine.

“…H-Hannah?” Emily’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper, like she was afraid to ask—afraid to know.

Hannah turned to her.

And giggled.

A soft, innocent, mindless giggle.

Then—

She babbled.

Not words.

Not even the garbled attempts she had made before.

Just pure, nonsensical baby babble.

Emily’s blood ran cold.

“No…” she whispered, her breath hitching. “H-Hannah?”

But Hannah just smiled, eyes unfocused, expression vacant, as if—

As if she wasn’t even fully there anymore.

Emily’s hands clenched into fists, her pulse roaring in her ears, the creeping horror threatening to consume her.

Then—

Daddy stepped in.

His voice was gentle and concerned, but Emily barely heard it.

Because all she could do was watch.

Watch as he knelt before Hannah, brushing her hair back, looking closely at her.

“Hannah?” Daddy’s voice was low, careful.

Hannah blinked up at him.

And giggled again.

Another soft, sweet, meaningless giggle.

Emily could barely breathe.

Something had happened to her sister.

Something worse than what had happened to her.

And Emily had no idea if Hannah was ever coming back.

*

Welby’s hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms as he paced the room, his phone held tight against his ear.

“What the hell did you do to her, Miranda?!” His voice shook with rage, a threat barely restrained beneath the surface.

Across from him, Evelyn sat stiff-backed in a chair, her phone held to her ear. She listened, furious, but kept herself measured and controlled.

Miranda’s voice was calm. Too calm.

Amused.

As if she had expected this.

As if she had been waiting for it.

“Oh, Welby,” she sighed, her tone soft, patronizing, dripping with that sickening authority she always carried. “I understand you’re upset, but really… you should be thanking me.”

Welby’s grip on the phone tightened.

“Thanking you?” his voice was a growl.

“Of course,” Miranda purred as if she wasn’t speaking to two people who wanted nothing more than to strangle her through the phone.

“If you and Evelyn weren’t going to teach your Littles to be proper, well-behaved babies…”

A pause.

A deliberate, cruel pause.

“Well,” Miranda hummed. “I would.”

Evelyn shot up from her seat, her expression twisted with fury.

“How dare you,” she hissed. “You have no right—no right—to dictate how we care for our Littles! We are their parents—not you!”

Miranda chuckled.

“Oh, Evelyn,” she said lightly, as if Evelyn had just said something silly. “That’s where you’re wrong. You may think you’re their parents, but you seem to have forgotten that their well-being is ultimately in those who know what’s best for them. You may have custody, but that does not mean you have authority.”

Welby felt Evelyn’s eyes on him, burning, questioning.

Miranda continued, unbothered.

“In fact,” she sighed, almost bored, “I think it’s clear that you’ve both forgotten your places.”

A pause.

A shift.

Miranda’s tone grew sharp. Final.

“So allow me to correct that. Immediately.”

Welby and Evelyn stiffened.

And then—

“Before we go any further,” Miranda said smoothly, “why don’t you two take a look at the desk?”

Welby and Evelyn exchanged looks.

The desk?

Their eyes flicked toward it—

And there, sitting neatly on the surface, was a package.

Wrapped, sealed.

Unassuming.

But when had it gotten there?

A cold weight settled in Welby’s chest.

“…What is this?” Evelyn demanded, her voice lower, uncertain now.

Miranda sighed, mockingly patient.

“Oh, just something I had sent over. Open it.”

Welby’s stomach turned.

His body screamed at him not to.

But he reached for it anyway.

His fingers trembled as he pulled at the tape, his pulse roaring in his ears.

The package opened.

And inside—

The air left his lungs.

Evelyn gasped.

Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

Because inside the box, sitting pristine and waiting,

There were three items.

Each one was perfectly tailored, perfectly chosen, and perfectly final.

Four thick, locking diapers.

Two matching pacifiers—oversized, firm, meant to stay put.

Two onesies—adorably infantile, printed with cartoon animals but sewn to restrict movement.

Welby had seen these items before.

Thick diapers. Locking. Unyielding.

Pacifiers. Oversized, built to stay put.

Onesies. Restrictive, babyish, clearly meant to humiliate.

But—

His blood ran cold.

His face drained of color.

Because these weren’t Little-sized.

They were Amazon-sized.

His hands began to shake.

And then—

Miranda’s voice slid through the phone, amused, patient, expectant.

“Oh, Welby,” she sighed. “You’re acting so shocked.”

Welby gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening, but the words stuck in his throat.

Evelyn, beside him, was frozen, her hands clenching into fists, her body rigid with rage.

“But then again,” Miranda continued, her tone growing sharper, heavier, absolute, “if you and Evelyn are going to behave like Littles… then I see no reason why I shouldn’t treat you as Littles.”

Welby’s stomach twisted violently.

His mind screamed.

Evelyn went rigid.

“You can’t be serious,” she hissed.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Miranda purred. “Both of you are to diaper each other. Immediately.”

Welby’s fingers curled into fists; his breath came in short, furious bursts.

“You bitch—”

“Tsk, tsk, Welby.” Miranda cut him off smoothly, mocking disappointment dripping from every syllable. “That’s no way to talk to the woman who now controls when and if you’re allowed out of your diapers.”

Welby felt Evelyn’s hand tighten against his forearm, her nails digging into his skin, her breathing sharp and uneven.

“You expect us to just—” Evelyn could barely speak, rage choking her words.

“I expect you to follow orders.”

Miranda’s voice turned cold, sharp as a blade.

“When you return to the hotel tonight after you’ve put the Littles to bed, after you’ve enjoyed the parks, you will dress in the onesies and lock your pacifiers in. I will unlock them. When I see fit.”

Evelyn inhaled sharply, trembling with barely restrained fury.

Miranda sighed, almost bored.

“I expect you to care for your Littles,” she continued, business-like, as if discussing simple logistics. “To the T. Of what I expect. Not you.”

Her tone darkened, thick with control.

“Hannah is a newborn. And she will be treated as such.”

Welby’s chest tightened.

“Emily and Lucas are young toddlers. I expect them to be treated accordingly.”

His fingers twitched at his sides, his pulse roaring in his ears.

She was taking everything from them.

Everything they had built.

Everything they had protected.

And she was doing it with ease.

“If I don’t see those diapers in the next ten minutes…” Miranda continued smoothly, “There will be further consequences.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

The line went dead.

The only sound left in the room was the empty buzz of the phone.

Welby stood frozen, staring at the box containing Amazon-sized diapers, pacifiers, and onesies.

He could feel Evelyn shaking beside him.

She slowly, silently, turned to him.

Her eyes burned with fury.

With fear.

With the same terrible realization that was clawing through him.

They were trapped.

Evelyn’s fear was plain to see.

It wasn’t panic. Not yet.

But it was close.

Welby saw it tightening at the edges of her eyes, her jaw clenching, and the barest tremble in her fingers as they hovered over the box.

She met his gaze, the question already written across her face before she whispered it aloud, “…What have we gotten ourselves into?”

Welby swallowed.

His throat was dry and tight like he had swallowed sand.

Evelyn exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “How…?” she started, then stopped as if the words were too terrible to say. She forced herself to continue.

“How has the world fallen this far?”

Her voice shook, but it wasn’t weak.

It was horrified. Furious. Disgusted.

“I have never heard of an Amazon being put in diapers,” she spat, her fists clenching. “Wearing onesies. Sucking pacifiers.”

She looked back at the package, at the oversized baby items, at the symbols of everything they weren’t supposed to be—

And her face twisted in revulsion.

“The very thought…” she whispered. “It makes my blood curdle.”

Welby’s hands curled into fists, shaking with anger.

What right did Miranda have?

What right did she have to force this upon them?

To strip them of their dignity, to rob them of their autonomy, to take everything from them, from their Littles?

His chest tightened, rage surging through his veins like fire.

He wanted to hit something.

He wanted to smash the phone against the wall.

He wanted to grab Miranda by the collar and punch her straight in her smug, self-righteous face.

A low, deep growl rumbled from his throat, his body trembling to contain his fury.

Then—

A touch.

Soft. Gentle. Comforting.

Evelyn’s hand resting lightly on his arm.

He stilled.

The fire inside him dimmed, flickering into something quieter, heavier.

He turned to her—

And suddenly, he wasn’t in this room anymore.

He was back in the other room, standing before Hannah and Emily.

Hannah’s empty eyes.

Emily’s trembling hands.

Their helplessness. Their fear. Their confusion.

Tears pricked at the edges of his vision.

Sadness flooded through him, cold and unbearable, swallowing him whole.

He had sworn to protect them.

To care for them.

To love them.

And now?

Now, he couldn’t even protect himself.

Let alone them.

His hands dropped to his sides, his body slumping, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

Evelyn squeezed his arm.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them had to.

Because they both knew the truth.

They had already lost.

Welby slumped onto the bed, his body collapsing under the weight of it all—the anger, the helplessness, the crushing, unbearable grief.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, silent but endless, soaking into his shirt as he stared at nothing.

It was too much.

He had failed.

Failed Hannah. Failed Emily.

Failed Lucas. Failed himself.

He felt Evelyn sit beside him, her arms wrapped around him, warm and steady, unyielding.

She pulled his head against her chest, cradling him like a mother might soothe a child.

And she held him.

Held him through the weight of it.

Through the shaking breaths.

Through the silent sobs.

Through the heartbreak of knowing he had already lost.

She ran her fingers through his hair, her voice a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“It’s going to be okay,” she murmured. Fierce. Steady. Unshakable.

“We will protect them.”

Her arms tightened around him.

“No matter what it takes.”

Welby let out a shuddering breath, his body melting into her warmth and strength.

He didn’t even notice when she shifted.

Didn’t register the soft tug of fabric as she slipped his pants down, his boxers following.

Didn’t feel the thick padding as she worked his hips into the open diaper beneath him.

Didn’t flinch when the first tab was pulled snug, a small light flashing briefly as it locked in place.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

He was numb.

Emotionally shot.

Evelyn gently lifted his body, guiding him to his unsteady feet. The bulk between his legs forced his stance apart.

She took his place.

She lay before him, completely bare, completely vulnerable.

And he—

His hands moved mechanically, his body operating on autopilot.

He barely noticed the softness of her skin beneath his fingers.

Barely registered the fact that she was naked before him, waiting, trusting.

He just moved.

Pulled the diaper up.

Taped it in place.

One tab. A flash of light.

Another. Another lock secured.

By the time he was done and stepped back, he felt nothing at all.

Not even the humiliation.

Just a cold, empty void where he used to be.

A buzzing sound cut through the silence, a vibration against his palm.

Welby barely registered it.

His fingers moved numbly, his mind empty, opening the phone out of pure habit.

A message.

From Miranda.

His eyes glazed over as he read it, the words cutting through him like ice.

"Good. Now, behave the rest of the day, children."

Children.

Welby felt nothing.

Not rage. Not despair. Not grief.

Just—

Nothing.

A hand gently plucked the phone from his limp fingers.

Evelyn.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, her touch steady, unwavering.

Welby’s eyes fluttered shut.

His chin rested atop her head, his arms winding around her tightly, clutching as if she were the only thing keeping him afloat.

Because, in many ways, she was.

He felt like a man cast into the thunderous sea, a raging typhoon swallowing him whole.

The rain fell in torrents, unrelenting, drenching him in unbridled fury and pain.

The waves crashed against him, pulling, dragging, suffocating.

But amidst the storm, amidst the hopeless drowning—

There was warmth.

Her.

She was the lifebuoy keeping him above the waves.

Because no matter how much he hurt, no matter how much his heart ached,

No matter how desperately he fought for air—

She was there.

And when he looked into her eyes, he saw it.

His grief. His rage. His helplessness.

Reflected at him.

He wasn’t alone in this ocean.

They were floundering.

But they were floundering together.

No words were needed.

Because they both knew.

They would do this.

They would survive this.

Because their Littles—

Emily. Hannah. Lucas.

They deserved better.

They deserved happiness.

They deserved love.

And they would be the ones to give it to them.

No matter what it took.