Ivy’s stomach twisted and cramped, a dull ache radiating from her core that roused her from the fragile grip of her restless sleep. She barely registered the sticky warmth that spread beneath her, her body’s exhausted muscles surrendering to the pressure in her gut before her mind had even fully woken. The mess seeped thickly into her swollen padding, sluggish and hot, spreading in sticky waves as her body clenched and pushed it out. Ivy whimpered softly behind her pacifier, a weak, muffled sound that barely escaped her lips. Her diaper bulged beneath her, pressing damply against her skin, and she groaned quietly, her cheeks burning with shame even as her body betrayed her yet again.

The ceiling of her crib hovered just inches above her face, cold metal locking her into place, forcing her to remain on her back. The stale scent of her swollen, soiled diaper lingered heavily in the air, mingling with the sweat that clung to her skin. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out — the smell, the discomfort, the overwhelming humiliation — but her body refused to relax. Her stomach gurgled again, the cramping twisting her insides like a fist wringing water from a rag.

She tried to focus on her breathing: slow, controlled, in through her nose, out through her mouth.

But then came the lurch. A sudden, mechanical groan as her crib jerked violently beneath her. Ivy’s eyes shot open, her heart hammering in her chest as her crib shifted, sliding steadily along unseen tracks. The mechanical hum filled her ears as the ceiling above her seemed to rise, inch by inch until she could barely make out the dim outline of the room beyond.

The cribs emerged, rumbling into place within the room where they had first begun. Ivy’s heart pounded as her crib jerked again, twisting slightly before settling with a metallic thunk. She felt her body roll slightly with the motion, the bloated mass in her diaper shifting sickeningly against her. The sticky warmth clung to her skin, pressing uncomfortably against her lower back, her thighs, and the curve of her stomach.

She could barely see from her position, her crib bars cutting her view to thin slits of light and shadow. But she could hear.

Click... click... click…

One by one, she heard the locks disengage. Distant groans followed — soft murmurs of disgust muttered curses from weary caregivers as they awoke to the smell that clung to the air like a foul fog. Footsteps shuffled away from the cribs, receding down the hall. The soft scrape of bare feet on cold tile — tired, defeated steps.

Ivy’s breath caught.

They’re leaving…

Panic began to rise in her chest, choking her like a tightening noose. She shifted weakly, squirming in place as her diaper squelched beneath her. The sticky mush inside shifted sickeningly, pressing against her like thick clay.

Don’t leave me like this... please…

She strained to lift her head, her muscles too weak to do more than raise it an inch before exhaustion dragged her back down. Her head thumped against the thin pillow beneath her, and she blinked back the tears that blurred her vision.

Her muscles ached, her limbs trembling weakly beneath the weight of her exhaustion. Her swollen diaper pressed heavily against her skin, the warm bulk squishing thickly beneath her with every breath. The soreness in her stomach throbbed dully, her gut still bloated and heavy from the relentless formula.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze drifting to her chest where the bear rested against her. Soft and warm. Silent now.

Ivy clutched it tightly, her fingers curling into the worn fur.

“Please...” she whispered into her pacifier, her voice too faint for anyone to hear.

“Please... come back for me...”

Ivy barely noticed the sound of footsteps returning, distant and muffled behind the stale haze of her discomfort. Her eyes had drifted closed again, her body too exhausted to do much more than breathe shallowly through her pacifier. The swollen, sticky bulk of her diaper pressed relentlessly against her skin, warm and foul, the mess clinging to her like tar. Her thoughts drifted, sluggish and faint, until she heard the click of her crib’s lock disengaging.

She blinked her eyes open, her vision blurred from sleep and tears. For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming — still trapped in that sick, feverish nightmare — until she saw Finn’s face hovering above her. His tired smile greeted her like a flickering candle in the dark.

“Hey,” Finn said softly. His voice was quiet yet still warm. Familiar. Safe.

Ivy couldn’t answer, her pacifier gag still filling her mouth. She only managed a weak noise, her muscles twitching feebly beneath the pressure of her swollen diaper.

“I’ve got you,” Finn promised.

And then, his strong arms slipped beneath her, cradling her body as he lifted her out of the crib. The sudden motion made her stomach lurch, and Ivy groaned softly behind the pacifier, her body sagging limply against Finn’s chest. The bloated mass in her diaper shifted sickeningly, the mess spreading against her in clinging waves. Her face burned as the foul squelch pressed against her — too thick, too warm, too present. She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face in Finn’s shirt to escape the mortifying sensation.

“Easy...” Finn murmured, adjusting his grip to hold her more securely. His voice carried a tenderness that made Ivy’s chest ache. “I’ve got you.”

Finn lowered her toward the floor, giving her a chance to crawl — to at least pretend she had some dignity left. Ivy squirmed, trying to catch herself on her hands and knees, but the sleeper gripped her limbs like a vice. The fabric constricted tightly around her arms and legs, the seams pulling firm, making movement impossible. Her limbs strained against the pressure, her fingers barely twitching inside the padded mittens before her arms gave out completely.

Her stomach hit the floor with a dull thud, her swollen diaper squelching beneath her as she collapsed. Ivy groaned in frustration behind her pacifier, her face burning as hot tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

Finn knelt beside her, his hand resting lightly on her back. “You okay?” he asked, concern replacing the warmth in his voice.

Ivy turned her head, squinting up at him. “Sshhrrrn... thrrr ssnn’t lllting mm mmff...” she slurred through the pacifier, the inflated bulb muffling her words. She groaned again and tried to lift her head further. “Sshhlrr s’nn’t... llmm crrwll...”

Finn frowned in confusion before realization clicked. “The sleeper’s seizing up?” he asked, grimacing.

Ivy nodded miserably.

Finn sighed and reached for her again. “Hold on,” he muttered. “I’ll carry you.”

Ivy felt her body lift again, her arms pinned awkwardly beneath her as Finn hoisted her back into his arms. The mess in her diaper shifted again, oozing sluggishly against her with a warm, sickening squelch. Ivy shuddered in disgust, biting back a whimper as her humiliation twisted into something sharper — something raw and painful. She could feel it now, thick and clinging, coating her skin in sticky warmth.

Finn’s grip was careful, his arms firm yet gentle as he adjusted her against his chest. He moved briskly, weaving through the maze of cribs and stepping into the changing room. Ivy caught glimpses of other contestants — some still trapped in their cribs, their faces twisted in discomfort; others crawling weakly across the floor, their swollen diapers sagging beneath them like anchors.

The changing room’s lights were brighter than she expected, harsh against her tired eyes. Finn carried her to an empty table, easing her down with careful precision. The padded surface felt cold against her back, and Ivy winced as her swollen diaper pressed heavily beneath her.

Finn hesitated, his gaze lingering on her face. “I’ll get you sorted,” he promised quietly.

Ivy blinked up at him, her exhausted mind barely able to process the words. She knew Finn was trying to comfort her — trying to soften the blow — but nothing could make this situation less humiliating. She lay there, pinned to the table, sticky and miserable, as Finn reached for the changing supplies.

At least it’s Finn... she thought bitterly. If anyone had to see her like this, at least it was him.

Her cheeks still burned, and her stomach twisted painfully as she braced herself for the inevitable.

Ivy turned her face away as Finn set to work, her eyes squeezing shut in a feeble attempt to will herself somewhere — anywhere — else. She couldn’t see what was happening, but she could feel everything. The cold air struck her skin the moment Finn peeled the swollen diaper open, and Ivy shivered as the coolness spread across her exposed flesh. The mess clung to her in thick, sticky layers; the warmth now turned to unpleasant, sickly dampness that pressed against her with every slight shift of her body.

She flinched as Finn's gloved hand made contact, a cold wipe dragging across her skin in slow, methodical strokes. The sensation — humiliating, degrading — made her want to crawl out of her skin. Her cheeks burned furiously as the pressure of Finn’s cleaning hand pressed harder against stubborn patches of mess that refused to come loose.

Ivy bit down on her pacifier, sucking on the rubber bulb to keep herself from crying. But the shame still coursed through her veins, hot and acidic, searing her nerves. She could feel Finn's hesitation — the way his hands paused every so often, the stiffness in his movements. He was trying to be careful, but there was no hiding his discomfort.

And then it happened — faint but unmistakable.

A soft, barely suppressed gag.

Ivy felt her stomach twist violently. A cold lump of shame settled in her chest, her breathing shallow as she tried to keep herself from breaking. She felt disgusting — filthy. This was a new level of humiliation, one that clawed beneath her skin and nestled in her bones. She felt like nothing — like something to be managed, cleaned up, and carried away.

“Almost done,” Finn muttered, his voice tight with strained composure. He tried to keep his tone casual, but Ivy heard it — the discomfort, the disgust — and it broke something inside her.

Her eyes squeezed shut tighter, and her breath hitched as she fought to suppress the sob that clawed its way up her throat.

The process dragged on, Finn’s hand swiping and wiping for what felt like an eternity. Each stroke was another reminder of just how low she’d been dragged. When he finally set aside the last wipe, Ivy felt the tension in his movements ease slightly. The soft crinkle of a fresh diaper followed, and Ivy exhaled a weak breath of relief as Finn lifted her hips and slid it beneath her. The dry padding was heavenly against her raw skin — cool, soft, clean. Moments later, Finn fastened the tapes securely into place, sealing her in fresh protection.

“Done,” Finn said quietly, his voice softer now. Ivy could barely meet his eyes.

As Finn moved to lift her from the table, Ivy caught sight of something new — something she hadn’t noticed before.

A row of strollers, each oversized and unmistakably designed for contestants like her, lined the far wall of the changing room. Their plastic trays gleamed beneath the overhead lights, their padded seats covered in soft pastel fabrics. The harness straps dangled loosely, inviting and ominous all at once.

Ivy gave Finn a confused look, gesturing with a questioning tilt of her head toward the strollers. Finn followed her gaze, then shrugged.

“I guess this is how they’re moving you around now,” he muttered. His voice was tired, his face grim.

“Great,” Ivy mumbled bitterly through her pacifier.

Finn didn’t seem eager to test the strollers, so he lowered Ivy to the floor instead, placing her carefully on her hands and knees. Ivy took a deep breath, her limbs feeling weak yet relieved now that she was clean. She tried to push herself forward... only to feel her arms seize within the tight, padded fabric of her mittens. The sleeper gripped her tightly, her legs straining against the stiff material that locked her knees in place. She strained again, trying to crawl — to shift, to move, to do anything. But her body remained pinned against the floor, her limbs unable to cooperate.

She felt helpless — utterly, infuriatingly helpless, as immobile as a newborn.

“It’s... still not letting me move,” she mumbled, her voice cracking slightly.

Finn grimaced, clearly trying to decide what to do. “Yeah...” he said softly. “I figured.”

Without another word, he knelt and slid his arms beneath her once more, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Ivy sagged limply against his chest, too exhausted and embarrassed to argue.

“It’s okay,” Finn murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Finn paused at the door, his steps faltering as he glanced back toward the row of strollers. His face was tight with hesitation; his brow furrowed as if weighing an unpleasant truth.

“Ivy,” he said softly, shifting his grip on her, “do you mind if…?” He trailed off, grimacing slightly. “I can’t carry you both.”

Ivy blinked, her sluggish mind processing his words a moment too late. Both... Of course. Finn had another baby to manage — his charge. His arms might have been strong enough to carry her, but there was no way he could juggle two contestants at once.

She swallowed hard, the pacifier still lodged in her mouth, and nodded weakly. The humiliation churned in her stomach like curdled milk, but what choice did she have? Finn couldn’t carry her everywhere, and crawling — if she could even crawl in her tightly gripped sleeper — wasn’t an option.

Finn seemed relieved as she nodded, though the discomfort lingered in his eyes. He adjusted his hold, carrying her carefully over to one of the oversized strollers. Ivy barely had time to brace herself before she was lowered inside, the padded seat swallowing her in its cushioned embrace. The moment she settled into place, the harness snapped to life — belts slithering over her chest and waist before locking into place with a series of sharp clicks. The five-point harness pinned her securely, her arms resting on the cushioned armrests and her legs spread slightly by the molded seat beneath her.

Ivy groaned softly behind her pacifier, her head falling back against the plush headrest. The seat was comfortable — irritatingly so — as if the designers had gone out of their way to make the indignity of being strapped down somehow pleasant. The soft padding cradled her body, and despite herself, Ivy could feel her muscles beginning to relax against the support. The shame lingered, of course — a cold knot in her chest — but she was simply too tired to resist.

Finn stepped behind the stroller, gripping the handle with both hands before giving it a cautious push. The wheels rolled smoothly across the floor, the motion gentle enough to lull her if she hadn’t already been so anxious. Ivy let her head loll to the side, her gaze flickering toward the hallway as they left the changing room.

She wasn’t alone.

Clara passed in the opposite direction, her stroller pushed by one of the other caregivers. Her face was pale, her cheeks pink, and her eyes rimmed with tiredness. Her pacifier bobbed faintly with her breath as she stared vacantly ahead, resigned to the reality they had been thrust into. Ivy caught her eye just before they passed, and Clara’s weak smile flickered briefly before vanishing beneath her exhaustion.

Behind Clara, Ivy spotted Eli — this time pushing a stroller rather than riding in one. His face was flushed with effort, his arms straining as he maneuvered the bulky stroller through the narrow hallway. Whoever was in the seat — Ivy couldn’t tell — looked as worn out as the rest of them, their face half-obscured behind a pacifier and sunken eyes.

Ivy swallowed hard. This wasn’t just some humiliating one-off punishment. These strollers weren’t optional. They were part of the system now — another twisted tool in Mistress’s growing arsenal to strip away their independence.

Finn must have sensed her discomfort because his voice came low from behind her. “It’s not so bad,” he muttered. “You get to sit... and hey, I’m pushing you like royalty.” He forced a weak chuckle, clearly trying to lift the mood.

Ivy let out a muffled grunt — not quite a laugh, but enough to acknowledge the effort.

Finn’s steps quickened as they neared the cribs, his grip on the stroller handle tightening with quiet urgency. Ivy’s tired gaze drifted forward, her eyes narrowing as she realized where they were headed — and who was waiting for them.

Contestant 86.

The boy from last night — the one who’d cursed Mistress and refused to submit to the naughty room — lay sprawled in his crib, looking as pale and hollow as Ivy had felt just hours ago. His face was slack, his eyes glassy, blinking slowly as if the world itself had become too much to process. His pacifier bobbed faintly with shallow breaths, and he barely seemed to register Finn as the crib's mechanical locks disengaged with a soft click.

Finn’s face twisted in concern as he scooped the boy up, grunting slightly with the effort. The boy’s limbs dangled limply in Finn’s grasp, his sleeper sagging heavily around his waist, the bulk of his swollen diaper painfully obvious. Ivy didn’t need to get closer to know the boy was in desperate need of a change — the sour, stale scent was unmistakable, even from her spot in the stroller.

“Come on,” Finn muttered, his voice soft as he adjusted his grip. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Finn turned the stroller back toward the changing room, his steps measured yet brisk. Ivy felt her stomach churn as they passed back through the dim hallway, the smell of the boy’s mess thickening the air. She tried to breathe through her mouth, but it didn’t help — the scent clung stubbornly, cloying and rancid. She gritted her teeth behind the pacifier, swallowing hard against the nausea twisting in her gut.

Back in the changing room, Finn guided the stroller to a quiet corner before easing the boy onto one of the tables. The moment Finn laid him down, the table’s restraints snapped into place, locking the boy’s limbs securely. The boy barely reacted, his half-lidded eyes flickering slightly as his head lolled to the side.

Ivy sat awkwardly in her stroller, feeling helpless — and embarrassed — as Finn set to work. She shifted uncomfortably, her limbs trapped beneath the harness, unable to do anything but watch.

Finn moved with quiet efficiency, peeling back the boy’s sleeper to reveal the bloated diaper beneath. The sheer size of it made Ivy’s stomach tighten. The outer shell was discolored and swollen, and the fabric sagged with the weight of its contents. It looked heavy, straining against the tapes that barely held it in place.

Finn hesitated, his face twitching slightly with revulsion before he steeled himself and tore the tapes free. The diaper peeled away with a sickening squelch, the mess inside spreading thickly across the boy’s skin. The sharp stench hit Ivy like a hammer, and she gagged behind her pacifier, turning her face away as her eyes watered.

“Oh God...” Finn muttered, his voice strained. He grabbed a handful of wipes and started working, his face drawn tight in concentration. Each pass of the wipe seemed to reveal more layers of filth, the cleanup painstaking and slow. The boy barely reacted, his expression distant and vacant, like he’d long since retreated into some dark corner of his mind.

Ivy’s stomach twisted. Had he been in the trial last night? The thought gnawed at her. Mistress hadn’t mentioned what had happened to him after the naughty room — had he been dragged straight from punishment into that horrible trial? Forced to endure that torture right after whatever horrors the naughty room inflicted?

The realization hit her like a slap. Of course, he had. Mistress wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to torment someone who defied her. The boy’s glazed stare, the way his limbs twitched faintly but refused to move with any real strength — it was obvious. He’d been pushed past his limit, just like Ivy.

Finn wiped the boy down in silence, methodically cleaning every fold and crease, his face grim and set. He muttered faint apologies under his breath, too quiet for the boy to hear. The occasional twitch of Finn’s nose betrayed his discomfort, but he never slowed — never hesitated.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Finn balled up the ruined diaper and stuffed it into the disposal chute. The sharp hiss of the chute’s vacuum made Ivy flinch. Finn grabbed a clean diaper from the supply cabinet and unfolded it, slipping it beneath the boy’s waist with practiced ease. Moments later, the tapes were fastened snugly in place, and Finn tugged the sleeper back over the boy’s legs.

The table’s restraints released with a soft click, and Finn carefully scooped the boy back into his arms. The boy murmured faintly — a slurred, broken noise that barely escaped the pacifier still filling his mouth.

“You’re alright,” Finn said softly, cradling the boy against his chest. “I’ve got you.”

Ivy swallowed hard as Finn returned the boy to his stroller, buckling him in with gentle precision. Finn’s face was pale, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of everything — the trials, the punishments, the endless cycle of humiliation — had settled firmly on his back.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Finn muttered as he gripped the stroller’s handle. His voice was tight, his knuckles white on the bar. He didn’t look at Ivy — didn’t meet her gaze — but she could hear the crack in his voice, the weariness gnawing at his resolve.

Ivy wanted to say something — to offer some kind of comfort — but her pacifier silenced her, leaving her with nothing but a muted sigh.

Finn pushed the stroller toward the door, his steps slow and heavy. Ivy’s wheels followed soon after, their quiet squeaks filling the silence like whispers of doubt.

Despite everything Ivy had been forced to consume the night before — the foul formula, the endless gagging mouthfuls that had churned her stomach and broken her spirit — her belly still felt achingly empty. The gnawing sensation twisted inside her, sharp and hollow, a reminder that no matter how much her body had endured, she was still just a girl, trapped and helpless, her needs reduced to whatever cruel whim Mistress deemed appropriate.

So, as Finn pushed her stroller into the cafeteria, Ivy felt a flicker of relief. It wasn’t much — and she hated herself for feeling grateful for something so small — but the thought of eating something, anything, gave her a sense of normalcy, even if it came from one of those oversized baby bottles.

Finn returned moments later, holding two bottles in his hands. His brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed with confusion.

“There’s no nipple,” he said, turning one of the bottles in his hands. “The dispenser told me to... attach these to the stroller?”

Ivy gave him a questioning look. Attach them? That didn’t make any sense. Bottles were supposed to be held — something a caregiver controlled. Whatever these were, they were different.

Finn sighed and disappeared behind her stroller. Ivy heard the faint sound of him fumbling with something — plastic clattering, a soft click of a mechanism sliding into place — and then... a louder snap.

Her heart jumped. That can’t be good…

The moment the snap echoed through the air, Ivy felt movement near her face. Her breath caught as a slender mechanical arm extended from the side of the stroller, moving with unsettling precision. She barely had time to flinch before the arm plucked a thin plastic tube and pressed it directly into the front of her pacifier.

Ivy squirmed, her mittened hands weakly batting at the arm, but it was too late. The tube clicked into place with an audible pop, locking itself against the mouthguard of her pacifier. A second later, a warm, thick formula began to flood her mouth.

Ivy gagged, her eyes going wide as the rich, creamy liquid coated her tongue. It was thicker than the watery formula from before — this was something heavier, more potent. It oozed across her taste buds in cloying waves, forcing her to swallow almost immediately. The liquid clogged her throat, each gulp feeling like it dragged slowly down her gullet.

Ivy’s breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling as she tried to pace herself, trying to keep from choking. The flow of formula wasn’t fast — steady, but unrelenting — but the thickness of it made every swallow feel like a fight. The stuff clung to her mouth, coating her teeth and gums in a slick layer of artificial sweetness. It was dense, fatty — something designed to sit in her belly like a lead weight.

Her stomach twisted uneasily, still fragile from the previous night’s ordeal. She felt herself instinctively clenching, her body remembering the painful cramps that had wracked her the last time Mistress had force-fed her. This wasn’t just food — this was fuel, something designed to fill her, to overwhelm her system and keep her subdued. She could feel the warmth of the formula pooling low in her stomach, pressing uncomfortably against her insides.

Ivy’s fingers curled weakly inside her mittens, her body trembling as she sucked down mouthful after mouthful. The stroller creaked slightly as Finn pushed her forward again, and Ivy realized with grim horror that this wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She was being fed on the move, like an infant in a high-tech pram, her meal forcefully delivered through a plastic tube. No break, no control, no chance to stop unless Mistress decided she’d had enough.

The warm, bloating sensation spread inside her, filling her stomach like cement. Ivy gritted her teeth around the pacifier, forcing herself to swallow again and again. She couldn’t refuse — if she let the formula pool in her mouth, she’d choke. Her only option was to endure.

The stroller rattled slightly as Finn wheeled her down the hallway, oblivious to her discomfort. Ivy blinked hard, her vision swimming with tears as her stomach stretched painfully tight. Her breathing grew shallow, and her chest tightened as she tried to gulp down the endless stream of formula.

“Almost there,” Finn’s voice came from behind her. His tone was casual, almost soothing — like he had no idea what she was going through. Ivy wanted to scream — wanted to rip the stupid tube free and vomit up the sickening mass of sludge that was churning in her gut.

But she couldn’t.

She was trapped, her head pinned against the padded headrest, the harness snug across her chest. The tube continued to deliver its relentless flow, filling her belly with every sluggish, choking swallow. She felt sick — her stomach gurgling angrily as the pressure built inside her.

By the time Finn stopped the stroller, Ivy’s head was swimming. The last sluggish trickle of formula seeped into her mouth, and she swallowed it with a weak, exhausted grunt. The mechanical arm retracted, the tube hissing softly as it withdrew from her pacifier.

Ivy sagged limply against the harness; her stomach distended beneath her sleeper. She felt hot and heavy, her insides rolling uneasily. Each shallow breath felt like it dragged across a brick of liquid sludge settled in her belly.

“You okay?” Finn asked softly, stepping around to kneel beside her.

Ivy blinked at him, tears clinging to her lashes. She barely managed a faint, tired nod.

Finn’s face softened, his hand reaching out to squeeze her arm comfortingly.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly. “You’re okay.”

Ivy didn’t believe him. Not for a second.

But she was too tired — too full, too sick, too beaten — to care.