The mechanical groan of shifting gears echoed through the air as the floor beneath Ivy trembled. She barely noticed the other contestants stirring — dazed faces peering from behind their bars — their expressions as confused and frightened as her own. The cribs continued their slow crawl across the floor, the dull scrape of metal on tile filling the room. Then came the deeper, heavier sound — a low, mechanical rumble as something vast began to shift.

Ivy felt her stomach tighten as a seam split down the center of the floor, parting with a faint hiss. The metal platform beneath her crib began to rise — slowly at first, then faster — the entire row of cribs ascending in unison. Ivy’s fingers curled tightly around her bear, her mittened hands pressing the soft fur into her chest as the platform carried her upward. Cold air brushed against her face as they climbed higher, the familiar walls of the nursery fading away below.

And then... the ceiling itself split open.

The seam above them hissed apart like the lid of a great mechanical eye, spilling faint red light down onto the rising platform. Ivy’s breath caught in her throat as the ceiling panels parted, revealing a yawning black void above. For a terrifying moment, she thought they were being carried into some endless, mechanical abyss — swallowed up by whatever twisted machinery powered this place.

But then she saw it — rows of seats stretching out in shadow, vanishing into the gloom like an audience of silent, invisible watchers. A vast auditorium, silent and still, shrouded in darkness.

Ivy’s heart pounded as her gaze flicked toward the distant stage — its curtains drawn tightly shut, the thick folds of velvet swallowing all trace of the room beyond. She glimpsed a faint glow seeping through the gap in the fabric, a flickering light that cast faint shadows against the curtain’s surface.

And then... she heard them.

Voices. Muted at first — faint murmurs like whispers carried on a distant breeze. Then louder, clearer. Laughter. Chatter. People. An audience — not just one or two, but dozens. Maybe hundreds.

We’re being watched... The thought struck Ivy like a blow to the chest. Her breath quickened, panic bubbling just beneath the surface. Who’s out there? Contestants? Sponsors? Mistress?

The platform shuddered again as it came to a halt, seamlessly locking itself flush with the stage. Ivy’s crib — and every other crib around her — now rested behind the thick velvet curtain, hidden from view but dangerously close to whatever lay beyond. The laughter on the other side seemed to swell, rippling like a rising tide.

Ivy swallowed hard. She knew better than to expect answers.

And then Mistress’s voice came.

“Ladies and gentlemen...” The speakers crackled with her sickly sweet tone — so bright and cheerful it felt grotesque. “Tonight’s special entertainment is about to begin... I hope you’re all very excited. My precious little ones have been working so hard... I just know you’re going to love this.”

Ivy’s pulse roared in her ears. What is she talking about? Her mind scrambled for answers — for clues — but nothing made sense. A performance? Entertainment? None of those words felt right. This wasn’t a game anymore — this was something else. Something worse.

“And now... let's see what our adorable little stars have learned...”

The curtains began to rise.

Ivy barely had time to react before the crimson fabric lifted, sweeping upward in a slow, steady arc. Bright light flooded the stage — sharp and blinding after the dim gloom they had been trapped in. Ivy squinted, her vision swimming as her eyes struggled to adjust. Through the haze, she could just make out the outlines of figures seated in the auditorium — dark silhouettes shifting and moving in their seats. The laughter that had once seemed distant now filled the air, loud and eager, buzzing like static in Ivy’s ears.

And then, the spotlight found her.

A harsh white beam snapped into place, illuminating her crib in brutal detail. Ivy flinched, her mittened hands instinctively rising to shield her face — but the thick cloth swallowed her fingers, leaving her helpless. She blinked, blinking furiously as her vision cleared — and that was when she saw the stage.

A grotesque nursery display stretched out before her — oversized furniture painted in bright, garish colors. A rocking horse loomed at the edge of the stage, gaudily painted in cheerful pinks and blues. A massive playpen, lined with plush toys and oversized rattles, dominated the opposite side. There were even oversized alphabet blocks, each letter painted in bold reds and yellows, stacked in neat little towers like props in some twisted carnival.

The laughter swelled again — louder this time, sharper. They weren’t laughing at the stage — they were laughing at her. Ivy’s blood turned to ice as she felt her diaper squish beneath her. Her face burned with humiliation.

“Now... let’s see who’s been a good baby tonight...” Mistress’s voice purred from the speakers.

The mechanical click of the crib locks disengaging filled Ivy’s ears, a cold, metallic sound that promised nothing good. Before she could even process what was happening, the bars of her crib began sliding away, retreating like iron ribs peeling back from a corpse. For a moment, Ivy dared to hope — maybe this was it, maybe they were letting her down to leave the stage... maybe…

And then she saw them — rows of bouncers, one for each contestant, rolling silently across the stage floor like soldiers marching into formation. They were massive, oversized monstrosities — towering frames of metal and plastic with thick fabric seats stretched tightly between their padded arms. Each one was painted in bright, garish colors — cartoonish animals grinned stupidly from their padded frames as though this were all some harmless joke. The bouncers rolled into place directly before the cribs, lining the stage like twisted carnival rides. Ivy’s blood ran cold.

“No...” she whispered, her pacifier muffling her voice.

Mechanical arms shot out from beneath her crib — cold, unfeeling appendages that wrapped around her waist and limbs with brutal efficiency. Ivy barely had time to let out a muffled yelp before she was hoisted upward, her legs kicking feebly in the air. The bear — her bear — dangled precariously from one of her mittened hands as she was swung forward and set down in one of the bouncers. The thick fabric seat stretched tight beneath her, her swollen diaper squishing heavily as her weight sank into the padded surface.

Before she could even begin to struggle, the straps came down — thick, unrelenting bands of nylon snapping over her shoulders and chest. They fastened with mechanical precision, crisscrossing her body in layers until she felt mummified — unable to do more than wiggle her fingers inside her padded mittens. The restraints pinched tightly at her waist, her legs dangling awkwardly through reinforced loops in the bouncer’s base. Her swollen diaper forced her thighs wide apart, the pressure making the heat in her cheeks flare even brighter. The straps pressed her back into the seat, locking her spine in place. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t resist.

The cheers from the audience rose like a crashing wave, booming laughter and shrill whistles echoing off the auditorium walls. The voices felt like they were closing in on her, and the faceless crowd relishing every humiliating detail. Ivy clenched her eyes shut, her pacifier bobbing slightly with her breathing as she fought to steady herself.

The cribs, their purpose now complete, rolled away behind them, leaving the contestants stranded — helpless and exposed — in their bouncers at the center of the stage. Ivy glanced sideways, glimpsing the others trapped just as she was — some writhing and squirming in their seats, others frozen with wide-eyed dread.

And then... as if her helplessness wasn’t enough... the arms returned.

Thin mechanical tendrils descended from above, curling like metal serpents. They slithered toward her, one of them ending in a small plastic nozzle. Ivy recoiled, her head twisting desperately to avoid it — but the arm was faster. It clamped the tube neatly against the face shield of her pacifier with a click. Ivy’s stomach dropped. The tube locked into place — firm and unmoving — a thin coil of plastic that disappeared somewhere deep in the shadows of the stage.

Ivy’s chest heaved as panic swallowed her whole. What are they doing? What is this? She wriggled in her seat, but the straps barely allowed her to move. Her diaper squished beneath her with each pitiful squirm. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling as tears threatened to spill over. She could feel the cold weight of the tube against her face, its presence like a snake curled too close to her skin.

“Ladies and gentlemen...” Mistress’s voice purred from the speakers, syrupy and smug. “Are you ready for tonight’s festivities? A special, one-of-a-kind live event — just for your viewing pleasure...”

The crowd’s roar was deafening — a wall of noise that swallowed everything else. Cheers and claps thundered through the auditorium. Ivy swore she could hear individual voices rising above the din — jeering remarks, cruel laughter, taunts disguised as jokes.

“Tonight,” Mistress continued, her voice slithering sweetly from the unseen speakers, “my adorable little babies will be learning a very important lesson...”

The mechanical arms jerked once, and the plastic tube twitched against Ivy’s lips. Her stomach tightened.

“Babies should never go to bed on an empty tummy...” Mistress finished, her voice dripping with false affection. “So let’s make sure they’re all nice and full before bedtime, shall we?”

A sharp buzz jolted Ivy’s senses, loud and sudden, making her flinch in her bouncer. The sound barely faded before a flickering display lit up directly before her — a bright red number zero glowing from a small panel fastened to the plastic frame. Ivy stared at the number, her heart pounding. She turned her head to glance at the others, but the angle and the way they were all restrained made it impossible to see their counters. The faint flicker of red on each bouncer confirmed that they had similar displays — a number for each contestant. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just about her.

“The game is simple...” Mistress’s voice cooed sweetly, her words crawling from unseen speakers with far too much satisfaction. “Each bounce counts for one point... the contestants with the highest scores will win. The lowest...” A cruel chuckle escaped her throat. “...will be eliminated.”

The word hung in the air like smoke — bitter and lingering.

“Begin!” Mistress declared, her voice booming across the auditorium.

The crowd erupted into applause, cheers filling the air like a crashing wave. Ivy felt her stomach twist as she stared at her display, the bright zero mocking her. She clenched her mittened hands tightly, then hesitantly pushed her toes against the floor, lifting her hips slightly.

The bouncer gave a soft creak as she rose... and then fell. Her swollen diaper squished beneath her, the warm, bloated padding pressing against her skin as she sank back into the seat. The display before she blinked — the zero shifting to a dull red one. For a heartbeat, Ivy almost felt relief — one bounce, one point.

But then... she felt it.

A thin trickle of warm liquid — thick and cloying — seeped through the tube connected to her pacifier. It wasn’t much — just a thin stream of formula that coated her tongue. But its bitter-sweet flavor filled her mouth immediately, and Ivy’s stomach clenched in protest. She swallowed instinctively, her throat burning as the formula joined the heavy, sloshing mass already weighing down her gut. As soon as she stopped bouncing, the liquid stopped flowing.

“Oh no...” Ivy whispered behind her pacifier, her words barely audible. That’s the game…

She shot a glance at the other contestants. Their bodies bobbed awkwardly, trapped in the same padded, humiliating contraptions — their eyes wide with the same grim realization. Some of them hesitated, still grasping the rules, while others had already begun bouncing in earnest — their swollen diapers crinkling rhythmically as they fought to rack up points.

Ivy grimaced, her stomach lurching beneath the weight of her previous meal. She could still feel it — that sickening fullness stretching her insides, pressing uncomfortably against her ribs. The very thought of adding more turned her stomach — but what choice did she have?

Gritting her teeth around her pacifier, Ivy forced herself to push her toes against the floor again. The bouncer gave a mechanical creak, her hips lifting slightly before sinking back down. Two.

Another trickle of formula greeted her, warm and thick against her tongue. Ivy’s stomach clenched again, her body groaning in protest. Her fingers curled helplessly into the fabric of her mittens as she swallowed the syrupy liquid, forcing it down. Just keep going... keep going... she told herself.

She bounced again. Three.

And again. Four.

The next bounce came quicker, her mind forcing her body to move despite the sickening churn of her stomach. The formula seeped steadily into her mouth now, a slow and endless drip that matched her movements. Her tongue burned from the syrup’s lingering taste — a sickly artificial sweetness that coated her mouth. She forced each mouthful down, her stomach twisting tighter with each bounce.

Five... Six... Seven…

The liquid felt heavier now — slower — like sludge dragging her insides lower with every swallow. Ivy’s breathing quickened, her head growing foggy as her stomach bloated painfully. She could feel it — the uncomfortable swell that pressed firmly against her sore skin, making her sweat bead along her forehead. Her muscles ached from the effort — her toes scraping awkwardly against the floor to keep her momentum going. Each bounce was met with a wet squelch from her swollen diaper — the heat and dampness sticking unpleasantly to her skin.

The cheers of the crowd filled her ears, shrill and mocking, their laughter growing louder every time someone faltered. Ivy didn’t dare look at the others — she couldn’t afford to. She just kept bouncing, pushing through the pain, through the nausea, through the shame.

Eighteen... Nineteen... Twenty…

Now, her breath came in short, ragged bursts. Sweat trickled down her neck, blurring her vision at the edges. The formula kept coming—mouthful after mouthful—her stomach gurgling angrily beneath its impossible weight. Her skin prickled with heat, and her bloated gut stretched taut beneath the pressure.

Twenty-four... Twenty-five…

I can’t... Ivy thought, her limbs trembling. I can’t keep this up…

Her next bounce was weak — barely a shift in her weight. The bouncer creaked dully beneath her, and her number ticked up by one... but the steady stream of formula didn’t stop. The bitter liquid continued to fill her mouth, and Ivy choked slightly, her chest heaving as her stomach rebelled.

I’m going to be sick…

She bounced again — desperate now — trying to keep the pace. But her swollen stomach throbbed miserably, each movement making the sloshing mass inside her twist and turn. She felt the pressure bearing down against her bladder — a sickening ache growing stronger with each bounce.

Thirty-two... Thirty-three…

Ivy whimpered softly behind her pacifier. Her muscles shook violently with fatigue, her legs cramping from the endless strain. Every ounce of her body begged her to stop — her stomach gurgling, her head spinning, her insides screaming for relief.

Thirty-six... Thirty-seven…

And then, the inevitable happened. Her aching muscles clenched involuntarily, and Ivy felt her bladder give way. The flood of warmth spread rapidly through her swollen diaper, the padding swelling even thicker as it absorbed everything. The weight of the soggy mass beneath her pressed tightly against her skin, squelching wetly with each weak, desperate bounce.

Forty…

Ivy’s tears spilled freely now, dripping down her face. Her stomach gurgled violently, her body twisting in discomfort as her muscles fought to contain what remained. Her breath hitched, her chest tight.

Ivy’s tears spilled freely now, dripping down her flushed cheeks as her body twisted in agony. Her stomach churned violently, swollen and distended beneath the heavy weight of formula that sloshed uncomfortably inside her. She could feel it — a deep, sickening pressure curling low in her belly like a tightly wound knot threatening to snap. Her muscles clenched tightly in protest, her breath stuttering in her throat as her body fought desperately to hold back the inevitable.

And then, a deep gurgling from her gut.

Ivy froze, her entire body seizing as the sound rippled through her — a sick, bubbling groan that sent a pulse of dread crashing over her. She could feel the contents of her bloated stomach shifting — rolling sluggishly like a storm brewing deep inside her. The pressure seemed to gather low in her abdomen, pressing fiercely against muscles already pushed past their limit. Ivy bit down hard on the bulb of her pacifier, tears streaking down her face as she fought to suppress the growing pressure.

No... no, no, no... please... not here…

Another gurgle. This one louder, deeper — an angry, twisting sound that felt like her insides were writhing in protest. Her stomach gave a heavy lurch, sending a wave of nausea rolling through her, her muscles cramping sharply in response. Ivy squirmed instinctively, her swollen diaper pressing squishily against her with each weak, pitiful shift. She whimpered softly, her face burning with humiliation as she fought desperately to keep control.

But her body wasn’t listening.

The next cramp hit like a hammer to her gut — sharp, relentless, and impossible to ignore. The pressure surged lower, pushing fiercely against muscles already strained to the point of exhaustion. Her stomach twisted violently, and with a sickening groan, her control slipped.

The release was sudden — her muscles surrendering in one miserable, humiliating burst. Ivy felt her body lurch as her bowels gave out, a thick, warm mass spilling heavily into the seat of her diaper. The flood came fast and uncontrollable — thick and sluggish, pressing tightly against her skin as it spread beneath her. Her swollen stomach clenched and spasmed again, forcing another wave of mushy warmth to flood her already-saturated diaper. The mess pooled heavily beneath her, pressing against her thighs as her weight bore down on the bloated mass. The straps of her bouncer held her tightly in place, forcing her to remain seated in her shame, unable to lift herself or escape the spreading filth.

Ivy groaned miserably behind her pacifier, her head sagging forward as her stomach twisted again. Another wave followed — a slower, sickly trickle that oozed into the saturated padding beneath her. The swollen bulk of her diaper pressed back against her, the warm, sticky mush spreading with each faint rock of her body. Her stomach clenched weakly one final time, and the last of her control slipped away, leaving her exhausted and limp.

The heat of her accident radiated across her skin — sticky and smothering — her legs forced awkwardly apart by the swollen bulk beneath her. The sheer weight of her diaper seemed to pull her deeper into the bouncer’s seat, the thick padding squishing wetly with every shallow breath she took. The faintest movement caused the mushy mess to shift beneath her, clinging stickily to her skin. The air felt heavy with the scent of her humiliation — warm and foul, hanging like a cloud around her.

The crowd’s laughter roared through the auditorium, sharp and deafening. Ivy’s face burned red-hot, her breath coming in short, miserable sobs as her body trembled from exhaustion and shame. She could feel the tears streaking down her face, their warmth mingling with the sweat clinging to her skin.

“Oh my...” Mistress’s voice cooed thick with mock sympathy. “Looks like someone had a very full tummy... what a good baby...”

The audience’s laughter surged louder — mocking jeers and shrill whistles filling the air. Ivy’s chest hitched again, her fingers curling tightly into her mittens as she fought to hold herself together.

The audience’s laughter surged louder — mocking jeers and shrill whistles filling the air. Ivy’s chest hitched again, her fingers curling tightly into her mittens as she fought to hold herself together. She wanted to scream, to vanish, to disappear. But no — she was stuck here, trapped in this miserable bouncer with her swollen, sagging diaper squishing beneath her like a hot, sticky sponge.

And then... she heard it.

It wasn’t loud at first — soft, wet noises that barely carried over the crowd’s laughter. A faint series of muffled squelches and crackles as, one by one, the other contestants began to lose control. The sounds seemed to roll across the stage like a slow, creeping tide — a chorus of muffled groans and quiet whimpers rising above the steady, rhythmic squish of bodies writhing awkwardly in their seats.

Ivy clenched her eyes shut, swallowing hard as her stomach lurched violently at the smell that followed — sharp, warm, and sickly sweet. The heavy stench of soiled diapers filled the air now, pungent and cloying. It hung over the stage like a thick fog, mingling with the sweat-soaked air and wrapping Ivy in a suffocating haze of shame. Her stomach twisted in protest, bile rising in her throat. She gagged, turning her head to one side, her pacifier muffling her choked retch.

“Time’s still ticking, babies...” Mistress’s voice teased, her smug amusement twisting the words like a knife. “Better keep bouncing... or you won’t like what happens next...”

Ivy’s eyes went wide with horror. More?!

I can’t... I can’t…

But then — a weak creak of the bouncer beside her, a contestant grimacing as they forced themselves to bounce — followed by another, and another. Desperate faces twisted with disgust and humiliation as they realized they had no choice.

Ivy let out a quiet sob, her tears streaking her face as she forced her body to move. Her legs trembled weakly, the muscles in her calves burning as she pushed her toes against the floor. The bouncer gave a shallow bounce, her soaked, swollen diaper squelching loudly beneath her as she shifted in place. Warm, sticky mush pressed heavily against her skin, oozing against her thighs and squishing back into her bottom with wet, sickening pressure.

One…

The tube connected to her pacifier buzzed faintly, and the warm, syrupy liquid trickled once again into her mouth. The bitter-sweet taste filled her tongue, coating her teeth and the back of her throat. Ivy groaned miserably as she swallowed it down, her stomach already distended and aching. The pressure inside her twisted painfully, her muscles cramping beneath her bloated, sloshing gut.

I can’t take anymore…

But she had no choice.

She bounced again — her toes scraping awkwardly against the floor as her body lurched upward. Her swollen diaper shifted beneath her, the thick padding bunching and squelching wetly as the sticky mess spread further between her legs. The heavy warmth clung to her skin, pressing against her like a second layer of flesh.

Two…

Another trickle of formula filled her mouth, the thick liquid sliding down her throat like molten tar. Her breath hitched, her chest burning as she swallowed again. Her stomach churned violently, the overstuffed mass of formula twisting and bubbling inside her like a storm barely contained.

She bounced a third time — harder this time, her toes scraping painfully against the floor as she forced her body to rise. The bouncer’s frame creaked loudly as she landed with a squelch, her diaper bulging beneath her. The mess inside her padding seemed to shift and spread with every movement — sliding wetly beneath her, creeping between her thighs and up against her lower back. The warm bulk seemed to cling to her skin, a sticky, cloying weight that made her stomach churn all the harder.

Three…

More formula. More syrupy warmth filled her mouth, forcing her to swallow as her body trembled from the strain. Her muscles ached, her legs burning, and her stomach twisted into knots of unbearable fullness. Ivy whimpered softly behind her pacifier, her head sagging forward as tears dripped down her face.

The stench of the stage had grown unbearable—a sickening haze of stale urine and warm filth that clung to the air like smoke. The heat from the overhead lights only made it worse, amplifying the foul odor until it seemed to seep into Ivy’s skin. The other contestants were bouncing, too, soft, wet squelches filling the air as they moved—a miserable, rhythmic chorus of helplessness and shame.

“Look at them go!” Mistress’s voice purred, her tone sickly sweet. “Such good babies... so eager to fill their tummies and their diapers...”

The crowd’s laughter surged again — sharp and mocking — cutting through the air like blades. Ivy’s head swam, her vision swimming as her stomach threatened to rebel once more. The mush beneath her shifted again, hot and sticky against her skin, pressing against her with sickening familiarity.

She couldn’t keep going, not like this.

Her muscles gave out. Ivy’s legs buckled, her toes slipping weakly against the floor as her body sagged limply in the bouncer. The pressure inside her gut twisted violently, sending a fresh wave of nausea rolling through her before another push filled her diaper further.

Ivy’s muscles trembled violently, her legs spasming as she dangled limply in the tight harness of her bouncer. Her calves twitched, her toes barely scraping against the floor as her strength failed her completely. The bloated mass in her gut twisted again, another sickening gurgle working its way through her stomach. Her body spasmed, and without warning, her control slipped — the last vestiges of resistance draining away like water through her fingers.

Warmth surged through her diaper again, the mess spreading further, pushing against her skin and filling every available space. The sticky mush pressed against her, oozing up between her thighs, squishing into her swollen padding. Ivy’s breath hitched, her chest tightening with the force of her sobs. Tears blurred her vision, streaking hot down her face as she openly wept into her pacifier. Her body felt foreign, disgusting — her skin slick with sweat and grime, her insides twisted and bloated, her diaper swollen and sagging beneath her.

But even then — even now, drowning in humiliation — she knew she had no choice. The sharp counter still glowed red before her, mocking her with its pitiful number.

Her swollen diaper squelched as she forced herself to bounce again. The sticky warmth pressed against her in new and horrible ways, her entire body quivering from the effort. She bounced again. And again. Each miserable movement forced her stomach to lurch, the formula sloshing sickly inside her, leaving her breathless and dizzy.

Just a little longer... Ivy begged silently, her breath stuttering. Just a little longer…

The numbers crawled upward, each point feeling like a mountain she barely crested. Her muscles screamed, and her limbs grew weaker with each bounce. The warm mush beneath her shifted with every movement, and the unbearable squelch filled her ears like nails on a chalkboard. She could feel it clinging to her, creeping further up her back, sticky and smothering.

Her vision blurred, her sobs muffled behind the pacifier locked between her lips. Each movement was slower now — weaker — her body barely able to rise in the bouncer’s seat. She bounced once more, the mass in her diaper squeezing and shifting against her, and then…

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT.

Ivy froze. The buzzer’s shrill tone filled the air, cutting through the noise like a lightning strike. For a moment, she just hung there, her limbs limp, her head lolling forward in sheer exhaustion.

It was over.

It was finally over.

Her swollen, sticky diaper squished against her as her body sagged in the bouncer’s grip. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one sharp and shuddering as tears continued to slide down her cheeks. Her chest heaved, her ribs aching from the effort. Her face was red, streaked with sweat and humiliation.

The bouncer groaned, mechanical arms twisting as they slowly turned her around. Ivy blinked wearily, her blurred vision struggling to focus on the massive screen looming above the stage. The display flickered, and suddenly... there they were.

Every humiliating second.

Every bounce.

Every grimace of discomfort.

Every sob.

The screen played back everything in horrifying detail, the images accompanied by gaudy graphics that labeled their mistakes — text flashing brightly beside each contestant. Ivy’s name glowed faintly in the middle of the list — not the worst, but far from the best. She sagged further in her bouncer, her cheeks burning as the cold truth settled over her — she hadn’t won. She hadn’t failed either... but she had barely scraped by.

“Awww...” Mistress’s voice cooed from the speakers, sickly sweet. “Looks like we have a few babies who were just too tuckered out for tonight’s game...”

Ivy turned her head weakly, her breath catching as several contestants—those unfortunate enough to have the lowest scores—turned toward the crowd. The exhausted faces of those unlucky souls twisted with panic and shame as they stared out at the jeering audience.

“These tired little babies are going straight to bed without their changes...” Mistress teased. “That way, they can enjoy a nice, fun-filled night... all to themselves...”

The crowd roared in approval, cruel laughter and taunts washing over the stage like a crashing wave. Ivy could only watch in horrified silence as the bouncers carrying the failed contestants were rolled away — their wide, terrified eyes vanishing behind the closing curtain.

The screen flickered again, and Ivy’s stomach twisted as she saw the numbers change — the prize pool climbing once more. $2,375,000. The jackpot flashed in brilliant gold, accompanied by glittering animations that felt mocking in their garish display. The remaining contestant count ticked down — 15.

Only 15 left... Ivy realized with a sickening jolt.

The mechanical arms reached for her, unlatching the straps and lowering her limp body to the stage. Her legs crumpled beneath her as she hit the floor, her swollen, mushy diaper squelching beneath her with every pitiful movement. The warm, sticky mess clung to her skin, shifting with her exhausted attempts to crawl forward.

“Ivy...”

She turned her head, her tear-streaked face meeting Clara’s frightened gaze. Clara’s face was flushed, her diaper swollen and sagging beneath her. She clutched her mittened hands tightly to her chest, her eyes wide with helplessness.

“I... I think I’m a baby again...” Clara whimpered softly.

Ivy barely had the strength to answer. She only nodded weakly, too broken and drained to offer comfort. As the two of them were ushered backstage by the mechanical arms leading them — filthy, exhausted, and humiliated — Ivy clutched her bear tightly to her chest. The soft fur pressed against her face, warm and familiar.

Mistress’s voice returned, slithering through the air like a blade wrapped in silk. Smooth, condescending, and dripping with false affection.

“Actually...” she purred, her tone curling at the edges like smoke. “I think I’ll leave this next part... up to our wonderful audience. What do you say, folks?”

Ivy’s breath caught in her throat. The stage lights dimmed slightly, and the audience’s restless murmurs rose into an eager hush. Ivy shifted weakly, her swollen diaper squelching beneath her as her stomach twisted in dread.

“Do you think our babies have earned a nice, fresh change before bed?”

For a heartbeat, there was silence — thin and fragile as glass. Then, a scattering of half-hearted claps. Weak, hesitant. Almost obligatory. A murmur barely rising above the noise.

Mistress chuckled darkly.

“Or...” she purred, her voice curling in delight. “Do you think our precious Little ones should go straight to bed... messy diapers and all?”

The roar was deafening. Applause thundered through the auditorium, cheers and whistles blending into a wall of sound that crashed down upon Ivy like a hammer blow. The stage itself seemed to tremble beneath her, the vibrations thrumming through her aching limbs and the swollen padding beneath her. Ivy’s stomach lurched violently, her face twisting in horror as the truth settled over her like a cold, wet blanket.

No... no no no…

“Well...” Mistress mused, her voice positively gleeful. “I think that’s our answer. Straight to bed, it is!”

Ivy felt her strength drain away. Her body sagged, her trembling fingers curling weakly against the stiff fabric of her mittens. She wanted to scream, to beg, to shout for mercy — but her pacifier’s bulb remained locked between her lips, her voice reduced to muffled whimpers. Her chest hitched, her breath shuddering as fresh tears spilled down her face.

The mechanical arms returned, cold and unfeeling as they seized her limbs. Her swollen, filthy diaper squished wetly beneath her as she was lifted from the floor, her exhausted body too weak to resist. The warmth of the mess clung to her skin, heavy and sticky, pressing thickly against her with every shift of her body. The smell — stale, sour, and suffocating — clung to her.

Clara was lifted beside her, her face streaked with tears, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs. Her diaper was just as swollen, the faint outline of the mess inside bulging awkwardly against the taut fabric.

“I’m sorry...” Ivy mumbled weakly through her pacifier. She wasn’t even sure if Clara had heard her.

The mechanical arms carried them both offstage, their exhausted bodies limp and broken. The deafening roar of the crowd seemed to follow them, its mocking jeers and cruel laughter ringing in Ivy’s ears long after the curtains had swallowed them whole.

The cribs returned, rolling silently along their tracks as the mechanical arms lowered each exhausted contestant into their padded cells. Ivy barely noticed as the cold, stiff mattress swallowed her, her swollen diaper pressing heavily against her skin. Her body was too drained to fight. Her muscles screamed with exhaustion, her stomach still bloated and knotted with formula. Moments later, the bars slid upward, trapping her within the confining walls of her crib.

Her bear was placed on her chest — soft and warm against her sweat-slicked skin. Ivy clutched it tightly, pressing her face into its fur as her swollen diaper pressed sickly against her. The warmth seemed to spread beneath her like a growing stain, thick and clinging, soaking deeper into her skin. Each breath filled her lungs with the acrid scent of her mess — stale, sour, and impossible to ignore.

Mistress’s voice purred one last time, gentle and mocking.

“Sleep tight, my Little ones...”

The lights dimmed. The cartoonish lullaby returned, syrupy and sickening, bleeding through the speakers in quiet waves of mind-numbing melody. Ivy’s swollen, aching body trembled helplessly in her crib. Her limbs felt heavy, her head swimming with exhaustion.

Her eyes drifted shut, tears still clinging to her lashes. The warmth of her soiled diaper seemed to seep deeper into her skin, smothering her like a blanket. The humiliation burned deep inside her chest, a twisting coil of shame that gnawed relentlessly at her mind.

The bear’s voice whispered faintly in her ear.

“Tomorrow will be worse...”

Ivy whimpered softly and clutched the bear tighter.