Finn’s footsteps were soft as he approached, yet Ivy still flinched when he appeared in front of her, two oversized bottles in hand. The look in his eyes — soft, sympathetic — only made her feel worse. The pity burned like salt in her fresh wounds. She hated that he saw her like this — helpless, filthy, strapped down like an oversized infant. His gaze lingered a little too long on her face, and Ivy quickly turned her head away, blinking hard to fight back the tears threatening to spill.

Her stomach let out a low, miserable growl — a cruel reminder of her reality. Hunger gnawed at her insides, making her head swim faintly. Ivy clenched her mittens against her lap, feeling the swollen bulk of her disgusting diaper pressing beneath her. She still felt the sticky mess clinging to her skin, the foul warmth seemingly welded to her. The thought of eating anything, let alone more of that sickly sweet formula, made her stomach churn. But she knew better.

The formula didn’t fill her for long — a deliberate design, no doubt — and skipping a meal now meant weakness later. Weakness she couldn’t afford. These trials were getting harder, crueler, and more demanding. If she starved herself out of pride or stubbornness, she’d pay for it later.

“Ivy?” Finn’s voice was soft, hesitant. “You ready?”

She swallowed hard and forced herself to nod, hating herself for it.

Finn sighed heavily and shifted behind her. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she felt him fumbling with something near the back of her bouncer. A metallic click, the faint hiss of a valve — and then a quiet groan of frustration from Finn.

“They’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he muttered. “Hold on…”

After another few seconds of fumbling, Ivy heard the faint snap of something locking into place. The mechanical arm extended almost instantly, and a thin rubber tube snaked forward from behind her. Ivy stiffened as it wriggled closer, her breath catching when it clicked into the valve of her pacifier gag.

She barely had time to react before it started.

The warm, thick formula surged into her mouth, spilling over her tongue in a slow, steady stream. Ivy gagged immediately, her body instinctively rebelling against the sudden flood. The bitter, chalky sweetness coated her tongue — too rich, too heavy — like trying to drink warm syrup. Her teeth clenched down instinctively on her pacifier’s bulb, but it made no difference. The tube pumped steadily, relentlessly, and slowly, forcing her to swallow.

She tried to pace herself—taking short, controlled gulps—but the formula kept coming. The thick liquid slid down her throat in sluggish waves, pooling heavily in her stomach. The warmth spread through her gut, a leaden sensation that made her skin crawl. She shifted uncomfortably in the bouncer, wincing as her messy diaper squished beneath her.

Finn knelt beside her, watching with thinly veiled guilt as she swallowed again and again. Ivy’s stomach twisted with each mouthful, the thick formula sitting heavily inside her. She hated the way it clung to her tongue like syrup turned to paste. Her belly felt bloated, stretched tight beneath her swollen diaper.

The tube continued to pump.

Each swallow made her feel worse — her stomach turning, churning, gurgling ominously as the awful warmth spread. Her muscles tightened involuntarily, her body threatening to rebel against what it had just been forced to consume. She shifted again, her soiled diaper squishing grotesquely beneath her as her stomach groaned louder.

“Almost done,” Finn murmured gently. “You’re doing good.”

Ivy whimpered behind her pacifier, barely able to nod. Her eyes watered as she forced the formula down. Each gulp left her feeling heavier and more sluggish—like a stone was settling inside her gut. She clenched her eyes shut, breathing slowly through her nose, willing herself not to throw up.

Finally — finally — the tube disconnected with a sharp hiss. Ivy gasped around her pacifier, her chest heaving as she sucked in air like she’d just surfaced from underwater. The foul taste lingered in her mouth, thick and cloying, making her stomach churn violently.

“You okay?” Finn asked quietly. His hand rested lightly on her arm. Ivy opened her eyes and gave the faintest nod.

She wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot.

Her belly gurgled again, cramping sharply. She felt heavy, sick, and exhausted. The damp warmth of her swollen diaper clung to her like a second skin, pressing tightly against her as she sagged in her bouncer. Finn’s hand lingered on her arm for a moment longer before he stood.

And then he was gone, leaving Ivy alone with the terrible fullness pressing down inside her. She closed her eyes again, her head lolling against the cushioned headrest, her breath slow and shallow.

Please... just let me sleep, she thought, feeling her stomach groan beneath her ribs.

But her body wasn’t finished yet.

The gurgle came first — low, deep, and ominous. Ivy felt her stomach twist, a hot, churning pressure swelling inside her like a balloon stretched too tight. Her breath caught as the sensation rolled downward, rippling through her gut. She clenched her muscles reflexively — desperately — but it was no use. Her body shuddered, tightening for a brief, painful moment before everything gave out.

The mess surged out of her in a thick, heavy wave, spreading through her diaper with a sticky warmth that seemed to expand in every direction. The sheer force of it left her breathless, her exhausted muscles giving in without resistance. A sob caught in her throat as her bladder followed, warmth spilling out in tandem, soaking into her already swollen diaper. The combined heat pressed thickly against her skin, clinging wet and heavy as the stench curled into the air.

Ivy's cheeks burned, her eyes squeezing shut as if that would make the world go away — as if closing her eyes would erase the humiliation. She felt the disgusting bulk spread further, squishing beneath her as the bouncer shifted ever so slightly with her weight. The pressure pinned her to the cushion, her filth sticking to her skin in an awful warmth that made her stomach turn all over again. Her breath hitched, her chest tight with barely contained sobs. She couldn't stop the tears this time — hot, silent streams that spilled down her face as she lay helpless in her soiled state.

The cartoon overhead continued, Naomi’s cheerful voice still singing sweetly about kindness and friendship, her saccharine voice grinding like nails in Ivy’s skull. She felt like the mockery was directed squarely at her — like Naomi’s sweet smile was a sneer, her voice cooing, Look what you’ve become…

A few feet away, Finn was busy fumbling with contestant 86's bottle, his expression tight with focus. He didn’t even look Ivy’s way — didn’t even seem to notice what had just happened to her. Ivy should’ve been grateful. But somehow, the indifference stung even more. She felt small — invisible — reduced to nothing more than a pitiful thing strapped down in her mess, forgotten like a broken doll.

Another wet squelch reached Ivy’s ears. She turned her head just enough to see a girl—another contestant—strapped down on the changing mat in front of her. The girl's caregiver knelt beside her, methodically peeling back her sleeper, revealing her swollen, discolored diaper beneath. Ivy winced, watching the caregiver unsnap the plastic tabs and peel the diaper down to reveal its foul contents.

The girl squirmed weakly; her face flushed red as the caregiver grabbed a wipe and began cleaning her like a toddler — mechanical, efficient, but impossible to ignore. The humiliation radiated off her like heat from a flame, her face screwed up in mortified agony as her legs were lifted high and the caregiver wiped away every trace of her accident.

Ivy shuddered, staring back at the ceiling. That would be her soon — vulnerable and exposed, laid bare for anyone who happened to glance her way. The smell of stale formula and unwashed bodies clung to the air, mingling with the sickly sweet scent of baby powder. She felt sick — more than sick — and yet she knew she would have to endure it. Whether it happened now or later, it was inevitable. No escape. No dignity left to salvage.

The bouncer creaked faintly as Ivy shifted again, her diaper squishing against her skin, warm and clinging. She whimpered softly, curling her fingers into her mittens, trying to keep her breathing steady. The shame swallowed her whole, a black pit opening inside her, threatening to drag her down with it.

You’re still here... she thought bitterly. Still trapped... Still helpless... Still theirs…

Her chest hitched again. A sob threatened to break free, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to breathe slowly, steadily — in through her nose, out through her mouth.

Finn finally returned to her side, kneeling and glancing at her with those same apologetic eyes. He smelled it — Ivy knew he smelled it — but still, he said nothing. He just murmured, “I’ll take care of you soon,” and squeezed her mittened hand.

Ivy couldn’t answer. She only closed her eyes, hot tears streaming down her face as she waited — humiliated, broken, and barely holding on.

Ivy felt her body tremble as her muscles gave out, her breath shuddering in her chest. She groaned softly, her stomach twisting one final time, the last wave of pressure forcing its way out of her. The warm, sticky mass pushed into her already sodden diaper, the foul squelch humiliatingly loud to her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the sobs that threatened to rise again. Her chest hitched, her body shaking as she tried to pretend this wasn’t happening — that she wasn’t lying there like an infant in her own filth.

And then, Finn was there. Kneeling beside her again, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “Are you... done?” His tone wasn’t mocking, nor was it disgusted — just tired. Tired and sad.

Ivy groaned softly, waiting a moment to be sure her stomach wouldn’t betray her again before giving a reluctant nod. Her face burned as she saw Finn’s nose twitch, his grimace betraying the obvious truth — he smelled her, and no amount of kindness in his eyes could hide the revulsion that flickered there. Ivy hated it — hated that she was forcing him into this. No — not her. 

Mistress. Mistress and her sick, twisted games. Finn was just another victim, like her. And Ivy... Ivy was just the conduit. A puppet strung up for Mistress’s cruel sense of humor.

It all happened too fast.

Finn’s fingers brushed the straps of her bouncer, and they unlatched with a mechanical click, releasing Ivy from its padded prison. He barely had to support her; her body was limp and weak, her muscles useless. His arms slipped beneath her, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. She sagged against him, her head resting miserably against his chest. Finn moved carefully, gently — but that didn’t make it any easier.

The living room was deathly quiet. Ivy felt their eyes — the babies in their rockers, the caregivers who had been unfortunate enough to be still present — all watching her, seeing her in this pathetic state. Helpless. Filthy. Humiliated.

The changing mat sat there in the middle of the floor, right in front of the screen where Naomi’s syrupy voice still cooed down at them. Finn knelt, setting Ivy down on the cushioned pad with far more care than Ivy thought she deserved. The straps snapped out instantly, coiling around her wrists and ankles like cold metal snakes. Ivy squirmed weakly, but the mat was relentless. She was trapped — arms pinned, legs parted, her swollen diaper squishing against her as Finn reached for her zipper.

Her sleeper peeled open with agonizing slowness. The air hit her damp skin, cool and merciless, and the rancid scent she had been stewing in rolled outward like a foul cloud. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing sharp and ragged as her shame threatened to drown her. She heard the murmurs — a whispered conversation somewhere nearby — and she knew they were talking about her. How could they not be?

And then, Naomi’s voice. Sickly sweet and mocking.

“Ohhhh, what a good little girl you are!” Naomi’s cartoon face beamed down from the screen. “Filling your diapers like a proper baby! Such a good job!”

Ivy couldn’t breathe. The voice — the words — it all clamped down on her like a crushing weight. She couldn’t stop the tears this time, couldn’t bite back the whimper that escaped her lips. Her chest hitched as she sobbed quietly into the pacifier gag, her breath ragged and weak. Her fingers twitched in her mittens, curling uselessly against the straps.

Finn didn’t say anything — didn’t try to comfort her. He couldn’t. He just worked fast and efficiently, doing what needed to be done. The plastic tabs ripped away with sharp pops, the bloated diaper unfolding beneath her like some grotesque flower. The mess stuck to her skin, thick and warm and vile. She heard Finn’s quiet gag — faint, barely audible — but it still cut her to her core.

He wiped her down with quick, practiced motions, doing his best to be gentle without dragging it out. The cold touch of the wipes made her flinch, her skin raw and tender from hours in her own filth. Each pass made her cringe, her shame boiling beneath her skin like fire. She couldn’t stop crying — the tears just kept coming, hot and silent, dampening her flushed cheeks as Finn cleaned her with quiet precision.

Finn kept his head down, his face pale and pinched as he worked, the sour scent of her humiliation still thick in the air. Ivy knew he was trying not to react, knew he was doing his best to treat this like any other chore—something to be done quickly, quietly, and efficiently. But even still, she saw the flicker of revulsion when he reached for another wipe, the way his breath hitched as he leaned closer to finish the job.

Ivy squeezed her eyes shut again, unable to face him — unable to face any of this. The cold wipes dragged over her skin, each pass making her flinch. The rawness between her legs throbbed painfully, a reminder of just how long she’d been left like that, stewing in her own filth like an unthinking, helpless child. Finn’s fingers brushed against her as he worked — soft, careful touches meant to comfort, but they only added to her shame. She knew he wasn’t doing this to humiliate her, but it didn’t matter. Every moment she spent strapped to that mat, sprawled out and helpless, felt like another nail driven into her pride.

“Oh dear...” Naomi’s syrupy voice cooed down from the screen. “Looks like one of our little babies made a big mess... but that’s okay! Good babies can’t help it when they go potty in their diapers! Isn’t that right, little ones?”

Ivy’s stomach twisted, her face burning so hot she thought her skin might peel away. She heard scattered giggles from the speakers, artificial laughter. 

The cold wipes dragged lower, tracing along her inner thighs, and Ivy felt her body jerk instinctively, a sharp sob forcing its way from her throat. She couldn’t stop herself this time — couldn’t swallow it down. The tears kept spilling, her face streaked and wet, her chest tight and burning. She turned her head away, her breath shuddering behind the pacifier still lodged between her lips. She hated herself for crying, for breaking down like this — but how could she not? She had nothing left to hold onto.

“Awwww,” Naomi sang again. “Don’t be sad, baby girl! You’re doing so well! Doesn’t that feel better? Nice and clean now... like a proper little angel.”

The words twisted like a knife, cutting her pride to ribbons. “Nice and clean.” Like that was something to celebrate. As though she’d earned her dignity back by lying there, helpless, while someone else cleaned up her mess.

Finn’s fingers faltered, and she knew he’d heard Naomi too. He sucked in a breath and muttered, “Ignore her... she’s just...” He shook his head, wiping his palm down his face, and grabbed another wipe. “Just... hang in there, okay?”

Ivy didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed shut, her face still turned away, as if not seeing him would somehow make this less real. She felt the fresh diaper slip beneath her, the cool plastic crinkling against her bare skin. Finn lifted her legs, one hand resting beneath her calves, his grip firm but gentle. The position — her legs bent back over her stomach, her bare bottom suspended in the air — left her feeling more vulnerable than she thought possible. She could feel her wet skin sticking to the fresh diaper as Finn worked another wipe down the last stubborn traces of filth. Another giggle — louder this time — floated from one of the other contestants.

“Such a good baby,” Naomi chimed in again, her voice sticky-sweet. “Getting nice and clean for her new diapee! Isn’t she lucky to have a big, strong caregiver to keep her safe?”

Finn’s face twitched at that, a muscle in his jaw tightening as he balled up the last used wipe and shoved it aside. “You’re okay now,” he murmured, more to himself than to Ivy. “You’re okay.”

The fresh diaper closed over her, its thick padding wrapping securely around her hips before Finn fastened the tapes with quiet precision. The plastic crinkled loudly as he zipped her sleeper back up, sealing her away in the humiliating uniform once more.

Ivy barely felt the straps retracting from her wrists and ankles. She hardly noticed Finn’s hands as they slid beneath her back, lifting her carefully from the mat. All she felt was the suffocating weight of her humiliation — the hot, sticky burn of tears drying on her face as Finn settled her back into the bouncer.

The straps clicked into place automatically, tugging her arms snugly against her sides. The bulk of her fresh diaper pressed tightly beneath her as the seat’s cushioned curve molded around her, trapping her in place once more. She barely had the energy to groan in protest.

Finn lingered for a moment, kneeling beside her. His hand rested lightly on her arm — unsure, awkward — as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I’ll... I’ll be back soon, okay?”

And then he was gone, his footsteps fading as he knelt beside contestant 86 to repeat the changing process..

Ivy lay there, helplessly bound in her seat, the cartoon still playing overhead. Naomi’s sing-song voice drifted over her, sweet and mocking.

“And that’s why good little babies always listen to their caregivers!” Naomi giggled, her cartoon face beaming down at the room. “Because good babies know they need someone to take care of them... even if they’re too little to understand why!”

Ivy closed her eyes, tears stinging behind her lids once more. She felt her chest tighten again, that awful mix of shame and rage boiling beneath her skin — but she couldn’t let it out. Not here. Not now.

Instead, she lay quietly in her bouncer, her face burning and her stomach twisted in knots.

Because the worst part wasn’t the shame.

It was the knowledge that she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Ivy's mind churned as the cartoon’s saccharine melody played on, a twisted mockery of comfort in the oppressive silence that filled the room. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, her breaths shallow and uneven. The shame of her recent change still clung to her like a layer of filth that no amount of cleaning could scrub away. But as her thoughts slowly began to clear, something else crept into her awareness — something far more unsettling.

The cartoon. It had spoken to her.

Not in some generic, broad-strokes way, either — no vague platitudes about being good or sharing with friends. No. Naomi’s voice had called her a good baby — right when Finn was taping her into a clean diaper. The timing had been too perfect. Naomi's words — sickeningly sweet and far too specific — had felt like they were aimed directly at her.

Ivy swallowed hard, her fingers twitching weakly in her mittens. That had to be a coincidence… right? Just random timing. Nothing more than the twisted luck that came with Mistress’s games. There was no way this cartoon — this pre-recorded, repetitive, mindless garbage — could be tailored to individual contestants. That wasn’t possible. Was it?

But the more she thought about it, the harder it was to dismiss. Mistress had proven, again and again, that there was no limit to her control. Everything — from the meals they were forced to eat to the humiliating outfits they were locked inside — had been calculated and curated to break them down. Every second of their suffering was broadcasted, recorded, and manipulated to suit whatever cruel narrative Mistress wanted to spin.

Could the cartoon be part of it, too?

A shiver crawled up Ivy’s spine. No... no, that’s ridiculous. The thought was absurd. There was no way they had some kind of live, custom commentary running for each contestant. That was paranoid thinking — her exhausted, terrified brain playing tricks on her.

It had to be a coincidence…

And yet…

Ivy bit down on her pacifier gag, suppressing a groan of frustration. Suddenly, she wished she had her bear — her strange, whispering bear with its cryptic warnings and hints. As much as she hated the stupid thing — as much as its presence unnerved her — at least the bear had helped her. It had whispered insights, guided her through puzzles, and even saved her from making mistakes.

She hoped it was still sitting in her crib. Her crib... Ivy's breath hitched as the words formed in her mind. The very idea that she had started to think of it that way — her crib — left her stomach turning.

It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t her bed. It was a cage. A prison cell with a padded mattress and metal bars that locked her inside each night like some overgrown infant.

Her skin crawled at the memory of waking up that morning — trapped in her mess, helpless until Finn had come to rescue her. The memory of her weak, trembling body — unable even to crawl, forced to rely on someone else just to move — clawed at her pride like a dull, rusted blade.

They’re breaking you down, she thought bitterly. One day at a time. One humiliation after the other... until you forget who you are.

The screen flickered overhead, and Naomi’s voice rose in that insufferable sing-song lilt, cooing some nonsense about being “Mommy’s perfect little angel.” Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach twisting. The syrupy words crawled under her skin like insects — too warm, too personal. It didn’t just sound like the cartoon was talking to her... it felt like it knew her like it knew exactly how much shame she carried and was feeding off it.

Ivy clutched her fingers tightly in her mittens, pressing them hard against her palms as her breath hitched. She needed to focus — she needed to pull her thoughts together. There had to be a way to fight back. There had to be something she could do.

But right now... strapped in her bouncer, exhausted and humiliated, all Ivy could do was sit and seethe — trapped inside her own body, surrounded by false cheer and mocking voices.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow, I’ll figure this out... tomorrow…

But deep down, she wasn’t sure how many tomorrows she had left.