The room was too bright. The stark, clinical light gleamed off smooth, metallic walls, reflecting in a way that made everything feel sharper and more surreal. Ivy squinted as she stepped forward, her eyes adjusting to the sudden shift. The air smelled sterile, with an underlying note of something artificial—like plastic—and vaguely sweet.

Her gaze swept the vast chamber, and her stomach clenched.

Six massive liquid tanks lined the perimeter of the room, each one towering high, their contents an opaque, swirling mixture. Tubes coiled like mechanical vines from their bases, snaking across the floor and leading to—

Chairs.

Nine of them per tank.

Ivy's breath hitched, a ripple of unease crawling up her spine. The chairs were bolted in perfect rows, facing the tanks as if waiting for their occupants. 

She swallowed hard, a sense of dread thickening in her throat.

Behind her, the others filed in, their hushed footsteps faltering as they took in the sight. Low murmurs filled the air, tinged with confusion, laced with fear. Finn stepped up beside her, his expression grim. Clara clutched Jamie’s arm, her knuckles white.

And then, with an almost imperceptible hiss, the door slid shut behind them.

The clunk of the lock was deafening.

A collective shudder passed through the room. No one spoke, but Ivy knew they all thought the same thing.

They weren’t getting out of here until Mistress decided they could.

She forced herself to breathe, but it felt shallow, useless. The weight of inevitability pressed down on her, settling into her bones. Mistress’s voice crackled to life, smooth and dripping with condescension, wrapping around them like silk laced with steel.

“Welcome, my darlings, to your third trial,” she purred. “I hope you’re well-rested because today’s game will require teamwork and… endurance.”

Ivy stiffened. That last word sent a ripple of unease through the room.

Mistress continued, unbothered. “You will now form teams of nine. Step beside one of the stations, and don’t keep me waiting.”

The command hung in the air, stretching the tension like a taut wire.

Ivy exhaled sharply, exchanging a glance with Finn. There was no hesitation, no words—just a mutual understanding. They needed to stick together. She turned to Clara, Jamie, and Thomas, who were already looking at her for direction. Even contestant 56 hovered close, her expression wary but determined. Ivy still needed the girl’s name, but now wasn’t the time.

Without further thought, they moved as a unit, stepping toward one of the looming liquid tanks. The others around them hesitated at first, casting nervous glances at one another, but soon, bodies shifted and teams formed.

The room was alive with murmurs—contestants sizing one another up, quiet calculations made, alliances and tensions reinforced in real-time—the shuffling of feet and the soft creak of movement built into a slow crescendo of anticipation.

And then, stillness.

The teams were formed.

Ivy swallowed, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs as she looked at the station before her. The chairs sat silently and empty, waiting. The tank loomed above them, its opaque liquid swirling ominously.

Mistress let the moment linger, letting them feel the weight of what was to come. Finally, her velvet-smooth voice returned, laced with amusement.

“Good,” she crooned. “Let’s begin.”

Ivy hesitated as Mistress’s next command slithered through the speakers.

“Take your seats, my little ones. Get comfortable.”

Comfortable? The word sent a ripple of unease through her. Nothing about these trials has been comfortable so far. Still, she swallowed her apprehension and stepped closer, finally getting a proper look at the chair she was about to sit in.

It looked cushioned—well-padded, even—its structure contoured to cradle the occupant snugly. Armrests extended outward, solid and unmoving, and above them, a cushioned headrest. It was designed for full-body support, eerily reminiscent of something meant for medical restraint.

But what caught her eye was the button—positioned neatly on the right armrest, within easy reach of her thumb.

What was it for?

Curiosity gnawed at her, but before she could dwell on it, a deep breath from Finn pulled her back to reality. His expression was tight, unreadable, but he gave her a barely perceptible nod.

There's no use fighting it.

With a reluctant sigh, Ivy turned and lowered herself into the seat, feeling the give of the padding beneath her. The rest of her team followed suit, their movements hesitant.

The moment the last contestant sat, the room filled with clicks.

Sharp, mechanical, inescapable.

A chorus of panicked yelps erupted as Ivy’s wrists were yanked down, heavy restraints snapping over them like steel jaws. She gasped, instinctively jerking against them, but they didn’t budge. A second later, her ankles were locked into place as well, pinning her securely.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Panic surged in her chest as she turned to the others, finding the same wide-eyed fear reflected at her. Clara was already struggling against the bindings, Jamie’s breathing had gone shallow, and Finn—though outwardly composed—had tightened his jaw in the way he did when trying to suppress fear.

A hiss filled the air.

The chairs moved.

Ivy’s breath caught as she felt the seat beneath her shift, tilting back slowly and deliberately. She was rising, her body angled backward, and her head tilted upward toward the liquid tank in the center.

She could see it now, looming above her. Swirling. Opaque.

Her restraints held firm as she lay fully reclined, her body locked in place.

Something deep in her gut told her they had just crossed another threshold they couldn’t step back from.

Mistress’s voice returned, laced with amusement.

“Now… let’s have some real fun.”

Ivy barely had a second to process Mistress’s ominous words before she felt it—

A soft tickling sensation against her lower back.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she thought it was just her nerves, a phantom feeling born of anxiety. But then it moved.

Her eyes went wide.

Something—several somethings—were slithering along the seat beneath her, pressing lightly against her, searching, probing.

A sharp yelp burst from her throat as she felt something breach the fabric of her sleeper, slipping through an unseen opening near the leg cuff of her diaper. The sensation was foreign, invasive, a mechanical precision that sent a jolt of pure panic through her veins.

Around her, similar cries echoed through the room.

She wasn’t alone.

She could hear the gasps, the stifled sobs, the choked-out curses of the other contestants as they felt the same unwelcome intrusion. The knowledge did nothing to ease her terror. If anything, it made it worse.

Her breath came in ragged bursts, her body rigid against the restraints as the object wormed its way deeper. A tear slipped down her temple.

She clenched her fists, her bound wrists trembling as she fought against the panic clawing up her throat. She felt the thing slipping past the leak guard of her diaper, pressing against her rear. Her eyes went wide as she tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go as the thing penetrated her, making her cry out in agony before she felt it stop, intruding only a few inches into her rectum. Moments later, she felt what could only be described as a bulb inflating, locking itself inside her.

Above her, the liquid in the tank swirled lazily, the ominous hum of machinery filling the room.

Mistress’s voice returned, sultry and dripping with delight.

“Relax, my dears,” she purred. “This is only the beginning.”

With a loud CLUNK, the tank in front of Ivy lit up, glowing ominously as indicators along its sides flickered to life. Thin, digital lines stretched upward, marking measurement levels in careful increments—empty at the bottom, full at the top.

Ivy’s stomach twisted as she realized what it meant.

Mistress’s voice slithered through the speakers, thick with amusement.

“Ah, my little ones, welcome to your third trial,” she cooed, her words curling around them like silk and steel. “This one is quite simple. Those lovely tubes in your poor bums? They won’t be coming out anytime soon.”

A fresh wave of gasps and choked sobs rippled through the room. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming fast and shallow.

“The task before you is straightforward,” Mistress continued a delighted lilt in her tone. “The liquid in your tank must be consumed. Every last drop. The first team to drain theirs will be victorious.”

Ivy’s eyes snapped back to the glowing tank, its contents swirling with an unnatural, creamy thickness. Her entire body recoiled at the implication.

“You’ll find a delightful little button on the armrest to your right,” Mistress continued smoothly. “Press it, and your filling will begin. Don’t press it, and… you might find yourselves lagging.”

Ivy’s fingers twitched, hovering over the smooth surface of the button beside her. She didn’t want to touch it. She didn’t even want to look at it.

Mistress let the silence drag, letting the weight of her words settle in before she delivered the final blow.

“Oh, and one last thing,” she added, her grin almost audible. “The tubes are secured in place, my dears. There is no escape. The only question left is… how long will you fight it?”

With that, the speakers clicked off.

The room was deathly silent.

Ivy could hear her breath, quick and ragged. She could hear the soft, stifled sobs of other contestants—the sound of bodies straining against their restraints.

But mostly, she could hear it—the waiting.

The trial had begun.

And all that stood between her and inevitable humiliation was a single press of a button.

Ivy’s breath hitched as she shared wide-eyed looks with her team. The same silent question passed between them—what should they do?

Clara was shaking, her fingers hovering just over her button, while Jamie’s jaw was set tight, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests. Finn’s gaze flicked between the tank and his restraints, his face unreadable. Contestant 56 looked like she might be sick.

Ivy swallowed hard, heart hammering in her chest. They couldn’t just sit here.

Her hand trembled as she hesitantly, almost fearfully, pressed the button beneath her fingers.

The response was immediate.

The tank in front of her gurgled, the liquid inside sloshing upward as bubbles rushed to the surface. A deep, mechanical slosh sounded from within the chair, and then—

Warmth.

A gush of liquid surged into her, filling her lower abdomen with a sudden, invasive heat.

Ivy gasped, her body jolting as the sensation caught her completely off guard. The warmth spread deep inside her, unnerving and foreign, stretching her in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

Her breathing hitched, fingers clutching the armrests as she tried to process the sudden fullness.

The others heard her reaction—Clara whimpered, Jamie stiffened, and Finn shot her a panicked glance. But Ivy barely saw them.

Her focus was locked on the tank in front of her.

The indicator had moved.

A single notch lower.

One tiny fraction closer to being empty.

And the realization sank in like ice water in her veins. This was going to take a while.

Finn’s voice was soft, hesitant. “Ivy… are you okay?”

She swallowed hard, feeling the lingering warmth in her belly, the unsettling weight of the liquid inside her. Heat flared in her cheeks as she nodded, but she hesitated when she opened her mouth to speak.

How was she supposed to explain this?

Finally, she muttered, “It… fills you. All at once. It’s warm, and…” She shuddered, unable to find the words, but her face said enough.

The rest of the team looked on in silent horror, their gazes flickering between her and the buttons beneath their fingers.

“This can’t be real,” Jamie breathed, shaking his head. “She can’t expect us to do this.”

But even as he said it, doubt wavered in his voice.

Because if there was anything they had learned about Mistress and her twisted games… it was that she absolutely could expect this of them.

Ivy’s stomach churned as she glanced at the other teams.

She saw it almost immediately—small streams of bubbles rising in the tanks across the room.

Her chest tightened.

One by one, contestants on other teams were hesitantly pressing their buttons, their faces twisting with discomfort as their tanks drained ever so slightly.

The rest of Ivy’s team saw it, too.

A long, heavy silence stretched between them, dread thick enough to suffocate.

And then—

Finn exhaled sharply, bracing himself as he pressed his button.

The moment the liquid surged into him, his entire body tensed, his face twisting in discomfort. A groan slipped from his lips before he could stop it, his fingers gripping the armrests as the heat spread through his gut.

Clara was next, squeezing her eyes shut as she pressed the button with trembling fingers. The warmth invaded her, and she let out a quiet, choked whimper. Her toes curled against the footrests, and her stomach bloated slightly beneath the sleeper.

The tank level dipped again.

The realization was undeniable now.

This was what Mistress wanted.

And the only way forward… Was to keep going.

Ivy’s breath hitched as she spotted another team’s tank draining alarmingly. Ivy’s team was losing.

Panic surged through her.

Without thinking, she slammed her button again. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.

Her body jerked with each gush of warm liquid forced into her. The sensation was instant and overwhelming—her bowels swelling, the fullness pressing deeper inside her. Too fast. Too much.

A sharp cramp twisted in her gut, and she groaned, her legs trembling against the restraints as heat flushed up her neck and into her cheeks.

Across the team, the others followed her lead—Clara whimpered as she mashed her button, her body going rigid as another rush filled her. Jamie gritted his teeth, his jaw locked in determination as he forced himself through the humiliation.

But one of them… wasn’t playing along.

Ivy blinked through the haze of discomfort, her gaze locking onto the boy sitting stiffly in his chair, hands clenched into fists, his button untouched.

Finn noticed it, too. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was strained, desperate.

The boy shook his head. “I—I can’t,” he muttered, his voice shaky and his expression twisted in defiance and fear. “This is insane. I want no part of it.”

Ivy’s stomach twisted, but not from the liquid.

“Please,” Clara begged, her voice barely a whisper. “We need you.”

Jamie shot the boy a pleading look. “If we lose, we’re done. You know that.”

But the boy didn’t budge. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his fingers trembling, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful.

The tank level was dropping—slowly. Too slowly.

Other teams were gaining.

They were falling behind.

Ivy’s fingers hovered over her button, her gut already cramping under the sheer volume of liquid inside her. But she knew—it wasn’t enough.

Their survival hinged on one choice.

And the boy before them was running out of time to make it.

Ivy gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants as a deep, unbearable pressure coiled inside her gut. Instinctively, she pushed, desperate to relieve the overwhelming fullness—but nothing happened.

Her body trembled as a sharp, twisting cramp surged through her, forcing a strangled groan from her lips. Her belly, already swollen beneath the thick fabric of her sleeper, seemed to rebel against her efforts.

It wouldn’t come out.

A surge of panic hit her like a wave.

She wasn’t alone.

Around her, teammates squirmed in their seats, their faces twisted in distress. Clara gasped, her eyes wide as she rocked in place, a helpless whimper slipping past her lips. Jamie gritted his teeth, his fists clenching against the armrests as he twisted in his restraints, trying—failing—to expel the liquid now painfully trapped inside him.

Ivy’s breaths came faster, shallower.

Something was wrong.

Her mind raced. Why? Why couldn’t they release it?

Then, the realization struck her like ice down her spine.

The chairs.

The mechanical restraints that had locked them down—the tubes that had invaded them. It wasn’t just feeding the liquid into them.

It was keeping it there.

A strangled whimper escaped her throat.

The pressure was unbearable, and her stomach stretched further with every second. Yet, across the room, other teams were winning.

She flicked her gaze to the tanks, her heart pounding in her ears. The liquid levels in other groups were nearing empty. They were so close.

Her stomach twisted violently, her body screaming at her to stop.

But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

With a sob of frustration, Ivy forced her shaking hand to press the button again.

A fresh gush of warmth surged into her, pressing her gut even tighter, her insides aching as her head lolled back against the headrest. A strangled cry slipped from her lips, her vision blurring at the edges.

Her body was past its limit. And yet, the trial continued.

The sharp BZZT of the buzzer sent a jolt through Ivy’s already exhausted body. Her head snapped toward the sound, her heart pounding wildly.

A team had finished.

A chorus of startled yelps filled the air—then, almost in eerie unison, the winning team let out deep, guttural groans. Ivy’s stomach twisted. What was happening to them?

Before she could process it, another BZZT rang out. Another team had reached the end. More groans followed.

Ivy's face paled.

What happens when a team finishes?

She had no idea.

And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

The tension in her team snapped like a frayed wire. In near-perfect synchronization, they slammed their buttons, their voices cracking as they forced themselves to endure more, to hold just a little longer, to win.

Only one holdout remained.

Ivy’s eyes locked onto him, her voice raw as she screamed, “PRESS THE DAMN BUTTON!”

Clara whimpered, “Please!”

Jamie’s voice was a desperate rasp. “If we don’t finish, we’re—”

Another BZZT.

Another team was done.

The boy’s face contorted, shame burning across his skin, his hand trembling over the button.

He pressed it.

A strangled gasp ripped from his throat as the machine responded immediately, flooding his insides with warmth. His whole body shook in humiliation, but it didn’t matter.

He’d done it.

Ivy’s chest heaved, her stomach swollen, her body screaming for relief.

And then—

BZZT.

Her blood ran cold.

Another team had finished.

They were running out of time.

The question burned in her skull like a brand: Had her team done enough?

Ivy’s head rolled back against the padded rest, her breath coming in ragged, shallow pants. Her entire body screamed in protest, her gut swollen to its absolute limit.

And then—

BZZT.

A sharp jolt of panic shot through her veins.

No.

They had just lost. They had—

Her blurry vision cleared just enough to catch the glowing indicator on their tank.

Empty.

They had finished!

The realization slammed into her with overwhelming relief. She gasped, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. They had done it.

But the moment of triumph was fleeting.

A sudden hiss rang through the chair beneath her. Ivy barely had time to register it before a sharp tug between her legs made her gasp.

The tube inside her deflated and slid free.

A shudder of relief coursed through her at the slight easing of pressure, her overfilled belly no longer being force-fed its torment. For half a second, her body felt almost weightless.

And then—

It happened.

A deep, violent cramp clenched her gut, stealing her breath away. A choked sob escaped her lips as her abused muscles gave out entirely.

There was no stopping it.

A sickening gurgle vibrated through her core before her bowels erupted, the built-up liquid gushing out of her in an unstoppable wave.

Ivy’s entire frame jerked, her body involuntarily pushing as warmth exploded into the already thick padding strapped around her waist.

The sheer force of the release made her whimper, her legs twitching in their restraints.

Her diaper bulged, swelling rapidly, the once-soft padding now sagging beneath the sheer volume of its new contents.

Her stomach churned as she kept going, wave after wave forcing its way out, hot and heavy, pressing thickly against her. The chair she was bound to, unwavering in it’s resolve to hold her steady, her mess having nowhere to go but out, between her legs and up her rear.

The sensation was unbearable.

It was endless.

And worse—

She wasn’t alone.

Around her, soft, choked cries filled the air as her teammates succumbed to the same fate.

Ivy barely managed to turn her head, her face burning with humiliation, just in time to see Clara’s wide, teary eyes squeeze shut as she let out a broken, defeated moan.

The team groaned in unison, their bodies shaking as they soiled themselves completely.

Their victory had come at a cost. And Mistress had ensured that none of them would escape it.

Ivy barely registered the BZZT, signaling the end of the trial. She barely processed the triumphant cheers of the winning teams nor the stunned silence of those who had just endured what she had.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and humiliating, as she felt every sickening shift of her diaper, the sheer weight of her accident pressing against her in a way that made her want to crawl out of her skin.

And then—

Mistress’s voice slithered through the speakers, cruel and saccharine.

“Ah, my sweet little ones… what a delightful effort you’ve made. But as we know… not everyone can be a winner.”

Ivy’s dazed mind barely processed the words, her head lolling to the side, trying—desperately—to breathe through the overwhelming stench of the room.

And then, the screaming started.

She blinked sluggishly, looking toward the final two teams that had failed.

Their chairs had begun to sink.

Into the floor, still strapped in.

The contestants strapped down were thrashing, screaming, begging, their voices raw with panic.

“NO! WAIT! PLEASE—”

The trap doors above them slammed shut.

Cutting off their screams.

Ivy’s breath hitched in her throat.

Her team sat in stunned horror, panting, trembling, soiled beyond comprehension… but alive.

Mistress sighed happily over the speakers.

“And then… there were thirty-six.”

The number glowed brightly on the wall as the jackpot ticked higher.

$1,850,000.

Ivy’s whole body shuddered.

Whatever happened to the eliminated contestants, it was final.

She swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat.

They were still here, still in the game.

Ivy barely registered the sensation of Finn’s hands gripping her arms, steadying her trembling frame as she rose unsteadily to her feet, she hadn’t even realized the restraints unlocked themselves. Every slight movement sent a disgusting, wet squish through her diaper, making her stomach churn. She felt the sheer weight of it sagging between her legs, the warmth clinging to her skin in the most violating way possible.

She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.

This was her reality now.

Her breath hitched as she caught sight of Jamie, his face twisted with fury as he shoved the boy who had hesitated.

“You almost got us eliminated!” Jamie spat, his voice sharp with unfiltered rage. “What the hell were you thinking?! We were this close—this close—to getting dropped like the rest of them!”

The boy stumbled back; his hands raised defensively, guilt and shame painting his features. “I—I just couldn’t—” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t—”

Jamie shoved him again, forcing the boy back another step.

“We had one job! One!” Jamie’s chest heaved, his body rigid with barely contained anger. “And you sat there like a coward while the rest of us—” His voice cut off as he gestured wildly at their disgusting states, the revolting evidence of their suffering pressing against all of them. “We all suffered through that! But no, you had to hesitate—”

“Jamie, stop,” Finn cut in sharply, stepping forward and touching his shoulder. “Enough.”

Jamie snapped his head toward Finn, his nostrils flaring. “Enough? He nearly got us eliminated!”

“And yet, here we are,” Finn countered, his voice hard but even. His fingers tightened on Jamie’s shoulder in a silent warning. “Alive. Move on.”

Jamie shook him off, his fists clenched, but after a long, heavy silence, he exhaled through gritted teeth and turned away.

The boy sagged, his head dropping, his shame almost suffocating.

Ivy wanted to feel sorry for him, but…

The horrible squish between her legs, the sheer indignity of what she had just endured, made sympathy a little harder to muster.

Jamie wasn't wrong.

One moment of hesitation. One moment of cowardice.

That was all it took.

Ivy let out a shaky breath, willing herself to remain composed.

They had survived, but the Trials weren’t over.

And this afternoon, they would be babies.

Ivy barely registered Mistress’s voice, her ears ringing with exhaustion and humiliation. The saccharine tone grated against her frayed nerves as she stood there, trapped in the hot, heavy filth clinging to her skin. The words of congratulations meant nothing—it was all just another layer of mockery.

A screen near the exit flashed to life, illuminating the room with its cold, sterile glow. It displayed the new assignments, the list of caregivers, and their designated babies for the night. A few contestants murmured, craning their necks to see, but Ivy didn’t even bother looking.

She couldn’t.

The only thing on her mind was escaping this disgusting nightmare.

Her breath hitched as she shifted ever so slightly, the vile squish between her legs sending another shudder down her spine. Every movement was a fresh reminder of her degradation.

She had to get out of this. Now.

Finn gently touched her arm, guiding her toward the door. She let him—her legs felt like lead, her body unwilling to move without prompting.

It didn't matter who was in charge tonight.

All that mattered was getting changed.

Ivy gasped in shock and surprise as she felt her sleeper tighten and constrict, bending her knees against her will. Her arms shot out on instinct, palms slapping against the cold floor as she caught herself before face-planting.

Around her, gasps and startled cries filled the room, every remaining baby experiencing the same humiliating fate. The sleeves and legs of their sleepers stiffened, locking them into place.

Forced onto all fours.

Finn grunted beside her, his body trembling as he tried—and failed—to push himself upright. "What the hell?!"

Ivy panted, her breath uneven, her heart pounding against her ribs. She tried to move, tried to fight it, but every time she attempted to rise, the sleeper pushed her back down, the fabric pressing against her joints like an unyielding force.

Mistress's silken voice returned, dripping with amusement.

"Much better."

A mocking chuckle echoed through the speakers, slithering into Ivy’s ears like a venomous whisper.

"Babies, after all, should crawl, not walk."

Ivy clenched her teeth, humiliation mounting as the truth settled over them like a suffocating weight.

They had been reduced even further.

A few contestants whimpered, some cursed, but Mistress was already moving on, her tone as sweet as poison.

"Enjoy your evening, my little ones," she cooed. "Tonight’s treats are extra special… just for you."

A horrible chill shot through Ivy’s spine.

The speakers clicked off.

Silence.

She swallowed hard, her fingers digging into the floor as she exchanged a panicked glance with Finn.

And then, slowly, the door to the trial room slid open.