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[Nighthawk]

Greetings and Salutations, readers. The following is a work of fiction; any and all similarities to persons living or dead is coicidental, the themes and topics discussed and described herein are of a mature and adult nature, regardless of content, and therefore by proceeding further you acknowledge that this is what you clicked on this thread for, and assume all liability for getting caught reading it by anyone. This story is the property of the author--Nighthawk--and is published here for the reading enjoyment of the ABDLStoryforum community: please do not re-post or archive this story, whole or in part, at any other site or source without my written consent. Please read responsibly.

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The Caretaker’s House

Chapter One

   There are some secrets kept so well that no one outside a sacred circle is wise to them. Likewise, there are secrets that are so well known, so commonplace as to be almost public knowledge—but referred to in hushed tones by those in the know—thus earning the distinction of being considered an ‘open’ secret. The Caretaker’s House was a tolerably well kept open secret, known only in person to a few young women, but known to many more at one or two removes via the Internet, a place spoken of both with respect and suspicion. Those who testified of their experiences there spoke of it in terms that ranged from benignly positive to glowing, while those who read these accounts (the ones at one or two removes) received them positively on the whole, while some within this group reacted adversely, opposing the existence of the House and what it did, for reasons generally surmised to be because the House hosted activities that the others coveted, but could not provide for with similar ease.

   One of the primary negative responses to the Caretaker’s House was the rule that only women were admitted. In the group that the Caretaker’s House was known, men were the overwhelming majority, at least in terms of outspoken representatives, and women were, by and large, a coveted minority. Some men lobbied hard to be included in the House’s activities, but each time firmly rebuffed by the Caretaker himself. The Caretaker it was who owned the House, the Caretaker it was who set the rules of the House, and the Caretaker intended to carry on in this method whether the Internet approved of his conduct or not, emphasizing his absolute power over the House with such commanding finality, even on the Internet, that the majority—in this case, reasonable people who saw no profitable end in pursuing their argument for gender equality at the House—respected the decision and spread their attention across the broader landscape of the quasi-hidden world that was the overarching alternative lifestyle choice represented by the group as a whole. Sadly, several people refused to take ‘no’ for an answer, and continued to apply steady pressure to the Caretaker to be included in his annual events. As the pressure increased, the Caretaker took steps to become harder to reach, making full use of the burgeoning and constantly-evolving social media landscape to isolate himself from those he did not wish to associate with, or be accosted by. Attempts to circumvent the barriers usually resulted in negative consequences for the persecutor, usually for the reason that while not all approved of the Caretaker or his ways, the Caretaker’s reputation by word from so many mouths increased his value, and added to his allies, allies who themselves had certain administrative powers, and who valued the Caretaker in their own ways.

   However, too much negative attention has its consequences, and the vicious truth of the modern digital world is that enough negative attention in one isolated corner can spread to other corners, corners where representatives of other lifestyles, similar or not, lurked and watched. Some of these representatives were there simply to heap derision or to attack for the simple reason of existence, but others were there for entirely different purposes. So it was that after a time the Caretaker and his House appeared on the radar of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

   It was a quiet appearance at first, a new variable catalogued and sorted in the elephantine but efficient world of the executors of law and order, exciting no comment, drawing no immediate investigation, and in general becoming one of hundreds and thousands of other variables sorted and catalogued in databases, perhaps one day to be called upon. It didn’t become noisy until some of those disenfranchised few who felt they had a bone to pick with the Caretaker began to spread rumors of illegal activities happening at the House, starting at first with confused and disjointed ramblings about illegal substances, drug abuse, prostitution, sexual assault, and other similarly unsavory doings. Some of these hits were noted and catalogued as well, and the entry for the Caretaker grew. However, nothing was concrete enough to warrant any further attention, and so the matter was left at that, and while new data points were added or appended as necessary, the FBI had better things to do than look into a flame war among fetishists who were having tantrums because they couldn’t go out and play. Some of the people at the FBI who watched these things for specific trends that did merit the FBI’s attention afforded themselves a chuckle over coffee about the strange things people did to amuse themselves, while in the backs of their minds they all knew that some of those strange things were dangerous indeed.

   When a particularly nasty rumor popped up, it had the spectacular good fortune (for itself, not for the Caretaker) to appear at the same time as another long-running case spread across numerous states and many branches of the Bureau began to gather steam and move towards that satisfying resolution when those who did wrong were pulled from their dark warrens and thrown kicking and screaming into the light of justice, bound by law and steel, when cases could be closed and handshakes and commendations could be handed out for jobs well done. The reason the Caretaker came to the attention of this larger case was because of its similarity in terms of activities (real or alleged) that the FBI was pursuing with the intent to shut down. It was an evil that the FBI had a special loathing for, as did all right-thinking men and women on God’s green earth. It was exploitation of the innocent, abuse, and in its own way horrifying, and few things gratified the agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation more than putting an end to such capers.

   The white whale they were close to harpooning for good and all was a child pornography ring. They had names, they had postal addresses, they had phone numbers, and they had criminal histories, everything they needed to start reeling in the heavily laden net. When the Caretaker was accused of being in collusion with child pornographers, the FBI looked into him as well, intending to determine his guilt or his innocence while simultaneously moving forward with the case as a whole. The usual routine for such matters was put into practice at once. Accounts on forums were created, personas were crafted, and the hunt was on. The Caretaker was researched by people who were masters of their trade, and all initial evidence pointed to a quiet person who kept to himself, had a (mostly) glowing digital reputation, and seemed to be nothing more than an average American with a secret he didn’t want to see spread. The FBI was fine with that. What they were not fine with was the possibility that this quiet façade obscured sins for which the price must be paid. However, the initial investigation was turning up nothing linking the Caretaker or his House to the child pornographers the FBI was actively and very clandestinely pursuing. While some of the users they were digitally stalking frequented the same forums the Caretaker did, there was no evidence of relations that went beyond banal posts to forum threads that in and of themselves were neither illegal or otherwise damning (unless there were sticklers for grammar about). The more they dug, the more they came up empty-handed. But… there was still that one possibility that everything they saw was a cleverly built ruse. The FBI was close to one of the biggest child porn busts the world had ever seen. They didn’t want to let anyone slip through the cracks, they wanted every last criminal brought to justice. The loose end had to be tied off. There wasn’t one agent involved in the case, some who had been with it for years, who would tolerate a mistake or a lost opportunity. And so, after the research was completed, the determination was made to insert someone into the Caretaker’s House. That meant a suitable agent had to be located who would fit his particular rules and who could eventually gain enough trust to be admitted into a sacred circle of people who dealt with him personally.

   In this regard the FBI had considerable resources, but time and location were important. The Bureau wanted no mistakes, so the usual order of business was a thorough, methodical investigation within the investigation. However, the pressure from on high was enough to cause some things, like the selection of a suitable agent, to be fast-tracked. The FBI searched its database, eliminating numerous candidates because of distance, involvement with other cases, or other variables they felt would be detrimental to the cause. Finally, the most likely candidates were selected (several instead of one just to be safe—no one was going to be forced into the position) and their respective superiors spoke to them about the case, their role, and its importance to the investigation as a whole. The first and second candidates to be offered the role (for role it would be) asked to be excused for logical reasons: one cited her inexperience with such cases and the fact that another case more in line with her skills had just begun. The other had just gotten engaged and in her excess of happy emotions was concerned that she might be pregnant, and asked to be excused because she had absolutely no desire to jeopardize her blissfully happy relationship with her brand new fiancé.

   Special Agent Francesca Bowden was the third candidate to be offered the role and she accepted, viewing it, quite correctly, as a way to get noticed and perhaps a way onto the fast track to the higher profile branches of the Bureau, the bigger cases, the better perks, and all the bragging rights that came with them. She was average height, brown hair that was so light as to be blond, green eyes, and closer to the end of her twenties than she cared to admit. She sat down with the Assistant Special Agent in Charge (ASAC) Charles North of her branch to learn about the assignment she had accepted.

   “He’s called the Caretaker,” the somewhat gruff, older man began, putting a file folder down in front of Francesca. “As of now we don’t have a name, a photo, an address, or a phone number, which is where you come in. You’re going to get us these details, or as many of them as you can, as quickly as you can.”

   Francesca opened the file. “What sort of… caretaking… does he do?” she asked as she read the file’s preface. “Fetishists?”

   He nodded. “Yes. All the particulars, or at least what we know, is in the file folder. Some weird stuff, sure, but nothing that at face value looks dangerous. Kinks, most of it. But, some folks we’re looking at with a much bigger case are starting to throw some mud and this guy could be dirty. We need to know one way or the other.”
   Francesca put two and two together. “How deep do I need to go?”

   “Deep enough to find out whether this guy is dangerous or not. The bigger case involves a pretty big and widespread child porn ring, and the brass are hot to bring it down sooner rather than later. They also want a clean sweep, no stone left unturned, that sort of thing. Look over the material, go check out some of those web addresses, starting putting together your way in. You’ve got about a week to pre-game yourself, and then it’s off to the races. You’ll be on special assignment with the local branch; they’re already putting together an apartment for you. You’ll report to the local ASAC and SAIC, but our branch is in on this big case, too, so I’ll be in the loop as well.”

   Francesca closed the file and stood up. “Sounds pretty straightforward; I’ll get started right away.”

   “Good hunting,” North said as he dismissed her.

   Francesca left his office and returned to her desk with the file in hand. She read through the file completely before she even started with her computer, making some notes on a scratch pad, becoming more and more amazed as the minutes went by. Fetishists, indeed… clothiers, toys for various purposes, and diapers. It was the diapers that got Francesca the most, being something so out of left field for her that at first she didn’t know what to make of it. When she did at last turn to her computer to begin looking at the digital copies of the case file, Francesca started with the Internet forums, first. Simple and straightforward… but havens for people with a particular interest Francesca hadn’t been aware of until then. People who enjoy wearing and using diapers? Such a thing really existed? Francesca also discovered the support group element, noticing that some of the people frequenting the forums were people who legitimately needed diapers for one reason or another, and who liked to be among people who wouldn’t scorn them.

   The first order of business was to look into the Caretaker himself, read his messages, get a feel for what sort of person he was. Fairly straightforward, no beating about the bush; it was largely direct and to the point. He seemed to concentrate the bulk of his posts in general discussions about the lifestyle—which included people who called themselves diaper lovers and adult babies—as well as to personal ads involving young women looking for particular services or activities. What Francesca found the most interesting was that he did not always suggest himself, but referred several to other providers depending on location and their availability. Some of his posts were also to be found in a section of the forums dealing with stories involving diapers and what they called age play, mostly criticism in a positive sense. Thus far, she had determined that he was an active member of this community, a person who commanded a certain respect, and who was not, strictly speaking, in it all for himself. She flagged some of the other providers of services the Caretaker had referenced for later review by herself and shifted gears.

   The next part of her investigation was to look at some of the clothiers and specialty retailers. She first looked at the age play clothes and was amazed to find adult-sized children’s and toddler’s clothes, both for boys and girls—men and women, she reminded herself—in everything from sleepwear to Sunday’s best. Francesca had to admit that some of the outfits were cute, particularly the childish sundresses and some of the onesies had cute designs on them. Referencing some of the posts and threads the Caretaker had been involved with, she knew that some of his… clients? Friends? Had made purchases from these retailers for their own particular style of age play. Francesca minimized the webpage and leaned back in her chair for a moment to organize her thoughts. At face value, everything was on the level, although by Francesca’s standards, very much from left field. It was escapism, pure and simple, just like any other hobby or interest that separated someone from a daily life that was either too stressful or something they didn’t enjoy, and that was something that Francesca could understand.

   That understanding didn’t prepare her for the shock that awaited her when she looked up the diapers preferred by and large by the forum community: they were almost literally baby diapers sized for adults, complete with the prints and the infantile styling. “You can’t be serious,” she murmured to herself as she looked at the various products. So amazed was she, that for a time she was immersed in a world of reviews and pictures, until finally she had to close the browser and lean back, separating herself from what she looked upon as a sort of madness. She looked at her notes, and then with the case file itself she put them in a locking drawer and stood up to take a break. Going to the break room yielded nothing more than a trip to the vending machine and some exchanged greetings with colleagues. Soon enough, Francesca was back at her desk looking at her notes, reading the case file, and considering her opening move. Clearly she would have to craft a personality that would be received by this crowd, but what sort of personality would do the trick? Turning back to her computer, Francesca began to look at whatever publically available profiles she could find to see what the average young woman was saying about herself. More notes were jotted down as she worked, and a general framework began to assemble itself as she progressed. The baseline was simple enough: an interest in diapers or baby elements was the usual starting point, with some sort of history of either bedwetting or being later than normal to master toilet training being reasonably common tacked on to establish a memory of needing diapers past toddler years. Another common thread was just a casual interest because it was ‘something different’ but it wasn’t dangerous. Others openly stated they wanted to go back to a time when they felt protected. Francesca wrote all this down, working each point in as elements to be considered for her forthcoming avatar.

   Finally, Francesca felt as though she had reached an end to her initial research. Now, she had to work her way in. A sudden pang of embarrassment prompted her to decide it was better to wait until she was home on her personal computer to do that, and she went back to reading the summary of the case file to look for other loose ends she might explore in the meantime. Nothing popped out at her, so she went back to reviewing her notes to select the strongest or the most viable elements to use in crafting her forthcoming cover. She looked back through her own memories, and since she hadn’t had any issues with chronic bedwetting and couldn’t even recall having worn pull-ups, she decided not to include either in her cover. The casual interest angle was the most intriguing, because it would be the easiest to support. Something different was also a good one, because it fit easily with casual interest, and would also give her a viable exit strategy when the time came to abandon the cover and separate herself from the concluded case; she could claim that it wasn’t for her, and quietly vanish. Next came decisions on just how far she was willing to go with the whole project. Making those decisions were some of the most interesting, as well as difficult; the decisions that she made would determine how far she could go in a swift amount of time. She wrote it down as a series of questions in small handwriting so no one suddenly peeking over her shoulder would see what it was at first. First question: Am I willing to wear adult baby clothes? Francesca thought back to some Halloween costumes she had worn in high school and college. She answered that question with a yes. Second question: Am I willing to suck on a pacifier and drink from a bottle? Francesca thought of the more usual habits of chewing gum or eating suckers, as well as drinking from a water bottle while exercising. She answered that question with a yes, satisfying her conscience with each rationalization that preceded an answer.

   The third question was the most daunting, as well as the most difficult to actually write out. She got as far as putting the pen to the paper before she stopped and set it down, sitting back in her chair and taking a sip from the drink she had gotten at the vending machine during her earlier break. Francesca had to tell herself it was for a good cause, that she was going to make a difference, that it was going to be worth it all in the end to do what she was going to do, that a lot of bad people were going to go to jail, and perhaps one decent person who was simply caught up in the mess for being in the wrong place at the wrong time would get to go free without having his reputation tarnished as these people who trafficked in this heinous material surely would. Put simply, Francesca Bowden thought of the children. Only then was she able to write out the third question. Am I willing to wear, and perhaps use, adult diapers? As she had done with the previous two questions, she answered, finally and with great reluctance, yes.

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Two

   When she got home that evening, Francesca couldn’t say that she was truly off the clock. After changing out of her business attire and into more comfortable clothes, she set about putting in motion the various elements of her cover identity. First, she created her profile on the Internet forum the Caretaker frequented most. Francesca was careful about what she put into her profile, making sure to come at the setup from the ‘casual interest’ angle that appealed to her so greatly. When she felt she was finished with the profile itself, she put up a picture of a stuffed animal she found on Google—because no way was she going to put an actual picture of herself out there—and accessed the websites for the specialty retailers that catered to the needs of the infantilist community. One of the childish sundresses was too cute to pass up, and she rationalized that she might actually wear it out and about when the case was closed. For good measure, Francesca added a cute diaper shirt with a snap crotch (which she thought should just be called an adult onesie on the webpage) to go with it and finalized that order.

   The next order of business, and the most embarrassing, was diapers. She selected the brand that most preferred, looked at the styles, and decided to get some variety. Fortunately, there was more than one infantile style, so she selected the ones she liked best and ordered a fair amount of each, rationalizing that she would need to have a supply and experience with the products to better sell her cover. Some things could be faked and gotten away with, other things could not, and Francesca did not envision herself needing to grin and fake her way to a higher pay grade. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone was going to be seeing her with the diapers on. She wasn’t even sure she could bring herself to wear them, but she knew that when push came to shove, she’d do what she had to in order to get the job done. Well, within reason, at least.

   After she had bought her diapers (and selected expedited shipping so she wouldn’t have to loiter around for delivery) she went back to the forum and browsed profiles and posts to find a way into the community. Francesca paid special attention to how the active female population posted and responded, trying to determine a baseline for her actions so she wouldn’t stand out. It came to the point where she threw up her hands in disgust at how hard she was reading into everything, so much so that she closed all the browsers and went to do chores to clear her head. It was only after she came back from doing her laundry that she was able to sit back down with what she felt was a clear enough head to resume. It was only after Francesca had been perusing the forum posts that she hit on an idea and opened the Caretaker file she had brought home from the Bureau. The file had listings of the women who had visited his House and they all had come from the same geographic area (which was why she was going to the place she was going to begin with) so Francesca looked for the profiles of those women on the forum. She found one, read a great deal of her posts and viewed her published photos to get a feel for her as a person, and then opened a window to send her a private message.

   That was when she paused. How would she go about this opening? The easiest answer was to approach her in a friendly manner, try to insinuate herself into her good graces and then into the Caretaker’s House. Francesca started typing, confident in her opening strategy.

   “Hello! You have no idea who I am, but I’m new to this hobby… lifestyle… thing… and I want to make some good friends. I’m also transferring into the area for work, and so I’m being uprooted! I saw some of your posts on the forum and you seem like a really nice person. Anyway, message me back if you want to talk.”

   Francesca sat back from her keyboard and considered her words. It was short, simple, and to the point. Francesca nodded in satisfaction and sent the message.

   The next few days were extremely busy as Francesca busied herself with learning all the details about her part of the case and the case as a whole. She attended several meetings and briefings with her superiors as well as other agents and investigators who were taking part in the case, and the same message was stressed every time: failure is not an option, a clean sweep is the only reward. At one of the briefings she was directly queried by ASAC North: “Bowden, where are we at with your part?”

   “I’ve made my opening pitch, and so far so good. Once I get situated on site I should be able to get face time with friends of the subject and go from there,” she responded.

   “Any idea what your timetable is for that?” North went on.

   “No sir, nothing concrete,” she said with a slight wince. “Two weeks minimum, probably as long as five to six.”

   North heaved out a breath and looked at her squarely. “Are you serious?”

   Francesca wanted to disappear: everyone in the room was staring at her, and some of them were heavy hitters in her branch of the Bureau as well as from other branches across the country. “Yes, sir. The people I’m dealing with aren’t like your run-of-the-mill street hood, where three days of work and some solid lying for a backstory gets you a meet-and-greet with the local kingpin. They are very insular, very protective of each other, and a lot of them have very high self-preservation instincts. If this guy is dirty and we want him, the timetable is weeks, not days.”

   North was regarding her steadily. “You’re certain of this?” One of the agents from another branch looked at him expectantly.

   “As certain as I can be, sir. Once I’m on the ground and rolling, I can get a better feel for the situation and update my projections. Two weeks is still the minimum I’m going with, however.”

   At this point, the other agent interjected. “Actually, North, that could be a boon rather than a bust,” he said. “We’ve hit a couple of unexpected variables with an element of the investigation in Northern California. Agent Bowden’s comments about high self-preservation instincts are correct; these people, good or bad, don’t want their dirty laundry out in the sun. It could take us a few days to iron out those wrinkles, which should bring us right on track to close this case in one nationwide sweep in a month’s time provided all goes well.”

   North was nodding. “Alright. Bowden, you’ve got some time to roll the dice, but remember: roll them quickly. Once you’re on the ground there, you need to be pushing for face time as quickly as you can. We need this guy pigeon-holed as soon as possible, because if we roll him up with the rest of them and he comes out clean, the whole case could get thrown out because some trumped-up lawyer with delusions of grandeur starts ranting about reasonable doubt.” North was plainly over-exaggerating—some of the evidence was so ironclad that there was no hope for a number of the traffickers—but even one slipping through the cracks to set up shop in some other dark corner was a terrible thought to contemplate.

   The briefing ended and Francesca went back to her desk to continue working. She made it a point not to visit any of the infantilist websites at her workplace computer, instead focusing on other elements of the case and reading up on the assembled dossiers on some of the doomed child pornography traffickers. She read some of the copied transcripts of chat room and instant messenger conversations and found herself hoping that the Caretaker wasn’t as slimy as some of the people she was reading about. If he was, she wondered if she’d be able to keep a straight face around him or if she’d be having to constantly remind herself not to do something completely insane, like shoot him dead on the spot. The conversations she was reading were horrifying in their business-casual description of the content of some of the images and image caches, and thinly-veiled inquiries about preferences for other image sets. That set Francesca to thinking, so much so that she went to North’s office and knocked. When she was admitted, she began without preamble: “sir, where do we stand on the investigation into the direct abuse of children in this case?”

   North was quiet for a few moments. “That is a delicate subject, Bowden. What got you onto it?”

   “I was looking over some of the transcripts in this case to familiarize myself with the ugly underside of it, and it seems like whoever the ringleader is, they’ve got access to some kids and they’re… well… exploiting them.”

   North nodded. “Yes, we’ve been looking into that… Bowden, I need you to be very clear on this. Your part of this case is to determine whether or not the Caretaker is in on this or not. We’ve got agents looking at the rest of this, from a lot of different angles.” He held up a hand to forestall a protest that Francesca almost considered offering. “You need to focus on the Caretaker. Leave the rest of this to the other agents and parts of the Bureau that are involved in it. You aren’t on that track, at least not yet. Confine yourself to the Caretaker, and if the time comes to send you after the other subjects, I’ll let you know. Distracting yourself will only cause you to drop the ball somewhere else.”

   Francesca took a breath and nodded. “Yes, sir.” She turned to leave.

   “Good job catching on to that possibility, though, Bowden. We picked up on that the first day we started looking at these transcripts as well.”

   “Thank you, sir,” she said as she left his office and returned to her desk.

   The rest of the day passed without incident and when Francesca returned home she found that she had several boxes waiting for her. She got them all into her apartment and considered them ruefully. One of the boxes held items she could feel comfortable owning. The other boxes held items she did not feel at all comfortable owning, but she resigned herself to the fact that she was now owner of them regardless, at least for the time being. Francesca made it a point to open the box with the clothes first, and found herself exulting over the sundress; it was even better in person than it had been on the Internet. The onesie was a plain white with lace on the ends of the sleeves, just like she had worn when she had been a toddler. She couldn’t help but find it cute as well. After she had cleared away the wrappings for the clothes, she couldn’t help but try them on straight away. She disrobed from her work attire—something she did at this point in her day, usually—and put on the onesie, first. She snapped the crotch, approving of the fact that in a pinch she could use it as a somewhat loose leotard if the need for such a garment arose. Next she put on the sundress and surveyed herself in her mirror, approving of what she saw. The sundress was yellow with a floral pattern stitched into the breast. Francesca pronounced herself adorable, even without the lace socks and bright Mary Jane shoes that would have completed the outfit to a tee.

   It was with this good humor that she turned to the boxes of Bambino diapers, suddenly curious to see what they looked like in actuality as opposed to photographs on the Internet. She was once again surprised by the size of the diapers as well as the details of the childish prints on the tape panel. She had taken one out of the package to inspect it, unfolding it and looking it over with a mixture of excitement and dismay. Finally, she resolved herself to the situation and decided to get it over with; she spread the diaper out on her bed and prepared to change into it by first unsnapping the crotch of her onesie and removing her underwear. She then hiked up the skirt of her sundress and the flaps of the onesie and sat down on the waiting diaper. The padding was, quite naturally, soft on her skin, but that didn’t mean she liked what she was feeling. It took several moments to make sure that all of her clothing was well clear of the back of the diaper before she lay back and got it better positioned underneath her waist. At length she had it where she felt it ought to be, and sat up to grip the front of it; she lay back again, pulling it up between her legs as she did, and then set about taping it closed. It required several tries to get it comfortably snug, and then she sat up to review her handiwork with a forlorn sigh. “The things I do for promotion,” she muttered, not ready to admit to herself that working this case would lead to anything more than a nice thank-you from the big shots.

   With her first diaper in decades attached about her waist, Francesca closed up the flaps of her onesie around it and let her dress fall back into place as she stood. She could hear a muffled crinkle and crackle coming from her midsection, and it made her blush to think that she was wearing a diaper she didn’t need, but she soldiered on regardless. She went to her computer and started browsing the forum, trying unsuccessfully to distract herself from what she was wearing. Happily, she was distracted quickly enough by messages in her inbox from the woman she had singled out to contact: they had been exchanging messages frequently over the last few days, and this time Francesca found that her new friend was online and opened an instant message window.
   “Hey! How are you?” she typed.

   “Hi there! I’m good, you?” came the response, attached to a small photo of a teddy bear.

   “Doing great. Busy day at work, glad to be off,” she typed, adding a smiley face.

   “I hear that! How goes the process for your transfer?”

   “It’s going great! I should be getting set to move over this weekend and then start Monday or sometime later next week,” Francesca explained, referring to her cover story for her hands-on part of the investigation.

   “Yay! That’s so cool! I’m really looking forward to meeting you!”

   Francesca couldn’t help but smile at what she took to be the other woman’s sincerity. “Me too! It will be so great going in knowing I have at least one friend, and even more fun knowing that she shares my secret!” Francesca added, baiting the hook for some diaper talk.

   “Yeah, it’s more fun that way! Some gals who are here already are into it as well, and I can introduce you to them as we go along. Not everyone we talk to is smart about it; they don’t get that it’s just something for fun and maybe sometimes a little more. Others get way too involved and it can get awkward.”

   “Oh?” Francesca asked. “How do you mean?”

   “Well, some of the guys… they think that they should either get to be in charge of the diapers and diaper changes or that they get to be completely babied. There really isn’t much of a middle ground, and it’s a major turn-off.”

   That was something that Francesca had been wondering about; a lot of the posts by guys she’d read did indeed seem to confirm that sentiment, whether or not they were joking. “Wow, that’s not cool.”

   “You got that right. There is this one guy who gets it, though, and he’s super-cool. After you get settled in maybe you can meet him as well.”

   Francesca almost cheered. Barely two days after baiting her hook and she was already close to getting a bulls-eye on the target. She decided to play it cool, though. “I don’t know about that, yet… I mean, some of the guys I’ve seen on the forum and other places get way too overboard.” Here Francesca paused, considering the next part of her play very carefully. “I mean, getting together with other women? Yeah, that’s cool; you get where I’m coming from and you know where the lines are drawn. A guy? I mean, is he safe?”

   “Oh, sweetie, I totally understand! I was really concerned myself, at first, but then I met him and he had me over with some other mutual friend and it was totally safe. He’s only as hands-on as you want him to be; he has very strict rules and he only goes as far as you’re comfortable with. Some of my friends really like him, too, and we all agree he’s a great guy. He’s also really into the hobby, at least as far as giving us girls a place to unwind and relax. It’s almost like a day spa, but not!”

   “Wow, that’s really cool! A diaper day spa, huh? Is there a masseuse and a hot tub?” Francesca asked, playing along.

   “Ha! No, there’s no masseuse, but he’s got a room with a couple of adult-sized cribs and a huge changing table, LOTS of stuffed animals, some clothes, diapers, of course, bottles, sippy cups, you name it.”

   Francesca was surprised to be reading all of this. “Wow, this guy has quite the setup.” Here, natural curiosity got the better of her. “So like, what does he do? Change your diapers and put you down for a nap?”

   “Pretty much! But, that’s only if you want him to; some girls like to be in charge of their own diapers, others like to let him take care of them. You might like him, you might not, though. Some girls who’ve come through didn’t much care for it, and it was cool. Just don’t be a bitch and it’s all good!”

   “I can promise you here and now that I won’t be,” she said with a smiley face. “Speaking of diapers,” Francesca said to change the subject for a bit, “My order came in, today, and I can’t believe how big they are!”

   “I know, aren’t they great? After a long day I like to unwind with my favorite bear, a diaper, and a bottle while I watch TV or something.”

   “Nice! I also got this really cute sundress and onesie in, as well… and I’m wearing all three! Super comfortable!” she added for good measure, because while she hadn’t yet reconciled herself to her diapers, she had reconciled herself to the costume she was wearing.

   “Yay! That’s so cool! I wish I could see you right now; I bet you’re adorable!”

   Francesca couldn’t help but be flattered and embarrassed. “Thanks! Soon enough, though!”

   Soon enough, indeed. Francesca talked to her new friend for a while longer before logging off to see about her dinner. The rest of the week was taken up with preparing for her extended on-site assignment; there was a whole host of things to get done, from seeing about her mail, taking care of bills and rent for the time she’d be gone, packing, and getting everything taken care of at the Bureau for while she would be absent from there, as well. Finally, however, the time had come and she set off for her temporary new home, her car loaded with luggage and boxes.

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Three

   Setting up shop had proved a swift and simple affair: by thinking of it as no more intricate than a stay in a hotel room, Francesca had established her wardrobe and other belongings in her temporary apartment with something like efficiency, and immediately contacted the local FBI branch to report her arrival and readiness. At once she was summoned to a briefing that evening at the local headquarters, where the latest developments of the investigation were handed around. The agent who had spoken up about the issues needing resolution earlier in the week at her home office was the man conducting the briefing: she noticed that he was a senior agent; his name was Jeff Thompson.

   “As you know, Agent Francesca Bowden is on loan to us from a neighboring branch to assist with some elements of the local investigation. She reports to me and likewise to her own ASAC and SAIC, so anyone trying to borrow her for your own needs better be smart about who you ask. Right now, this investigation is priority one for the Bureau, and Agent Bowden is helping to tie off a loose end so that we can wrap this up. Agent Bowden, ASAC North briefed me in on your most recent activities; would you be so kind as to elaborate on your aspect of this investigation?”

   All eyes turned to Francesca before she began. “Certainly, sir. Several months ago, we got some hits about a person hosting private events for a specific group of fetishists at what we assume to be his home; nothing was flagged as obviously illegal or otherwise needing our attention so it was simply catalogued and left at that. However, over the last few months, a number of accusations about involvement in prostitution, illicit substances, abuse, and other crimes have been thrown into the mix, the biggest being the one that flagged it for this investigation, that there is a remote possibility of involvement with the child porn ring, perhaps going so far as to being a provider, a relay, or a source. My task is to get a look into this place, find out what the score is, and then we go from there.”

   Thompson nodded. “How close are you to getting into this place?”

   “Perhaps a week; I’ve established my cover as an accountant with actuarial responsibilities having been transferred in from out-of-state, made contact with a close associate of the subject, and to keep things on the level, I’ve tentatively scheduled a face-to-face meeting with her for tomorrow night, conveniently a Saturday.”

   “What is your current assessment of this contact? Viable witness should we need to subpoena her?” Another agent asked.

   Francesca turned to address him directly. “All initial signs are that she’s harmless. I’ve put together an initial dossier on her, but until I put a face with her name, it’s pretty blank. She’s got a bachelor’s degree, she works, lives a quiet life aside from the fetish, and routinely participates in activities going on at this House. Nothing yet on boyfriends, criminal history, criminal associates, but she is a direct link to the Caretaker, who is the host of the events at the House. She’s promised to introduce me to him, soon.”

   “Excellent. Push for that introduction as soon as you can. People, our timetable is supposed to be days, not weeks. You know why we have the delay, but that’s no excuse: we need to wrap this up. We’ve been seeing some signs of further ugliness that needs to get cleaned up, and soon. Lives could be at risk, particularly children’s lives. Bowden, you’re on point with your part of the investigation, but I want you churning out results as quickly as you can. We need this guy in the net, or safely out of it as soon as possible.”

   When Francesca returned to the apartment, she thought about changing into her ‘baby clothes’ as she called them, but decided against it. Instead, she took care of the last few details to make the place a little more home-like, set up her computer, and went through the process of checking emails. Her friend logged on and immediately messaged her.

   “Hey! Have you gotten into town, yet?” she asked.

   Francesca responded with, “yep, got in a little while ago!”

   The response was enthusiastic. “YAY!!! OMG I am so excited!!! I can’t wait to meet you! Can we please get together tonight instead of tomorrow? I really want to meet you!”

   Francesca hesitated. She was immediately reminded of Agent Thompson’s order to expedite. “Sure!” she responded. “But, I don’t know where anything is.”

   “Oh, leave that to me!” she responded, and rattled off the name and address of what she claimed was an excellent little pub. She also gave Francesca her phone number, and her real name, which was Annie.
   “What time did you want to get together?” Francesca asked.

   “Um, NOW! I can be there in like twenty minutes.”

   Francesca put the address into her phone’s map. “I can be there in about the same,” she responded after looking at the distance and time estimate.

   “Cool! See you there!” Annie responded, and then logged off. Francesca did the same. After her briefing, she had changed into jeans and a hoodie, and after throwing on her gym shoes, concealing her badge and her service 9mm pistol in her bag, she headed out.

   Over the course of their brief acquaintance, Francesca and Annie had exchanged enough personal information to feel like they knew one another well enough to meet in person, but Francesca was taking no chances at being ambushed by some crazy person. Plus, as a federal agent she was automatically entitled to carry a concealed weapon anywhere in the United States, and even aboard aircraft within reason. Francesca drove at a casual pace, making sure to look for important intersections, highways, byways, and other details that would make her stay in the town more comfortable; it was also good to know where things were. Finding the bar in question wasn’t difficult, and it was blessedly near to a parking lot, so Francesca was not obliged to leave her car on the street. Before she walked in, however, she surveyed the area, looking around like a tourist for a few moments, and then she finally walked into the establishment. Among the information they had exchanged, Annie and Francesca had exchanged photographs of each other, so they knew who they were looking for. Francesca was looking for a dark-haired woman, mid-twenties, cheerful expression. She wasn’t hard to find, especially since Annie noticed her first. Francesca found her way suddenly barred when a slightly shorter but obnoxiously cheerful young woman barred her way. It took her a moment to recognize Annie, but the smaller woman’s good cheer and crushing hug made that unnecessary. “Oh, I am so glad to meet you!” she gushed, looking Francesca up and down. “Welcome, welcome, welcome, now let’s go get a drink!” she cried as she took Francesca by the hand and dragged her unrelenting to the bar where she at once called for two beers; only after each had shown their identification and the beers had been delivered and paid for did Francesca manage to stop her head from spinning.

   “Thank you,” she replied, looking at Annie in turn. Annie was shorter than her by a couple of inches, but thin and trim and absolutely adorable. With light brown hair and grey eyes that perpetually smiled, she made a good contrast to Francesca’s somewhat taller and more athletic frame. However, before she could get another word in, the assault began. Annie was relentless, asking questions, insisting upon taking her on a tour of the city, probing about where she lived.

   “Ooh, that’s a nice area! I lived there for a while myself after I got out of college, but when I got my job I moved into more posh digs,” she said with an air of pride. “Good starter place, though; if you’re here long enough, you should definitely upgrade! There are some really sweet pads in my complex, and there’s another up the highway that’s supposed to be even nicer.”

   “Really? I just went for a reasonable place that would be good enough to sleep in; I didn’t really shop around,” Francesca admitted, which was close enough to the truth.

   “Neither did I; I went there first on the recommendation of a friend. I enjoyed it, but when a better place popped on my radar I went for it. It’s a little more… private, sort of. Not sure how to explain it, but it just feels more home-like,” Annie explained.

   Francesca nodded. “You know, I just realized; we’ve been getting to know each other all this week and I never asked what you do for a living,” she said.

   Annie giggled. “Oh my, that completely slipped my mind! I work in communications and public affairs. I help draft memos and press releases and then schedule meetings for all of my big shots with other big shots so they can all play golf and drink scotch or whatever,” she said dismissively. “Everything but the scheduling meetings for hobnobbing is fun, but hey, that hobnobbing makes sure the bills get paid, so I do it.”

   “I hear that,” Francesca agreed. “Part of the reason I’m here is to look over the books for the local branch of my company and make sure they’re in compliance, as well as smartening up their process. An internal audit revealed some small issues and they sent me to clean it up. Could mean a promotion, so hey, why not?”

   “You go where the money leads,” Annie chimed in.

   “Amen,” Francesca said and touched her beer bottle to Annie’s and they drank. The conversation turned from there to girl talk: were you seeing anyone, no, why not, you’re beautiful, thanks, so are you, and on from there. Annie didn’t bring up the subject of diapers or fetish-related things at all, but after a long stretch of conversation and a couple more beers for each woman, she heaved a sigh and was quiet for a few moments.

   “You know, I was so worried about you turning out to be some sort of weirdo that I almost didn’t come here at the last minute,” Annie admitted suddenly.

   “Um, thanks?” Francesca responded. “What do you mean?”

   Annie regarded Francesca steadily for a few moments, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Well… I don’t know. It’s like… this is such a big deal for me to keep secret, but you just seem so… accepting… for a newbie. I mean, you said it yourself you stumbled on this by chance and that you only this week got your first taste of it all, but for me? I’ve had this sort of… need, I guess, my whole life, I think. I mean, don’t get me wrong, because I developed normally physically, didn’t have any defects or,” she dropped her vocal register to say, “bedwetting,” and then resumed a normal pitch with, “but, I just… loved the safety.” Francesca stayed quiet and let Annie talk; she covered gaps in the conversation where she could have interjected with sips of her beer. “I discovered this back in college, and I’ve been up to my waist in it ever since. A lot of folks get off on it, which is fine, but I don’t get off on it like that; I am so much more comfortable just lying around with my teddy bear and a pacifier or bottle than I am playing with toys or dolls or dressing up or things like that. Most people I talk to are working some angle: they either want to be putting me in diapers, they want me to be putting them in diapers, or they want to play some weird sex games and I’m like, ‘seriously? Get lost!’ I don’t need people like that harshing my vibe when all I want to do is chill. You don’t act like that, and I’m really glad. You just want to be my friend.” Here Annie paused for a drink. “Though I want to see this sundress you bought: if it’s as cute as you say it is, I might have to get one for myself.”

   During Annie’s entire speech Francesca felt increasingly guilty, because she was working an angle on Annie, and she felt very uncomfortable being in a position of having to betray the burgeoning trust with her new friend to satisfy the needs of the FBI. “It’s adorable,” she confirmed. “The onesie I bought is, too… it has those girlish little lace sleeves that I just couldn’t pass on when I saw it. It completes the outfit very nicely.”

   Annie smiled her innocent smile. “Oh, and I bet you’re just darling in it, too. Mostly I just wear a comfortable shirt or pajamas… though in the winter time I do have a really comfortable sleeper. That’s about as babyish as I get, aside from the pacifier.”

   “Hey, if it works, it works, right?”

   “You got it, sister,” Annie agreed and they toasted beers again before drinking. Francesca excused herself at that point to use the ladies’ room, and when she came back she saw that Annie was standing to leave. “Come on, I’ll go show you some of the sights; might as well take you on a tour now since we’re together a day ahead of time.”

   “Sounds great,” Francesca said cheerfully, and they walked out together. Francesca insisted on walking, and she kept up a steady stream of conversation, talking about this bar or that restaurant, that store or that club. After she had given a fairly succinct account of their surroundings, she turned her attention back to Francesca.

   “So, I never really asked about this during the week, but what do you like about diapers? I know you’ve experimented with wearing them and all, but what makes you excited about them?” It was a very pointed question, and Francesca was silenced by it for several moments.

   “Honestly, it was just so far out of left field that I couldn’t help but look into it. Then I tried on diapers… and I have to admit, they aren’t bad. In fact, the ones I bought, the Bambinos, are really pretty good. But, before all that I was looking at the forum and some other websites… it’s like you said earlier. It’s safety, and it reminds me of home.” That part, at least, was true; Francesca did view her time in diapers as evocative of her childhood, when her parents were the fountains of all knowledge and safety. “But, I haven’t explored it nearly as deeply as you have, so who knows? Maybe it’ll be a kink for me after all.”

   Annie laughed. “That’s cool. One of the girls I know really gets into the more sexual aspects of wearing diapers, and it’s her thing, but she’s cool with how I do things my way. Plus, when that time of the month rolls around diapers are just so much better. You’ll find that out eventually and you can judge for yourself. Me, I don’t mind relaxing in a wet diaper. It’s just this side of naughty and I can pretend I’m a lazy brat all over again before I have to behave like a responsible adult.”

   This time Francesca giggled. “I’ll have to try that.”

   “Get a pacifier, too. Maybe a bottle. There’s a company that sells a really good adult-sized pacifier and it really is obnoxiously soothing,” Annie suggested.

   “Really? Which one?” she asked.

   Annie opened her mouth to answer and then paused. “I forget the name of it, stupidly enough, but there’s a link on the forum. I’ll message you about it or tell you about it tomorrow.”

   “Sounds good,” Francesca mused. “I should go to the toy store and get a big stuffed animal to cuddle with. All of mine from childhood are packed away back home.”

   “Good idea,” Annie agreed. “Besides, is there really such a thing as too many stuffed animals? I bought a couple of the Angry Birds plushies and sometimes I throw them at things just to make myself laugh.”

   Francesca laughed aloud. “I have to know where you got them! Oh man, if I could throw those at people on a daily basis I would be so happy.”

   Annie laughed as well. “Same here. Boss pops up, and pow! Right in the face with a big red bird!”

   “I like that black bird the most. It makes the most interesting noise before it blows everything up.”

   “Like hunting bunny rabbits with a hydrogen bomb,” Annie snickered.

   Francesca was confused. “What?”

   Annie giggled. “It’s this funny Internet joke: I’ll email it to you.” By this point their walk had brought them around to the bar they had started at and Annie sighed. “I should probably get home; I need to change this diaper before it leaks on me.”

   Francesca was surprised. “You’re wearing one now?”

   Annie merely looked at her, and then realized what she admitted; she looked suddenly embarrassed. “Yes,” she answered in a small voice, sounding abashed.

   Francesca smothered her initial question of ‘why on earth would you do such a thing?’ and replaced it instead with, “what kind are you wearing?” in a more general tone. Annie told her and showed her the waistband; Francesca was shocked to see another person wearing diapers in real life that she blurted out, “how wet is it?”

   Annie was scarlet at this point. She stepped between a couple of parked cars and made to undo her pants. Before Francesca could protest, Annie forestalled her with, “now you have to wear a diaper tomorrow, okay?” and then slipped her pants down to show her a very wet diaper before hurriedly covering it back up and looking around to see if anyone had noticed.

   “Awe, you’re so cute!” Francesca gushed, being completely truthful; Annie did look adorable in her diaper. However, Francesca was shocked to see it on display. “I promise, tomorrow I’ll wear one.”

   “Bring a change, too, just in case; I almost always have a spare in my car, because one time I forgot and I had a little too much fun and… yeah, it did not end well.”

   Francesca smiled. “Duly noted,” she said.

   Annie beamed up at her and embraced her once again. “Oh, Frankie I can’t tell you how happy I am to have met you, both online and in person!” she said as she stepped back. “I already feel like you’re my best friend.”

   Such a statement couldn’t but be awkward, but Francesca took it in stride. “Thank you so much for making me feel so welcome here; I’m so glad I reached out to you, as well! Can’t have too many friends, right?”

   Annie’s smile got even bigger. They said goodnight and parted company, each woman returning to her respective apartments, Annie doing so with great good cheer and Francesca in deep thought. No mistake, she really did like Annie, and thought her to be a dear, dear friend already. How she was going to break it to her that she was an FBI agent using her to get to the Caretaker and not smash her tender little heart to pieces was something that not even Francesca dared to think of, but it was a dark consideration in the back of her mind. She pushed those thoughts aside and started adding material to the files she had on the Caretaker and Annie, putting in Annie’s name and photo for a background check, which was progress that would be noted at the two headquarters she was reporting to, and would make the behind-the-scenes guys happy to see. The Caretaker puzzle was one step closer to being solved. Before Francesca bedded down for the night, she made it a point to change into a diaper—which now had a drawer all to themselves—and look into ordering a pacifier for herself. She knew she could find a big stuffed animal for herself at the local toy store without a problem.

[WildKarrde]

Solid, quality work! Its all very logical so far and I don't even have to stretch my imagination to wrap my head around it. Very good! When might we see more?

[hiddenname150]

Wonderful story you've written I'd love to read more.

[junyour]

i am enjoying this well written story. Keep it coming as the muse strikes

[KilroyIsHere]

Its logical and has kept my interest. Looking forward to more.

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Four

   Morning, which was announced with deliberate violence by Francesca’s cell phone alarm and the young woman sat up grumbling and muttered to herself before she swung her legs out of bed and stood. After a luxuriating stretch that popped numerous muscles and tendons deliciously, she stepped into the bathroom to begin her morning routine, which was immediately interrupted by the sudden reminder of her choice of undergarments. “Oh, yeah,” she murmured, and instead walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to deal with something resembling a reasonable breakfast. The temptation to remove her diaper and go about her business in the usual way was strong, but she refrained on the logic that she would have to get used to such activities for the remainder of her time on the case. Having decided on a glass of orange juice to start with, Francesca walked to her bathroom again and looked at herself in the mirror: she beheld a twenty-something woman in a t-shirt that didn’t reach to her waist and a big, fluffy diaper with a childish print on the front that was partially obscured by the four tapes used to close the disposable garment. She pulled up her shirt so she could see the entire diaper and looked at herself from various angles. Francesca found herself to look both silly and cute, but more silly than cute. Annie looked adorable in her printed diaper, but Francesca found it hard to feel the same way about herself.

   Distracting herself from a mounting need, Francesca went back into the kitchen and sat down to breakfast; she had decided on cereal to go with her orange juice. It was simple, easy, to the point… and provided her with a distraction for what she was alternately needing and not wanting to do. Finally, she could take it no longer, and she stood away from her table to squat down in the middle of the floor. She breathed out, closed her eyes, and relaxed. The first dribble shocked her and she clamped down out of instinct; by conscious effort she was able to release herself to let it continue. Shortly, her diaper heated and swelled as she wet it. It was an interesting feeling, for someone who had never done such a thing consciously before, and when it was over, Francesca couldn’t resist poking and prodding at her diaper to inspect its new state. It was discolored from the wetness and with a yellow tint that almost made her diaper ugly; a stark contrast from the clean white it had begun with. She sighed, made a face, and sat back down with a grim and somewhat disgusted expression and finished her breakfast.

   Once done and having dealt with her dishes, Francesca returned to her bathroom to inspect her sodden state. She sighed yet again. “Just like a big baby,” she murmured as she surveyed her wet diaper. At least the quality of her diaper meant she didn’t feel wet, even though she clearly was. “This better be worth it.” Having elected to remain in her diaper for the rest of the morning, Francesca set about doing some chores and organizing things more to her liking in her temporary abode. She also sat down to her computer, accessed a secured network link-up and emailed a contact report to her local and home offices detailing the progress she had made. She also sent in information on Annie as well as a photo she had taken with her friend using her cell phone so that a more thorough background check could be performed. Francesca felt a little guilty about doing it, but it had to be done. Francesca was confident, however, that the background check on Annie would come back clean and she wouldn’t be troubled; in order to spare Annie further complications, her affiliation with the overall case wouldn’t be notified to her file unless she was criminally complicit. Even the FBI had a conscience… within reason. Once her report was filed, she finished unpacking what she had yet to unpack, turned on some music while she organized and arranged, and did her very best to forget she was wearing a diaper. For a little while, at least, it worked brilliantly.

   As time went on, however, Francesca found herself again needing relief, and again she had to withstand the temptation to remove her diaper and conduct herself normally. After a few minutes of internal struggle while she doggedly continued about her chosen tasks, she again released into her diaper, re-warming its contents and causing it to expand a little further. She wrinkled her nose at the slight smell of urine that it was releasing, dissatisfied with the fact that the diaper was not perfect at obscuring odors. Well, she consoled herself, it could have been worse. She could be leaking. Finally, however, after a while she just wasn’t able to tolerate it any further, and she went to the bathroom to remove the diaper. Just as she was getting her fingers on the tapes, she wondered if she should change into another diaper… and realized that was actually a good idea. What better way to familiarize yourself with a subject’s lifestyle than to engage in that lifestyle yourself? It was a scary thought, but Francesca was on a timetable. Besides, all those diapers weren’t going to wear themselves, now were they? She went back to her bedroom and collected a clean diaper from her dresser and then returned to the bathroom to change into it, irrationally regretting accepting this assignment as she did. She set the new diaper down on the edge of the sink and opened the tapes of the one she was wearing, blithely letting it fall to the floor with a wet plop. She rolled it into itself and dropped it in her bathroom wastebasket and was in the process of unfolding the new diaper when she realized she had nothing to clean herself with. Francesca groaned and made a mental note to pick up some wipes of one sort or another when she was out and about. For the time being, she settled on using one of the moist wipes she normally used for feminine cleansing, which didn’t feel adequate to the job, but it did enough to at least let her feel somewhat clean. After that was done with, she sat down on the now-open new diaper and fastened it about her waist, and then washed her hands before returning to her chores, her mood considerably less cheerful than it had been scarcely ten minutes previously. She was inordinately thankful that no one was around to see her in her present state.

   Francesca’s chores took some little time more, and after they were done with to her satisfaction, she ran errands, putting loose cargo pants on over her diaper. She stopped at the grocery store and the toy store, at each location picking up things she needed for her long stay, chief among them a large, stuffed dolphin that she thought was far too adorable to be left to some other, perhaps more deserving child. She returned to her apartment shortly after making that purchase, enjoyed a light lunch, wet her second diaper with less difficulty than her first, and this time did not choose to linger in it quite so long, as she was engaged to meet with Annie sooner rather than later. Instead, she took a shower and picked out clothes for the rest of the day, leaning towards comfortable and loose about the midsection to better obscure her diaper. Francesca still found it hard to believe that she was about to go out and about in a diaper with someone who knew she was wearing it in the first place, but then decided that since she had gone out so recently and with a purpose while diapered, going out with Annie, who would likewise be diapered, would be just as easy; however, since Francesca was barely a week into the alternative lifestyle that Annie had been enjoying for years, Francesca was having a more difficult time reconciling herself to the situation. It was just one more thing she would have to power through in order to accomplish her objectives and either prove the Caretaker guilty with damning evidence or—as many suspected would be the case—formally clear him of wrongdoing. A local judge was already on tap to sign the search warrant authorizing the FBI to enter his home once Francesca determined its location and ensured that it would be vacant for enough time for the FBI to conduct a very quiet, but very thorough search.

   While Francesca had been out running errands, among the things she had picked up aside from wipes was a small container of baby powder. When she finished drying off from her shower and set about putting on a clean diaper, she sprinkled some into it first before situating herself on it and taping it up. The powder was cool to the touch on her skin and felt quite comfortable, and of course, the smell was pleasant. She wondered if it would help with the diaper’s odor control. Only one way to find out, she thought as she finished getting ready. Francesca decided on a more casual approach to her attire and hairstyle for the evening; she wore her long hair down but tied back from the top, the same loose-fitting cargo pants from earlier, a white tank top covered by a short sleeve shirt and topped off with a stylish zip-up hoodie. Normally, Francesca would have worn clothes that would have shown off her figure to great advantage—or at least advantage enough—but with a diaper in place of panties, she had no interest in having her figure show off a padded behind. She felt that her current attire skated the line between functional and fashionable enough to be excusable. Once she had finished dressing, she took another diaper out of its drawer to act as her spare for the evening and thought about trying to fit it into her purse. Francesca frowned when she realized with finality that her idea would simply not work at all; the diaper was far too big to fit in there completely. She thought about switching to a different, roomier bag to carry along, but decided that she would take Annie’s idea instead and simply leave it in her car. Satisfied that she was ready, she headed out to the appointed meeting place.

   When she arrived at the quaint little café that had been chosen as the meeting place, she checked to make sure her diaper was completely covered either by pants or by shirts, because one thing that Francesca did not want was to be noticed wearing it. She already felt self-conscious enough, but she chided herself that since she’d so brazenly gone out earlier wearing one, this should be child’s play. Yet, this time it wasn’t. Someone knew she was diapered. Sure, the other person would most likely be diapered as well, but Francesca still felt vulnerable. It was a strange dichotomy, and not one that Francesca felt comfortable dealing with. She had butterflies in her stomach unlike anything she had ever felt before, and it was making it hard for her to think straight. Finally, she settled on just biting the bullet and getting it over with; after making sure that her spare diaper was securely tucked away under her seat, she left her car and went into the restaurant. She asked for a table for two, was shown to a table by a courteous waiter, asked for two glasses of water and settled down to wait in the method preferred by millions of people across the planet: she took out her cell phone and fiddled with it, checking emails, looking at Facebook, and whatever else came to mind while she ate up the minutes between her arrival and Annie’s.

   Annie’s arrival was fairly soon after Francesca’s, and if it hadn’t been for Francesca looking up right at that moment to see if Annie had arrived that she would have been surprised to see her. They embraced warmly and greeted each other cheerfully, like old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while. Annie thanked Francesca for the water, sipped some, and made herself comfortable. “So, how was your first night in town?” she asked after a moment.

   “Pretty good, actually. Before I came out I arranged for my bed to be set up, so all I needed to do was put sheets on it and I was golden. It made the night a whole lot more comfortable, I can tell you,” she replied.

   “Ooh, smart cookie,” Annie said. “I wish I’d thought of that; the first week I was here I slept on an air mattress with a sleeping bag before I got my bed.”

   “I thought about doing that, too, but was like, ‘you know, I’m going to be here for a while, might as well get it out of the way now and be done with it,’” Francesca explained.

   “Yeah, it’s always better to be on a real for real bed,” Annie agreed. “But anyway, about tonight. I’m going to take you around, show you some of the sights here in town, maybe we’ll hit a nice bar and get smashed, and wake up wondering what we did and why there’s a pink flamingo lawn ornament in the toilet,” she giggled.
   Francesca arched an eyebrow. “That sounds… like one hell of a night. Something you experienced?”

   Annie nodded, not in the least shameful. “Yep, end of college. Some friends and I went out and celebrated… well, very hard. I still only remember about half the night, but I remember waking up on the kitchen table with my boyfriend at the time sprawled out beneath the table, some of my other friends scattered around the floor and other furniture, and the flamingo standing tall in the toilet. There were other obnoxious objects scattered around that came from who knows where, but it was the flamingo that took the cake. My faced was also painted up like some sort of clown cat, and I have this really cool picture of me looking atrocious, face painted and hung over like you would not believe, standing by the toilet with my arm around the flamingo. It actually ended up becoming some sort of mascot, and when we all parted ways after graduation, we held a raffle to see who got it, and the winner had to buy everyone else an identical lawn ornament. I still have mine in my closet, but no lawn to put it in,” Annie finished.

   Francesca had been listening and laughing along all the while. “That sounds like quite the night. Sadly, I don’t have any stories to top that one,” she admitted.

   “Oh come on, Frankie, you’ve got to have at least one good story!” Annie prompted.

   Francesca smiled at Annie’s nickname for her. “Well, the closest I have goes like this: my junior year of college I lived in an apartment with some girlfriends, and we routinely invited our floor mates over to hang out and party and what not, but this one particular night we decided to take the party outside. So, we set up a grill in the street and a couple of coolers full of beer, someone put up a stereo and cranked the  music. It started out like… maybe twenty of us? Within half an hour it was over a hundred, beer was coming in by the truckload it felt like, and soon it was more like a rave than a civilized street party. Cars couldn’t get through because some quick-thinking guys had parked their cars in such a way as to block our part of the street and something like two hundred people were there by the time the second batch of burgers was finished. Naturally, a lot of people were very quickly getting drunk and there were shenanigans involving some neighbors’ property… I think a bunch of guys actually killed one of the bushes by consistently pissing on it, but I can’t confirm that. Anyway, things started to get really out of control, I was tipsy, and someone suggested that a bunch of girls get up on the back of this one guy’s pickup truck and dance. I thought it was a great idea at the time, so like six of us got up there and started contorting ourselves, or something that otherwise resembled dancing, but some of the other girls had drunk far more than I had, so… their clothes started coming off. Suddenly, the rest of girls thought this was a great idea, so I’m in the middle of a striptease. Naturally, you would think that I would have the good sense not to join in, but while I wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t sober, either. But, I got really into it and started going all porno about it, making a real show out of taking off my shirt and pulling down my pants… and then the cops showed up.”

   “Oh no!” Annie exclaimed quietly, her eyes aglow with expectation; she had remained almost completely silent to this point so as not to interrupt the narrative.

   “Oh yes,” Francesca resumed, laughing a little. “So, the cops show up to put a stop to the party, and it’s like half the force and the SWAT team and like thirty cop cars and the fire department… it was insane. It was like the Army was invading. So, sirens start going off and we all get scared and start to scatter. My first instinct is to run, but remember, I’m in the back of a truck and I’m undressing myself. So, I try to bolt, but my pants are around my ankles, so I end up falling out of the truck.”

   “What?! Were you hurt?” Annie asked.

   Francesca shook her head. “No, I somehow managed to land on my back. I kicked off my pants and snatched my shirt out of the back of the truck and ran for it with everyone else while quickly trying to get it back on. The police didn’t have enough guys to chase all of us, but there were enough and they were super-pissed at us for having the party in the first place. One cop got after me and I had to outrun him by jumping through a hedge and backtracking around another apartment building. Being on the run sobers you up, and thank God I saw one of my roommates sneaking into our complex, and she got me inside without any more trouble. Some other folks followed us in and since we were all in a celebratory mood about escaping the police, we continued to quietly party. I didn’t realize that I never put my pants back on until I woke up the next morning.”

   Annie laughed. “Oh man! That is a great story! You’re right, not as cool as the flamingo in the toilet, but still pretty cool. Thank God you weren’t wearing a diaper, eh?”

   Francesca flushed pink. “Yeah, totally,” she said. “That would have been… interesting.”

   Annie giggled. “Sometimes I have too much to drink while I’m wearing a diaper, and it can… shall we say… cloud my judgment. Sometimes at the Caretaker’s house, me and some of the girls have a few too many… it can get crazy. One of the other girls is really into it, so when she’s drunk and acting like a baby, she’s actually pretty good. She can throw a tantrum like you wouldn’t believe, though,” she finished, apparently reliving a memory that brought a faint look of distaste to her expression.

   Francesca arched an eyebrow. Drunken tantrums. That would be something to see, which gave her an idea. “Hey, these other friends of yours… do they live here in town?”

   Annie nodded. “Some of them, yes. Others are a little farther away, but there’s a pretty solid group of us here in town.”

   Francesca kept her phrasing deliberately meek and deprecating. “Do… you think I could meet some of them?”

   “Sure you can!” Annie answered cheerfully. “In fact, we’re having another get-together at the Caretaker’s place next Saturday. You should come!”

   “I’d like that,” Francesca smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

   After that critical point was established, the conversation turned to more banal topics, and then after a light meal the two women went out on the town. Annie took Francesca to places she had mentioned the previous night, and eventually ended up back at Annie’s apartment. Francesca accepted the invitation warily, but she needed to know what sort of person she was dealing with, both for the FBI and for herself. Francesca did care a great deal for her new friend, and wanted to make sure that when all was said and done, she wouldn’t be negatively affected by the case when it was brought to its successful conclusion. Francesca was, however, surprised by Annie’s collection of diapers. “Yeah, I’m pretty seriously into the lifestyle,” she admitted. “When I go to work, I’m a big girl. When I come home, I trade my panties for diapers until I have to go back to work,” she added as she pulled a diaper from one of the open bags in her linen closet and went into her bedroom to change. “Feel free to grab one and change in the bathroom,” she offered before she disappeared, the sounds of a diaper change in progress shortly following. Francesca took Annie at her word, and sheepishly selected a diaper and went into the bathroom to change. The one she had left her apartment in was quite wet, and Francesca had yet to adjust to wearing her waste for an extended period of time; she was grateful for the dry diaper when it was on.

[Tommy]

I like the way this story is progressing.  Francesca's emotions as she experiments with her diapers seem very authentic.  She's neither thoroughly disgusted nor unrealistically entranced.  Her friendship with Annie also seems unforced, and her guiltiness about using her to further the investigation rings true.

I do think the seven paragraphs of introductory material about the Caretaker and the FBI investrigation may have been a bit too much to start the story before we even meet the main character.  There must be a better way of getting the information in without dumping it all at once.

All in all. a very good beginning; I look forward to reading more.

[hiddenname150]

Great addition. I know I'll read to the conclusion.

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Five

   When Francesca emerged from the bathroom she followed the sounds through Annie’s comfortably appointed apartment to the residence’s owner, finding her in the kitchen. “This is a really nice place you have he—here,” she stuttered, momentarily overcome by surprise to complete her thought. Annie was standing at the kitchen counter with her back to Francesca as she mixed a pair of drinks. When Annie turned around, Francesca could see that she was nervous, off balance, and in a state that could best be described as frazzled. The cheerful prints across the tape panel of her exposed diaper were a stark contrast to the range of emotions running across Annie’s always happy expression. “What’s wrong?” Francesca asked, concerned.

   Annie shook her head. “Nothing,” she said quietly, so quiet it was almost a whisper. She remained standing there, still only for her breathing. Francesca hesitated to approach, but Annie came out of her brief daze, and offered Francesca one of the drinks. “Fruit cocktail with a dash of seltzer water,” she explained. “I… um,” she trailed off, unable to complete her thought, shifting from foot to foot gently, causing her diaper to rustle.

   A vast number of possibilities flooded their way through Francesca’s mind as she observed the anxious, nervous Annie fiddling with her drink now that Francesca had taken hers. Annie looked down and away from Francesca, who continued to watch her silently for a moment, until she could stand the silence no longer and asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “Why do you keep testing me?”

   Annie’s head came up, then, her eyes sharp and piercing. “What makes you think this is a test?”

   “You wouldn’t be standing there looking embarrassed in just your diaper if you weren’t,” Francesca retorted. “Now come on, out with it. What happened to you to make you behave this way?”

   Annie flinched. Anyone else might not have noticed it, but Francesca had, quite naturally, been trained in interrogation techniques. “What makes you think that something happened to me?”

   Francesca sighed, and then smiled gently. “Annie, you might as well paint it up on a billboard. Now come on, talk to me.”

   Annie was silent, conflicting emotions warring just beneath the surface. Francesca gave her a few moments, watching the battle from afar to see how it would turn out; there was no decisive movement. Francesca made her decision. Setting aside her drink, she undid her cargo pants and pushed them down around her ankles; she stepped out of them and stooped to collect and drape them over the back of a chair, leaving her in just her socks and tops as normal clothing, her diaper crinkling as she moved. “Now will you talk to me?”

   Gratitude was plainly evident in Annie’s expression, and Francesca’s leveling of the playing field was the critical element. Annie gestured to the living room and wordlessly both women went to the spacious couch and sat down comfortably, the rustle and crinkle of their diapers an unusual sound in Francesca’s ears. When they were situated, Annie began to speak. “It was after I got out of college that I really started exploring the fetish more intensely: I was out on my own, I had my own space, and no one around to bother me about it. I had diapers, I had bottles, I had adult baby clothes, and I had a collection of online friends who I felt that I knew and trusted. One of them fancied herself as a ‘mommy’; meaning a person who takes care of adult babies and diaper lovers by treating them as they want to be treated. She invited me out to her place for a weekend to baby me, you know, really show me what the scene was all about. I thought it over, we talked about it a lot, and finally I agreed. She promised that it would just be me and her for a day and a night, and we set a date. I drove down from where I was living at the time and we met for lunch. We went over the rules, the boundaries, and the safe word, and when I was ready I followed her back to her place. There was no one there; it was just me and her, just like she promised. She gave me a tour, and then asked if I was ready for my diaper. I said I was, so she took me to what she called the baby room. There was a huge crib, a changing table, a dresser and a closet full of adult baby clothes, stacks upon stacks of cloth and disposable diapers… you name it, it was probably there.”

   Here Annie paused in her narrative for a sip of her cocktail; Francesca suddenly realized she was thirsty and took some of her own while Annie resumed. “I started to undress, but she asked if I would let her undress me as part of the scene. It wasn’t something we had talked about, but I decided that since she was going to see me bottomless anyway, it would be okay. However, she didn’t interpret it that way, and that should have been my first red flag. She stripped me naked in the gentlest way possible, and then had me climb up on the table to be diapered. I felt so vulnerable and she had this… power over me, and I just wanted to be dressed again, so I let her do her thing. Anyway, she got me into a diaper and put me in a romper and then we started to play. First it was dolls and then it was coloring books, and I really started to relax and get into the spirit of the game, finally, thinking everything was going to be okay. I started to have fun. A little while later she took me to the kitchen and put me into a high chair to feed me an early dinner. The high chair had a lock on the… food platter whatever, so that once she put me in it, I was in it for the long haul because I couldn’t see or find the latch to let myself out. She fed me a dinner of glorified baby food made for the purpose, which was actually sort of fun, but that was when it all started to go wrong. The door opened and closed, and a man’s voice called hello into the house. She called him into the kitchen while she fed me, and I almost died right there when this guy came in; big guy, burly arms, long hair tied back in a ponytail, tattoos up and down his arms; like a biker, I guess. Anyway, he looked at me like I was a piece of meat and it scared me so bad I murmured the safe word to this gal. I thought she didn’t hear me, because the biker was saying something about her hobby with a laugh that must have overpowered my words, and when she turned back to me it was to put more food in my mouth. He went into the TV room and turned on a game or something, and she finished with me and then took me upstairs for a diaper change. By this point I was pretty wet and I was glad to get a new diaper, but while I was being changed, biker man came down the hall asking about something; he opened the door while I was still being wiped, and only my piercing shriek of ‘get out!’ got him to leave again. ‘Mommy’ shushed me and scolded me for being rude, telling me that good little girls didn’t behave like that.”

   Again, Annie stopped, but this time it wasn’t for a drink. Francesca remained silent, knowing that her place was only to listen, not to contribute. Angie was clearly shaken by the memories of her ordeal and was pausing only to gather herself for the final push. “I could see the betrayal in her eyes; she didn’t care at all that she had violated our agreement, broken all the rules, and so I spoke the safe word again, clearly and directly, and she only went back to putting me into my diaper. Since I was naked from the waist down I let her finish, but I was so mad. When she was done and I got off the table, she told me it was time for me to take a nap and she tried to get me to go into the crib, telling me that everything was okay. I told her no, and I told her I was leaving; she… tried to force me. The crib had a locking top on it that I saw at the last minute as she tried to calm me down and that really freaked me out. I screamed and slapped her and the shock made her let go of me long enough for me to run. I made a dive for my purse, scooped up all my clothes and got my phone out only by the grace of God before she could get to me. Biker man came back into the room then, demanding to know what was going on and I screamed them both down, telling them that if they didn’t let me leave right then I was calling 911; I had the numbers punched in on the phone and all I had to do was hit send. They both tried to calm me down but I was hysterical. I refused to let them near me, and told them if they didn’t let me out I was calling the police and screaming bloody murder. They looked at me like I was utter slime, but they let me go.” Francesca nodded her approval; 911 calls always received a response, whether it was a squad car or a SWAT team. Evidently the people she had been with didn’t want any sort of attention. That was something Francesca was going to pass along as well… there might be some positive outgrowth from this case that would go a long way towards protecting other people, she thought to herself.

 “I got the hell out of there and never looked back. She tried to contact me again, but I didn’t respond to her messages; I deleted the account I talked to her with and went through… a purge, I guess. I threw out a lot of my baby clothes or gave them away; I made it a point to burn the romper that she had dressed me in. It took me a long time to get over that, and in the meantime, I started talking to this guy for a while, and he really helped me get through it, as did a couple other friends who I’m still really close to, even though they’re like, across the country.”

Here Annie began to break down; tears clouded her eyes and her lip trembled. She looked away as Francesca started to lean forward to offer some sort of tender contact, and before Francesca could even start to complete the maneuver, Annie was back in control of herself. Francesca covered her motion by awkwardly resituating herself until she felt the moment had passed. She knew that this next part of the story was going to be painful for Annie to tell. She wished she had been disappointed.

“We talked, and talked, and talked… we even met up a couple times, living not too far from each other. Real casual stuff: nothing serious, nothing dangerous. After a while, he suggested bringing diapers into the mix… he was a diaper lover and so we would wear our diapers together when we hung out and went to movies and stuff, and it started to get more serious. We got closer and closer, and I really liked him a lot… until one night after we had gone out for a dinner and a movie he invited me back to his place. Once we were in the door, he changed… it was like Jekyll and Hyde. He had me go to the living room of his apartment and he went to his room, I guess, for a minute, and when he came back he had diapers and wipes and he told me to lay down so he could change me. I told him no, but he insisted… not like in a ‘hey you’re probably wet and really need a change and I’d like to change you’ sort of way, but in an ‘I don’t care what you want, I’m changing your diaper anyway’ kind of way. I told him no; he started to get angry. He tried to guilt me into it, pressure me into it… then he lost his cool and tried to throw me into it. He grabbed my arm and tried to force me down, I got out of his hold and he cussed me out and tried again. I dodged him and made a dash for the door. He went after me and I elbowed him away long enough to get out the door; before I got out he tried to pull me away by grabbing me around the waist and I jabbed my elbow into his face. I ran down the hall and fled the building as fast as I could. He tried calling me, but I didn’t pick up; when I got home there were emails and messages waiting for me telling me he was sorry and that he lost his head and didn’t mean to hurt me, but I had none of it. I never responded to him, and again deleted that profile and cut off all contact with everyone I’d been close to for a while. After that…” Annie shrugged. “I just was in it for myself. I would come home from work and put on a diaper and do my thing. Every now and again I’d go on a date with a guy I’d meet, sometimes a few times with the same guy, but they never seemed to click and I’d let them down easy.”

“Because you don’t feel you can trust them with this side of your life,” Francesca said, speaking for the first time in what seemed like ages.

Annie nodded soberly. “Exactly. I don’t know who I can and cannot trust, and I’ve been burned so badly twice that I don’t speak to anyone, anymore, if I don’t think I can trust them.”

That sparked curiosity in Francesca as well as set off instinctive warning bells in her head. “How did I get past your filter?” Francesca asked.
Annie smiled. “That’s easy; you came off so obviously innocent and new to the lifestyle that I knew if I didn’t take pity on you someone else would… and then you might end up like I did, only worse.”

Francesca couldn’t help but smile; the warning bells eased. “You wanted to protect me.”
“Yes, I did. Then we got to talking and you just seemed so… normal. Since I’ve nearly been killed, like, twice, now, I’ve developed a sense for these things. I can tell you’re a good egg, Frankie. That’s why you’re here… but I still had to be sure. That’s why after my diaper change, I left my pants off. I had to see how you reacted. I wanted to see if you were going to try to hurt me. I don’t think anyone else would have taken off their pants like you did, just to level the playing field. That… clinched it, really,” Annie murmured. “I don’t know you very well, I don’t know your past, I don’t know… anything about you, except that you won’t try to hurt me. No matter what… I know you’re safe and that I’m safe with you. And right now… that’s all that matters, at least to me.”

The complete sincerity in Annie’s voice moved Francesca almost to tears, so much so that Francesca needed a moment to compose herself before she responded. “I… don’t know what to say to that,” she said with a quiet laugh, and then slid across the couch and put her arms around Annie in a friendly embrace which was cheerfully returned. “So… yeah. This is me being lame.”

Annie laughed and swiped away the last vestiges of the tears she hadn’t let fall when they parted. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Francesca responded, and a companionable silence descended for a moment.

“So tell me,” Annie prompted. “What’s it like sitting around with another girl while wearing diapers?”

Francesca thought about it, and then looked down at her own diaper peeking out from under the hem of her shirt and then at Annie’s diaper and then at Annie herself. “Well… it’s definitely different. But, to be honest… I think I could get used to it,” she replied, privately surprised at the ring of truth of her own words.

Annie beamed at her. “Good!” she said before she stood from the couch and tossed a pillow into Francesca’s face, only narrowly deflected.

“Hey!” she cried before tossing it back at Annie, who only giggled and whipped it back at her. Francesca narrowed her eyes. “Okay, seriously, if we’re not careful something bad is going to happen. We have to go about this in a more adult manner.”

Annie wasn’t inclined to follow Francesca’s line of though, and merely picked up another pillow to lob at her. “Like what?” Francesca stood up from the couch and snatched up the remote to Annie’s TV and stereo. “What are you doing?” she asked, curiosity overcoming her more brattish attitude.

Francesca didn’t answer for a moment as she scrolled through channels on the digital cable menu. “Let’s see… ha. There it is,” she said with quiet triumph. She selected the channel and a moment later the screen was alive with a riot of color and light and the stereo pulsed out the heavy bass beat of the latest hip hop singles. For her part, Francesca began to dance to it. One of her hobbies in addition to the perks of the Bureau was frequent participation in a hip hop dance class, something she had done since high school, having at one point been both a cheerleader and a dancer. Francesca knew full well that the frequent hip hop exercises kept her lean, limber, and flexible, and she showed it now with a variety of sharp, crisp moves that would have done a backup dancer proud. She paused in one of her evolutions to throw a challenge at Annie. “Let’s see what you got!”

Annie took the bait and squared off against Francesca, her face shining with the glow of the challenge, all hints of sadness and secret pain washed away, much to Francesca’s relief. “Oh, it’s on, girlfriend!” she shot back, and proceeded to stun Francesca into momentarily silence with moves that weren’t far removed from her own.
Suitably impressed, Francesca remarked, “you must have had some practice or some training.”

“High school and college; cheerleader,” came the reply.

“Fancy that, same here!”

With this shared piece of their respective histories, the taller Francesca and the shorter Annie by some unconscious change of tack began to dance with each other rather than against each other, eventually ending up nearly in unison with the backup dancers for a variety of top-40s videos, or at least as close to unison as they could manage by feeling the beat and interpreting it in their own ways, which led to accidental blows being exchanged and a great deal of amusement. Both women had eventually shed some of their upper garments, to the point that eventually they were both frolicking about in their diapers and whatever base layer shirt had formed the foundation for each woman’s outfit for the evening, until fatigue had set in and they settled back simply to watch and critique the dancers in the videos as well as whatever gyrations the artist in question was making. Francesca allowed herself to relax and use her diaper as well; by this point Annie’s was getting close to soaked, which amused Francesca. She had no idea that Annie was that relaxed of a diaper lover that she would so openly and casually soil herself. Francesca felt she needed to do the same to maintain the status quo and also keep up the comfort level that would be critical for her forthcoming maneuvers to lay the house of the Caretaker open for the FBI. Too, the notion of wetting her diaper in her friend’s presence felt just naughty enough to make it worth the embarrassment she felt for being in a wet diaper in a public—though quite private and intimate—a setting. She wondered how she would fare at the Caretaker’s House, and if she would be as strong as she felt she needed to be when the time came to complete her mission… and cut ties with people who would be either proven innocent at last, or have the shadows of guilt finally cast over them.

Francesca eventually bid to leave Annie’s apartment, much to Annie’s dismay. She was prevailed upon to at least promise to hang out the following day so they could have more fun doing something that would surely be entertaining, and Francesca was able to happily agree to the meeting. Francesca did make a point of declining to change into a fresh diaper, claiming that she wanted to get used to being wet, and also that she didn’t want to trespass too terribly upon Annie’s enormous stash of diapers. Annie wasn’t having it. “Okay, fine! I’m… sort of embarrassed to change my diaper in your apartment; I only changed earlier because I was really, really wet,” Francesca sheepishly admitted, not without truth.

Annie was satisfied with that admission; it strengthened their friendship only more. “No sweat, kiddo; maybe you’ll loosen up when you see the Caretaker changing our diapers,” she said, and bid Francesca goodnight, leaving the undercover FBI agent with only more questions about what truly went on at the Caretaker’s… questions that she knew would soon be answered.

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Six

   That night after Francesca returned to her apartment, she uploaded new information via the secured link to the FBI that included Annie’s address, the final piece of the puzzle that would allow the Bureau to complete their picture of her. She also confirmed in an email to both of her current bosses that she would be inside the Caretaker’s House next Saturday or earlier. After that was done with, Francesca changed her diaper and went to bed, having waged a brief battle over whether or not to switch back to underwear in the privacy of her own space—she couldn’t think of the apartment as ‘home’, not when it was being financed by the Bureau, and especially not when she would be removing back to her own apartment in a matter of weeks, that number being as few as two. There would be a lot of paperwork and after-action reports to generate, submit, and file after the case was closed.

   Francesca dreamed dreams she hadn’t ever had before in her life that she was aware of; she dreamt that she was in a cheerfully-decorated house with Annie and they were being treated like overgrown toddlers, complete with their diapers on display to the world and not caring in the least. In her dream, Francesca watched as Annie was fed baby food and made a mess of it, and then suffered the same fate herself. She also watched as Annie’s diaper was changed by a male figure she could only assume was her mind’s fabrication of the Caretaker, and then she herself had her diaper changed by the same figure. She awoke the next morning in a slight daze, with her mind clouded with conflicting feelings about having her diaper changed by someone else; she was simultaneously repulsed and intrigued by the idea. Her hand slipped under the covers to her diaper, and she was relieved to find that it was still dry. Of course it was still dry, she reproached herself mentally. There was no reason it should be anything other than dry, after all. However, while there was no reason it should have been wet when she woke up, Francesca did not see the point in letting it go to waste; after she stood from her bed she relaxed and soon the diaper’s mission was fulfilled. Francesca still didn’t see what was so fun about wetting one’s diaper, but she had to admit it was very convenient not to have to wait in line for the ladies’ room when out and about, even if it did inspire occasional episodes of self-disgust when she remembered that she was carting around her own waste like so much payload. Whenever that happened, she had to remind herself that it was part of staying in character and maintaining that common ground with Annie, who was both Francesca’s greatest asset and worst nightmare, in addition to becoming her closest friend. Francesca knew in her heart that she would eventually have to tell Annie the whole truth, and hope that Annie’s assertion that no matter what, Francesca would not hurt her, held fast in the face of what could only be betrayal on a colossal level.

   When Francesca walked into her bathroom to change out of her wet diaper she was greeted with an unpleasant reminder of the darker side of the diaper fetish, and it made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. Yesterday’s diapers had cheerfully permeated the bathroom with the pungent stink of stale urine. “Ugh, gross,” she grumbled as she took off her wet diaper and rolled it up to join the other two in the wastebasket. She cleaned herself with wipes scaled for adults—on a lark she had wandered into the pharmacy section the previous day and discovered them—and then set about tying closed and removing the bag, pushing it into the kitchen’s garbage can which had a pop-up lid; a sure-fire way to contain the odor until she took the garbage to the complex dumpster. When that was dealt with, she went about preparing for the day by showering and selecting clothes for another excursion with Annie. However, before she could put on a diaper—or any other clothes—her phone rang. After carefully making sure that her still-wet hair was wrapped up in its towel, she picked it up and answered; she did not recognize the number. “Francesca Bowden,” she greeted.

   “Agent Bowden, this is Bart Clayton with the local Bureau; we got your information on your contact and we’ve run our background check. This gal checks out clean. No previous criminal history, a couple speeding tickets… low-key stuff, nothing setting off any red flags.”

   “That’s good to know,” Francesca said, somewhat relieved.

   “Yeah, Thompson wanted you to know. He also asked for a status update; I haven’t been briefed in, yet, so a vague answer that would make sense to him will do the job,” the voice of Bart Clayton said, amusement evident in his tone. Francesca couldn’t help but smile.

   “You can tell Thompson that this-coming Saturday is the big day; I’ll get him a more complete update when I come in tomorrow; I have another meeting with Annie, today; we’re going to check out more of the things to do around here and do girly stuff,” Francesca replied, allowing herself to be as amused with the conversation as Clayton was.

   “Sounds good, Agent Bowden. Thompson says nice job, by the way, or at least he would if he was in the office. I’ll pass along your message and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

   “Thank you, Mr. Clayton.” The line clicked off and Francesca put her phone back on the dresser before reaching for the clean diaper she had set out on her bed. She paused for a moment after she picked it up and debated going without a diaper, but decided against it as she unfolded the disposable garment and went about putting it on. It was important to maintain solidarity and camaraderie with her contact—friend, she reminded herself—in order to keep working her way in and accomplish her final, overarching objective.

   They had agreed to meet at a café across town for lunch, but when Francesca arrived, she was surprised to see that Annie wasn’t alone; she was in the company of another twenty-something woman who looked as though she would be more at home among people wearing all black in a dark room with neon lights everywhere: she was liberally pierced when it came to her ears, lips, and nose, her hair was dyed as black as black could be with several other colors towards the ends, it was cut short in the front but spiked out in the back, she wore a black shirt with a band name that Francesca didn’t recognize on it, over which was a leather jacket, she wore a denim skirt with a variety of what Francesca could only assume were punk rock patches scattered over it along with some designs of her own done in what was probably Sharpie marker, black leggings, and black lace-up boots with at least three inches of platform to them. Her nails were painted black, white, pink, and blue, she wore heavy blue and black eye shadow, and her lips were painted with black lipstick. Sitting next to the more casually dressed and made-up Annie, this new face was a striking contrast. However, any notion of this person being antagonistic to Annie were immediately quashed; they were engaged in friendly conversation before Annie spotted Francesca and waved her over. When the other woman looked at Francesca was when her instinctive red flags went up: the look she received was hard and appraising. Francesca approached and Annie made the introductions.

   “Sadie, this is Frankie; the girl I told you about. Frankie, this is Sadie, another friend of mine at the Caretaker’s,” she said.

   Ah ha. “Nice to meet you,” Francesca said, extending a hand.

   “Mm,” Sadie responded, not making a good first impression, which Francesca figured was her intent. “So what the fuck, newbie? What are you doing in this freak show lifestyle?”

   Francesca was immediately thrown off her guard. “What?” she asked stupidly. Sadie just kept her level, heavily made up eyes leveled straight into Francesca’s. Francesca noticed they were a lovely shade of blue. “Oh, um…” Francesca stammered as she groped for coherent thoughts and words to string together in something resembling English. “Well, I haven’t figured anything out about it other than I like it,” she said, and she was only partly lying. She didn’t mind the diapers when it came to wearing them. Wetting them was still something she was adjusting to.

   Sadie seemed to be anything other than convinced. “Right. Well, whatever. Just don’t fuck with me, or my friends, or anything else about this, okay? Because, if you do, I’ll probably kill you. I mean that. Do not mess this up.” The intensity in Sadie’s voice was disturbing, and Francesca had to repress a strong urge to flash her badge that she had hidden in her purse along with her other credentials… and her sidearm.

   Before Francesca could make any sort of response, Annie jumped in and defused the situation. “Relax, Sadie. I’ve gotten to know her quite a bit over the last couple days. She’s a good egg.”

   Sadie turned her gaze to Annie. “You sure?” Francesca kept quiet, thinking this was some sort of initiation process.

   Annie nodded. “I’ve been right before,” she answered.

   Whatever reminder this was seemed to mollify Sadie enough for her to explain herself. “Alright, then. Sorry Frankie, but we’ve had some people try to fuck us over several times. I mean, I’m not exactly the girl next door, obviously, and I like to get wild and have fun, but this thing you’re getting into with us is, like, one of the most important things in my fucked up tornado of a life. I’ve known Annie for a long time—we go back a ways—and I trust her judgment about new people. Some we let in. Others we don’t. She told me all about you, or at least what she knows, which is why you’re sitting here with us at this table. I hate newcomers who just want to be part of the ‘scene’ or just want to get their rocks off or something. This is much, much more than that, especially to me.”

   Francesca had been evaluating Sadie the entire time she had been speaking and making her own private deductions. Hard life? Probably; possibly involving substance abuse in one form or another. History of abuse? Possibly. Francesca could see in Sadie’s eyes that she was hiding some wounds and had some deeper issues to work through. “Well, however important it is to you, I promise I won’t… rain on your parade, or anything. I’m in this for me. I’m not here to mess up anyone else’s fun, whatever that might be.”

   “I’m going to hold you to that, Frankie,” Sadie said in a quiet, serious tone. Francesca wondered how bad Sadie’s life actually was to make her so defensive. She put that down to some of the people who had been dragging the Caretaker through the mud getting under Sadie’s skin.

   “Anyway,” Annie broke in. “What say we order something?” she suggested, hoping to defuse the situation even further.

   “That is a fantastic idea,” Francesca agreed and she dove into her menu to break the heavy atmosphere that had descended upon the table. Sadie picked up her menu and silently perused it. They all selected light but hearty meals, and Francesca took the opportunity to order something to drink other than water. After the waiter had brought Francesca her drink, she took the opportunity to go on the offensive, at least to a mild degree. “So, Sadie… what’s your favorite brand to wear?”

   “Huh?” Sadie asked looking up from her menu. “Oh, um…” she trailed off and blushed before answering in little better than an embarrassed mumble. “Cuddles.” Francesca had to remember which brand that was before she was able to put the picture together, and when she did she giggled. Sadie immediately flushed red. “What’s so funny?” she demanded archly.

   “Nothing, really,” Francesca promised. “It’s just… that’s such an adorably girly diaper.”

   “They don’t make any Goth diapers,” Sadie retorted sulkily.

   “Okay, okay, I’m sorry I brought it up. They are really cute diapers, though; honestly, I never would have figured you for a Cuddles girl… maybe cloth with skulls and crossbones or something.”

   Sadie made a face. “Cloth is okay, but I like the Cuddles better. They’re just… well… I don’t know. I just like ‘em. Sometimes I get tired of being all tough and shit, and they help me just chill.”

   “Have you tried that new really thick diaper that Bambino just came out with?” Francesca asked.

   “Who came out with what, now?”

   Annie chimed in. “The Bambino Bellissimo. I’ve got a case on order; should be in this week and I can’t wait to try them. They look adorable.”

   “How adorable?” Sadie asked, her curiosity piqued; she showed an eagerness that Francesca found amusing, as well as interesting.

   “Well, not as adorable as Cuddles, but like three times as thick,” Annie explained. “They put a really cute tape panel on it with bunnies and bears and stuff. It’s really colorful.”

   “Did they do anything with the rest of the diaper, like make it single-tape or color more than just the tape panel?” Sadie asked.

   “No, still same old Bambino, aside from being thicker.”

   Sadie made another face, this one a negative reaction. “Bleh. I mean, I like Bambino, but they seriously need to get with it and paint over more of their diapers. It’s not like it’s hard to do.”

   “One day they will, I bet,” Annie put in.

   “How would you rate Cuddles against Bambinos?” Francesca asked.

   “Well, Cuddles look better, but they’re more of a play diaper, like ABU. Cloth-like rather than plastic shell, pink leg gathers, pink tape panel, pink hearts and shit all over the place, pink elastic waistbands front and back, so in that department they have Bambino beat. I like cloth-like diapers better than plastic most of the time, anyway. Downside is, Bambino is still more absorbent and they leave you feeling a little drier; Cuddles aren’t bad, but they leave you a little more… damp, I guess, and they’re only good for maybe two solid wettings. Bambinos you can wear for like, a day and not need a change. I’ve pushed both diapers to the max to see which could take the heat. Bambino won.”

   “That’s cool,” Francesca said. “I thought about trying them, but everyone was over the moon for Bambino.”

   “I would be, too, if they would just make them look better. Maybe this new one will sway me,” Sadie allowed, and then they all fell silent on the subject of diapers as their meals arrived. Francesca felt a sense of victory at having bridged a gap between her and Sadie; it felt like the tension that had been between them because of Sadie’s aggressive defense was partially deflated, and that was a good thing. However, Sadie could prove to be an eventual thorn in Francesca’s side when it came to closing this part of the investigation… something that Francesca was going to have to take into account one way or another. The only question was how to go about it. The other side of the coin, however, was that Sadie could be an unexpected bonus to the case… she seemed like a troubled soul who needed guidance, and maybe a little rescuing. Francesca hoped she would be able to help.

   Lunch was uneventful, aside from banal commentary on individual meals, tastes, similar dishes consumed in the past, and then Annie put forth the suggestion that they go a local art gallery. The suggestion didn’t precisely appeal to Francesca, but she approved of it and voiced her support for the notion. Sadie agreed as well, rather enthusiastically, and after paying for their meals, the three women departed from the café. Scarcely had they gone five feet from the door when Sadie gushed, “oh, you are in for a treat; I should have suggested it earlier, but this is the perfect time to go. One of the shows this month is really, really good… like, the best I’ve seen in ages.”

   That got Francesca’s interest. “Really? What’s the show about?”

   “It’s a color study, various paints on various materials, some mixed with sculpture and lighting designed to stimulate emotional response,” Sadie responded.

   “How does that work?” Annie asked, sparing Francesca from having to.

   “Well, think about it. We naturally react to certain colors, right? Red usually stands for passion or love or hate, blue for peace or sadness or depression, green for envy or sickness, and yellow for cowardice, so these artists have taken some of those colors to create specific environments around each piece, so that when you view it you react to it on a subconsciously emotional level, rather than the top-tier emotional level you might experience looking at a beautiful landscape, or a sunset, or a baby seal or something. I was here a couple weeks ago with some other friends and we really enjoyed it.”

   “Could be fun, then,” Francesca said, actually looking forward to the experience, now, with Sadie’s all-but-glowing review of it.

   The gallery wasn’t a far walk from the café where they had lunch, and on the way Francesca was pleased that in addition to talking about art they talked about other things that were both commonplace and specific, and in general they all behaved as friends. In spite of her earlier bluster, Francesca actually found herself enjoying Sadie’s company, though not to the same extent that she enjoyed Annie’s; that deeper connection wasn’t there, yet. While they walked, and the other two women talked about something that Francesca wasn’t immediately familiar with, she allowed herself to drift into her own private thoughts for a few minutes, and invariably came back to her reason for being in this situation in the first place. Her cover was easy, and keeping it was even easier, at least for the moment. However, this time she had an unpleasant thought and worried that everything she was doing was suddenly in jeopardy; what if this gallery had a bag check? She knew that a lot of major museums and galleries did, because they didn’t want people walking around with bags or drinks, because they might accidentally bump into something or spill. If that was the case, and they chose to go through her purse, they’d see her gun and she would have to show her badge in order to keep things quiet, but that might only make things worse rather than better…

   …And then all of her fears were laid to rest when they walked into the gallery, paid a perfunctory entry fee, and were able to walk right into the exhibits. Francesca allowed herself a private sigh of relief. Sadie was excited to be back in the gallery, and she evidently was a frequent visitor if the way she greeted the attendants in such a familiar way was any indication. Annie was looking about, evidently willing to be pleased by what they were about to see, but the pieces in the welcoming area were from a broad spectrum of styles and media, not part of the specific show they had come to see. That was further back, and in a wing all to itself, the brochure they had all taken told them. Before they could go to the gallery itself, Annie said she needed to visit the restroom, which Francesca interpreted, correctly, as Annie needed a diaper change. The thought almost made her laugh, but Francesca realized she might benefit from a diaper change as well…

[hiddenname150]

A good solid story that keeps me interested you have managed this.

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Seven

   The trick to surviving life in diapers is not to make a big deal about it when wearing them. Francesca vaguely recalled reading that in the forum posts she had browsed through days previously, and it had stuck with her since beginning this undercover assignment for real. However, she had made a terrible rookie mistake by forgetting to put her spare diaper in her purse, thus she was relegated to remaining in her wet diaper until she could get back to her apartment. This prompted her to worry about the undoubtedly horrific consequences of a leak, and so when her two companions headed to the restroom to deal with their diapers, Francesca followed suit with mounting embarrassment. She stifled it long enough to keep her composure until she was safely in a stall, wherein she silently vented her frustration until she felt calm after her private outburst. Casually, she unfastened her pants and pulled them down far enough to check her diaper, and she was privately relieved to see that she wasn’t very wet at all, at least by how her diaper felt. She heard Annie and Sadie changing diapers as quietly as they could, but Francesca simply pulled up her pants and exited her stall to wash her hands. Annie and Sadie found Francesca standing at the sinks checking her hair and makeup casually, and they all three of them left the restrooms to tour the gallery.

   As she had several times before, Francesca simply pushed her diapered state to the back of her mind, as she had done when she had first started wearing them outside the security of a private residence with a locked door (and a firearm) between her and public view of her state. It was a source of momentary wonder for her that it was so easy to forget about it and go on about her normal life. Scant moments later, it was easy to remember why it was so easy to forget, but this time the reminder came from a source once thought to be hostile.

   “I absolutely love this display,” Sadie breathed. “The vibrance, the emotion… it’s all so beautifully intense,” she went on, absorbing herself into the artwork arrayed on walls and pedestals around the spacious room. The artwork in question was a blend of single color studies, while others spanned the rainbow. Some were done in shades of gray, others all in black, or even shades of black; so it seemed to Francesca, anyway. There were sculptures as well, some simple pottery vibrantly and beautifully painted, as well as more interesting pieces such as mannequins that were painted over as well. Francesca tried to let her emotions lead her through the exhibit, as was the intent, but thinking about it just made it seem like she was looking at paint splattered on canvas in broad swaths to no good effect. Then, she realized she was going about it in the entirely wrong way, attempting to quantify what wasn’t supposed to be quantified, to apply meaning to that which wasn’t supposed to have meaning. She was instinctively assessing and critiquing, not viewing. She settled for thinking of the various colors as pretty, instead. Shortly, her entire view of the exhibit began to change, and the true impact of the art began to reveal itself to her.

   “This blue one is beautiful,” she murmured while standing in front of a five-foot by nine-foot canvas that had an aesthetically pleasing whorl of blue paint on it, ranging from so-bright-it-could-be-white sky blue to deep, rich cerulean and navy that could almost have been black. It was simple and smooth, and Francesca liked it for that reason. Annie was more interested in the pieces that involved more than one color, while Sadie gravitated, perhaps by instinct, towards pieces that dealt with darker colors and had more chaotic—violent?—patterns of paint. Francesca focused on Sadie for a moment, watching her look at the displays. Did she see reflections of herself in the various works? Not impossible, because art on all levels spoke to the creator as well as to the viewer, and in some cases the viewer spoke back. Francesca couldn’t help but wonder what sort of past—or present—Sadie had to bring her to so dark a place… at least if Francesca was reading her right. It was no wonder, then, that Sadie craved the innocence of infantilism. It wasn’t just an escape or a distraction, it was her only means of outlet, perhaps the way she centered herself and managed to avoid the chaos that she might think surrounded her on all sides, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike and consume her. She was a striking contrast to Annie, Francesca thought, who was such a dear, sweet, innocent creature that it caused Francesca a fresh wave of guilt when she remembered why she was here and why she had targeted Annie specifically. Her justification for it was that when all was said and done and the pain had been inflicted, she would depart from Annie with the knowledge that she would be shielded from harm in the event that the Caretaker himself was criminally complicit in the child porn ring the FBI was foaming at the mouth to eradicate.

   They spent upward of an hour in the art gallery, taking the time to view the other shows and exhibits at Francesca’s suggestion, often hearing Sadie expound upon the virtue or supposed meaning of this painting or that sculpture. Listening to her talk got Francesca to wonder, and eventually caused her to ask, “do you paint or sculpt at all?”

   Sadie looked at Francesca as though distracted. “What?” She took the moment after that silly question to recollect herself. “Oh, um… sometimes, yeah. I do some photography here and there, sometimes I paint, sure, but never anything really… intricate,” she answered, somewhat sheepishly.

   “Oh,” Francesca said with a slight nod. “You seem like you have a pretty solid grasp on what art can be that I wondered whether or not you might make any yourself… have you ever thought about doing anything for local art shows or submitting to this place?”

   Sadie barked a laugh at that suggestion. “Me? Have work here?” she shook her head. “I think Mars would have to invade, first. My stuff, what little there is of it, isn’t good enough for this place.”

   One of Francesca’s long-forgotten classes in college that had to do with art, and art history, came back to her at that moment. “I remember this story from when I was in college about this guy who… signed his name on a urinal or something and submitted it to this big-shot art show in New York, I think. It got shown,” Francesca finished with a shrug.

   Sadie arched an eyebrow. “There is a world of difference between Marcel Duchamp and me.”

   “Maybe, but sometimes art doesn’t have to be quantified, it just has to be. Maybe you can do something with diapers,” Annie put in suddenly, having been quietly watching the whole exchange from the sidelines.

   “Oh yeah, great idea, Annie. Out me to the world, why don’t you,” she retorted.

   “People have done stranger things in the past. Besides, you could always wrap it around some larger social issue,” Annie went on, and then let the matter drop when Sadie didn’t reply. By common consensus, the ladies left the gallery shortly after and started walking back towards where they had parked their cars. Francesca spared a moment to be concerned about her diaper, and debated heading back to her apartment to change. She wasn’t sure she could handle changing her diaper in public on her own without at least the somewhat comforting solidarity of another stall being occupied with the same task. However, before she could start choosing words to build her excuse, Sadie piped up with an idea.

   “We should go to the Caretaker’s,” she suggested.

   Annie spoke first, sparing Francesca’s brick-wall-impact surprise. “Seriously? I thought his next gathering wasn’t until next week,” she said, but she didn’t voice any opposition.

   Sadie shrugged. “Maybe he planned one for next week, yeah, but I was going to go over to his place later, anyway, might as well invite you along. Frankie here seems like she’s got her head on straight, or as straight as it can be in this world, so why not tonight?”

   Francesca felt she had to say something. “Well, is it alright with him?” she asked. “I mean, we can’t just barge in on him unannounced.”

   “True,” Sadie conceded, but then she pulled out her phone and selected a number from her contacts list and dialed it. “Hey, it’s me,” she said when the connection went through. “Mind if me, Annie, and a new friend drop in on you later?” There were pauses between the exchanges, but Francesca found herself wanting violently to fidget at this possible break in her case. She forced herself to be calm and instead traded a look with Annie, who seemed almost as excited to visit him as Francesca was. “Well, yeah, it would involve diapers. No, Annie met her over the Internet a while ago, and she’s been hanging out with her the last couple days. She says she’s a good egg, and you know how Annie is on people. Yeah, I know you planned one for next week, but I’m bored and I wanna play.” That last exchange got Francesca’s mind thinking in a different way, especially as she started reading more deeply into Sadie’s facial and emotional expressions. “No, I promise I won’t bring anyone else, just Annie and Frankie, the new girl. You’ll like her; she’s nice.” Francesca smiled at the compliment, but wondered whether or not Sadie’s relationship with the Caretaker was more than just the play she wanted. It also made sense why she had his phone number… did Annie have his number as well? Possibly, but Francesca didn’t think so based on the information she’d read on him… but she also had to admit to herself that what she had to go on wasn’t a whole lot of information. “Okay, great. We’ll see you then,” Sadie finished, and put her phone away. “So, we’re on for tonight; any time after six. He wants us to bring some food, like frozen pizzas or something. If you have any preferred booze you can bring that, too,” Sadie explained to Francesca.

   “Wow, just like that?” Francesca asked.

   Sadie nodded. “He won’t admit it, but he likes to play just as much as I do, which is a lot of the time. He tries to keep to a schedule so he doesn’t overdo it and get bored, or go broke buying diapers. He’s got… like, the biggest stash I’ve ever seen, beating out even Annie, here, and she has something like a metric buttload.”

   “His furniture is first rate, too; the cribs are super-comfortable and the changing table is… well, it’s amazing. Makes me feel like I’m two, again,” Annie put in.

   “So, he changes your diapers for real, huh?”

   Both women nodded, but it was Annie who made the response. “Yeah, but only if you let him; some girls just want to hang out in diapers, others want the full baby experience. He makes you pick what rules you want to play by, and you have to sign a waiver thing that establishes those rules, sort of like a contract.”

   “Yeah, it’s really smart. It sets up boundaries so he knows how far you’re willing to go, but if you say, ‘hey, I just want to chillax in my diaper, don’t touch me’ when you get there, but by the end of the night you want him to change you, just tell him, and he’ll do it. He makes it all about what you want, not what he wants, so if you want something, you have to tell him. Otherwise, the dude just hides out in his office,” Sadie elaborated.

   “Wow, sounds awesome,” Francesca said. “I’m looking forward to it!”

   Sadie took the opportunity to rib Francesca a little bit. “So, you want to get your diapers changed by the famous Caretaker, huh?”

   Francesca blushed, and was momentarily surprised to realize that it was an honest blush. “Well, I don’t know, yet. Probably not this first time; I just want to see what it’s all about. Who knows, I might get there, see what it’s like, and run for the hills.”

   Sadie giggled. “Yeah, right. We’ll see what song you’re singing by the end of the night, Frankie.”

   Annie chimed in with, “he’s very gentle about it, too; I love how he handles my diapers.”

   Sadie nodded. “Yeah, he’s very delicate. Who would have thought that getting changed could be so… so… exciting?”

   Not I, Francesca thought to herself, but didn’t speak it aloud. She blushed a little more and muttered something at random to put out a flag to change the subject, which Annie interpreted and delivered on. They spoke of casual things on the way back to their cars, and separated to go back to their respective domiciles or to stores to collect supplies for the evening. Annie told Francesca that she’d call her with how to get to the Caretaker’s House, or meet her somewhere and take her there in person.

   After they separated, Francesca nearly exploded with pent-up energy. It was so bad that she threw her phone into her car’s ceiling trying to quickly dig it out of her purse, and then it refused to stay in her hands, causing her to chase it all over the floor of her car until she finally took a breath, calmed down, and could make a phone call without shrieking like a banshee. “This is Francesca Bowden with some good news; I’m going in tonight. I’ll call in later with the address,” she said, and then clicked off, having left a voicemail for Agent Thompson. Then, she headed to the nearest grocery store she knew of, picked out some pizzas and a two-liter bottle of Hawaiian Punch to bring to the Caretaker’s, and then headed back to her apartment to get ready. At long last, she had an excuse to wear her sundress and she meant to take advantage of it, so she put on her onesie/diaper shirt and her sundress after changing into a fresh diaper, put some spare clothes in a bag to bring with (because when engaging in baby play, even at one remove, it was better to be safe rather than sorry; too, she had memories of babysitting) and headed out.

   Just as she was getting into her car, Annie called. “Hey, you ready?” she asked.

   “Yeah, I was just getting into my car,” Francesca replied. “Where are we going?”

   “Meet me at the bar we got drinks at your first night in town and I’ll lead you there. He’s… well, nervous about people he doesn’t know having his address.”

   “That’s fine,” Francesca replied and agreed to the meeting. It was a short drive to the bar, and Annie was there shortly after Francesca arrived. Francesca formed up behind Annie and followed her through town towards the Caretaker’s House, butterflies in her stomach the entire trip. This was really happening. She was literally being lead to the goal of her first major field investigation, and the excitement of the moment was becoming harder and harder to bear. She was also worried that she wouldn’t like what she found when she got there, but it was a risk that had to be run. That’s why she had her badge and her gun, though of course she would be leaving those behind in her car. If push came to shove, she figured that her unarmed combat training would be enough to get her at least out the door.

   The trip to the Caretaker’s House was longer than Francesca expected it to be, but that was primarily because Annie led her there taking mostly local and residential roads rather than arterial highways. Francesca didn’t worry about which turn went where, she just concentrated on keeping herself centered on the tasks before her. All she had to get was an address, and the FBI would do the rest. She was imagining Thompson’s reaction to her voicemail—which, on reflection, sounded full of a lot more bravado now than it had when she had recorded it—and was looking forward to the end of the night, rather than its beginning. She shifted in her driver’s seat and her diaper crinkled audibly, not being completely covered and restrained by pants. To calm herself, she turned on her car’s stereo and listened to some calming music while they drove.

   When Annie led her off of a busier road and into a neighborhood, Francesca started paying attention to street names. They had to be close, now; if he lived across town Annie likely would have taken a more direct route to the area rather than skirting through half the city to get there. Her instincts were correct: after one more turn, Annie slowed and pulled along the curb to park, and Francesca pulled in behind her. As if it had been previously coordinated, Sadie pulled in moments later. Francesca surveyed her surroundings; good middle-class neighborhood, cars, homes, and yards all in fairly good condition which meant that the varying incomes up and down the street allowed for the basic outward signs of comfort and security. It was run-of-the-mill Americana through and through, which meant that the Caretaker himself was what the FBI had thought he was all along: the average person next door… at least on the outside.

   Francesca got out of her car and walked over to Annie, who was just getting out of hers. “Oh, I love your dress!” she gushed. “You have to tell me where you got it!”

   “Thanks,” Francesca replied with a smile, and she took a moment to tell her where to get one for herself.

   “Excellent. I’ll look into it tomorrow, probably,” Annie said as Sadie walked up.

   “I buzzed him to let him know we’re here,” she said.

   “Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Francesca said as she went back to her car and got out the pizzas and Hawaiian Punch. Sadie then led both women to a specific house. It was a simple ranch home with a two-car garage, generic mid-range coloring and in good repair. Francesca hung back a pace to get a look at the house number without attracting too much attention. She memorized it, as well as the street name recorded earlier, and had to suppress a victorious smile. There were, however, butterflies in her stomach: this was it. She was going in, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was walking into a person’s house or a spider’s web. Sadie walked up to the front door and rang the bell. A shadow within presaged the Caretaker’s appearance at the opening door, and Francesca was surprised at how… ordinary he looked; tall, probably around six feet or so, dark hair, Caucasian, maybe a touch of Slavic ancestry in his blood, in good shape and probably strong, but other than that, fairly nondescript.

   “Evening, ladies; come in,” he said and he stood aside to admit them. Sadie walked in first with a cheerful smile and a playful jab to the Caretaker’s ribs. Annie followed, greeting him as well, and Francesca was last. “You must be Frankie,” he said to her with a small, but warm smile. “Welcome to my home.”

   “Hi, so nice to meet you,” she said, freeing a hand to shake his.

   “Everyone knows me as the Caretaker, but now that you’re here,” he said as he closed the door, “my name is Eric,” he finished as he took the food items off her hands. “Come on this way and I’ll give you a tour after I put this stuff away.” All three women followed behind him into the kitchen. Eric the Caretaker was only a few moments in putting the pizzas in the freezer and the punch in the refrigerator, and then he was gesturing for Francesca to follow him. “Obviously, this is the kitchen, dining room, and sitting room,” he said as he went along, “and down here is what I call the nursery for… obvious reasons,” he went on as he led Francesca into the most astonishing room she had ever seen in her entire life.

[alex84dl]

One of the best abdl story I have ever read ... maybe the best actually
You've done a fantastic job Nighthawk! Congrats!

[bshn]

Please continue I love this story

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Eight

   It was just like Annie had said, but more. The walls were painted baby blue and had clouds painted on them as well, the two cribs and the changing table were enormous and clearly sized for adults, built stoutly from finished wood. The room smelled of baby powder and oil, there were stuffed animals and a bin of toys along one wall, and a closet that was open to reveal adult-size baby clothes and unopened bags of disposable diapers.

   “This… is amazing. It’s even better than Annie said it was,” Francesca said, truly enthralled by all that she saw.

   The Caretaker smiled. “I’m glad you like it,” he said as he slipped past her and out the door. Francesca turned and followed him after a moment. “Down this way is my bedroom, which is normally off limits to my guests, but you might as well know where it is, anyway. This is the bathroom, which you are free to use as necessary, however please dispose of any used diapers in the diaper pail in the nursery,” he said as he walked down the hallway. “And this is my office,” he said as he walked into the room and sat down at his desk. “Not much to it, really, but I ask that you stay out unless you have my permission to be in here, mostly because it’s my office and I don’t need my guests snooping through my personal business,” he said congenially. Eric picked up a piece of paper and handed it over to Francesca. “These are the rules of the house for adult baby activities, and I do require that you read them thoroughly, understand them, sign and date it, and give it back to me so I can do the same. Basically, it is a contract that you agree to live by while you’re here, and it governs my actions more than it does yours,” he explained.

   “Wow… you don’t mess around,” Francesca murmured while she read. There were three levels of ‘play’ available for her to engage in. Level One was the basic level: she was responsible for her own diaper changes, was not required to use her diapers at all, and could make use of the nursery and its supplies to change herself. The Caretaker was not responsible for her care, health, or wellbeing when it came to age play activities in any capacity at Level One. Level Two was a little more involved; at Level Two, she would still have responsibility for her own diaper changes, but the Caretaker would be able to check her diaper and tell her if she needed to change, she could be fed and put down for naps like a toddler if she wanted to play more like one, but she also had the option to ask for a diaper change if she was only wet; the Caretaker would not change a dirty diaper. At Level Three, the Caretaker was completely in charge; he could check and change her diapers at his discretion, he also could feed her, put her down for naps, and also had the right to discipline up to, but not past, the point of corporal punishment in any sense of the term. There was a caveat for levels One and Two: if for any reason her diaper leaked when it was her responsibility to take care of it, she was responsible for cleanup, up to and including paying for damages, which Francesca thought was fair. At Level Three it was his responsibility to check and change a diaper before a leak could happen.

   “It’s for my protection as well as yours,” Eric explained. “I am a firm believer in clearly established boundaries when it comes to this fetish, and in order for there to be no confusion or complications, I spell the rules out pretty clearly. Use your head, use common sense, play nice, get along, and everyone’s happy. If you decide to play at Level Three tonight or at some point in the future, I require the establishment of a safe word between you and I that can be used at any point during the play, at which time I stop whatever I’m doing and walk away. It doesn’t matter if we’re sitting on the floor, coloring in coloring books, I’m feeding or changing you, whatever. You speak that word, I walk away, no questions asked, and whatever is left undone is your responsibility. Make sense?”

   “Yeah, it’s all pretty clear,” Francesca said. It even made sense legally, too. Francesca checked the box for Level Two, signed and dated in the appropriate places, and handed the paper back to Eric the Caretaker for his review. He looked the paper over, signed and dated the right spots, and set the paper in a tray on the side of his desk.

   “Okay, everything’s in order. Since I don’t know you and this is your first time, I’ll probably ask about your diaper before I check it, just until you get used to things. Annie and Sadie usually play at Level Three, so I generally treat them like highly capable toddlers… which is usually the case, anyway.”

   “Hey! I resemble that remark!” Sadie snapped. Annie just giggled.

   “Now that’s done, I’m going to get the oven started for pizza,” he said and all four of them went back to the sitting and dining rooms while Eric went to the kitchen. He came back a moment later and got down to business. “Okay, so first things first: Frankie, are you wearing a diaper and if so, do you need a change?”

   Francesca answered: “Yes, I have a diaper on; no I don’t need a change.” She couldn’t help but blush when he asked the question, however.

   Eric nodded. “Okay, fair enough. You two I’m sure need to be changed,” he said as he went to Sadie and flipped up her skirt to reveal her diaper. Francesca was surprised to see that Sadie didn’t react at all, but then she remembered that they were used to this and she wasn’t. “That’s one diaper that needs a change,” he said, and then went to Annie. He took down her pants enough to reveal her likewise wet diaper. “And that’s two, as expected. To the nursery!” he announced, and took both women to change their diapers. Francesca followed out of morbid curiosity. He started with Sadie, and he simply removed her skirt and let it fall to the floor before he hoisted her the short way up onto the changing table and had her lay down. Francesca watched as he tore open the tapes on her diaper—it was the girlishly styled Cuddles she had mentioned liking so much—and took it down just as if he were changing a real toddler. He removed the wet diaper and disposed of it before cleaning her front and back with an adult-sized wipe—he even lifted her legs like he would a baby to clean her behind, which for some reason seemed wrong to Francesca—and after that was done with, he produced another Cuddles diaper to dress her in. Francesca wondered how good they actually were in an absent sort of way as he unfolded it, lifted her bottom, and put it under her. Next came the use of baby powder, liberally sprinkled over her before he pulled the front of the diaper up and fastened it securely in place. “There we go, nice and clean,” he said as he helped her off the table. She thanked him and stood by smiling while Eric took down Annie’s pants, this time to remove them, and put her up on the changing table like he had Sadie.

   It was different watching Eric change Annie’s diaper than it was watching him change Sadie’s, but Francesca put that down to the closer relationship she had with Annie than with Sadie. This time, Francesca scrutinized Eric’s movements and treatment of Annie during her diaper change, looking for signs of abuse or illicit liberty, but all she saw was what Annie had testified to earlier: gentle care in the transition from wet diaper to dry diaper. That still didn’t keep Francesca from thinking that it was… inherently wrong. He put Annie into another Bambino, and when she was finished, he led all three women out into the sitting room and went to check on the oven. Both Sadie and Annie were left with their new diapers on display, which doubtless made it easier for Eric to check them with a glance rather than a more intimate intrusion. “So, what did you think?” Annie asked.

   The question caught Francesca off guard. “I… uh, what?”

   “About all of this,” Annie clarified. “How he does what he does.”

   “Oh, um… I’m not sure, yet. I mean, it’s still a lot to take in,” she answered, truthfully.

   “Why’d you check Level Two, then?” Sadie asked.

   Francesca blushed. “Because… well… maybe I wanted to leave the option open to go further,” she responded. In actuality, it was half-true. She had selected Level Two because she wanted to see if the Caretaker would truly keep to the rules as everyone had said he did. If he broke his own rules, Francesca would have grounds to charge him with sexual assault… at least, if she told him no and he pressed in, regardless. If she consented, he was free and clear to change her diaper, and Annie and Sadie were good character witnesses. She liked what she saw of him so far, but Francesca had to remind herself that there was a bigger picture to look at.

   A dinner of pizza and banal conversation followed. No one brought up the subject of diapers or related items at all until Francesca could no longer help herself. “So, Eric,” she began. “All that stuff in the nursery… did you buy it or build it?”

   Eric cleared his mouthful of pizza with a drink. “Believe it or not, I actually built it all myself.”

   Francesca was honestly impressed and it showed clearly in her expression. “That’s amazing! I haven’t seen such… craftsmanship outside of a custom furniture gallery in a long time. You did a really good job!”

   Eric was suitably flattered. “Thanks. I really appreciate that.”

   “You’ll have to try the crib, sometime,” Sadie put in. “For a polite cage, I don’t think I’ve ever had a better nap than in one of them.”

   Annie nodded agreement. “It’s true, they’re great cribs. They really help the whole scene work, and it’s easy to get out from the inside if you need to; none of that one-way parent control stuff most retail cribs for actual babies have.”

   “Wow,” Francesca said, amazed at what she was hearing. “Do you do custom carpentry for a living?” she asked.

   “Sort of,” he answered. “I’m actually a draftsman for a local construction company, but I’ve also worked with structural engineers and I made it a point to learn what all the different construction elements do so that I can improve my designs and make them easier to build.”

   “Nice,” Francesca nodded, wondering how it was this guy was single; there was no ring on his finger to signify a marital attachment, and the place was devoid of pictures of anyone who might be a wife or girlfriend, unless he and Sadie were an item. Francesca figured that was a possibility considering how Sadie had pretty much politely strong-armed her way into his house.

   After dinner, the ladies went to the sitting room and Eric retreated to his office, promising to come back in a little while to check diapers. When he was gone, Annie looked over at Francesca pointedly and asked, “so, do you think he’s okay?”

   Francesca almost asked Annie to clarify, but she decided to answer off the cuff. “He’s a nice guy. Not sure if I want to let him change me or anything, yet, but I can see why you guys like him so much.”

   “Good,” Sadie put in. “Just make sure you remember what I told you when I met you. Don’t mess this up.” Once again, there was a certain emotion to Sadie’s words that made Francesca wonder why she clung to this so fiercely.

   “I promise, if I start getting weirded out or anything, that I’ll disappear quietly,” Francesca responded, even going so far as to raise her right hand as though giving an oath. Sadie said nothing; she simply nodded her approval. Annie looked at her askance for a moment.

   “Anyway,” Annie said, to break the mood, but she had nothing to continue the thought after that.

   “Yeah,” Francesca picked it up. “So, how long have you guys been coming here?”

   “Oh my, a long time,” Annie responded. “Probably close to six months by this point, give or take.”

   Sadie nodded. “Almost a year for me,” she added.

   “Really? Wow,” Francesca mused. “Have you always played at Level Three or did you start at One and work up from there?”

   “I actually started at Two,” Sadie explained. “I liked the duality of it; I was still in control but I could choose to give up some control if I wanted to. I went to Three after about a month.”

   “I started at One, just because of what happened previously. I would just come to hang out with the others and relax and be in diapers without having to worry about people making fun of it, and that would be that. It took me like, three months to get to Three.”

   “Cool. I see what you mean, Sadie, about the duality of Two; that’s why I went for it, myself. You guys have vouched for him pretty staunchly, so I figure I’m alright with him, when I get comfortable with the idea, that is,” Francesca said, and after concluding her statement she took a moment to address her bladder’s need for release. By the looks of things, Sadie was already wet again as well, but Annie looked dry. “How many other girls come here?”

   “There’s about… what, eight? Ten?” Annie began. “Something like that. Most of us only come around once a month, and more will be here next weekend. I think there’s been as many as seven here at one time, before, maybe eight.”

   “That sounds about right. Most just want to chill out in diapers, others want to be babied. It’s a pretty decent mix, actually,” Sadie added.

   “Neat,” Francesca said. “What do you guys think of all the uproar on the Internet about this place?”

   “You mean the ‘girls only’ rule?” Annie asked. Francesca nodded. “They can suck it,” she said dismissively. “There’s plenty of mommies out there who don’t mind taking care of little baby boys, and they can go there. Most of them do the whole dominatrix thing, though, but this is more of a hang-out than anything else. Plus, it’s free. Most mommies make you pay an hourly fee or something.”

   “Yeah, too many mommies are really more sexual about it than they should be, or offer things that come too close to sex, whether they mean to or not. That’s not what this is about, at least for me,” Sadie added. “I mean, Eric just keeps it simple; he’s really more like a babysitter than anything else, and that’s cool by me. No strings attached, and no drama.”

   Annie nodded agreement. “Every once in a while we’ll get someone who wants to rock the boat and, like, move in and be a full-time baby, but he’s totally against it. He lets them down easy, though, which is nice.”

   “Better than I would handle it,” Sadie muttered.

   “Yeah, but you don’t like most of the people who come here,” Annie chided.

   Sadie conceded the point. “True. Well, no, not really; I just don’t like them until I know they aren’t going to be a drama queen.” She looked at Francesca. “Like you, Frankie. The first moment I saw you I was thinking, ‘oh shit, another spoiled princess,’ but then you turned out to be human.”

   “Thanks… I think,” Francesca said.

   “You’re welcome. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re very protective of Eric and what he does here. This is like… therapy, or a spa, or whatever, and we love it because it’s a secret place, sort of, for us to indulge in our weird secret,” Sadie explained.

   “Yeah, that’s what it sounded like when I read about it on the forum. It almost seemed too good to be true.” Francesca adjusted her seated position to be more comfortable.

   They chatted amiably for a few more minutes and then Annie took Francesca into the nursery to show her what else there was to offer. “Here,” she said while indicating a shelf, “are the coloring books, crayons, markers, pencils, et cetera, here is blank paper for drawing, and colored paper as well.”

   “What, no painting stuff?” Francesca asked jokingly.

   Annie laughed. “There used to be paints and what not, but not for long. There were, uh, some issues. People were getting painted instead.”

   Francesca laughed as well. “Seriously? I bet that was hilarious!”

   “It was, it was, but it was a pain to clean up.”

   “I can imagine,” Francesca said while looking around. She went over to the crib and examined it for a  moment before testing the rail to see how easily it slid up and down. She found that it slid down far enough for her to climb into the crib without having to exert herself by stepping onto something else, first. Once inside, she pushed the rail up all the way and noticed that Eric hadn’t been lying about the inside releases for the rail; she could get at them easily from within its confines. “This is cool!” she said, privately surprised that she was telling the truth. She laid back and looked up at the ceiling; there was, she noticed for the first time, a mobile hanging over the crib as well. “Oh wow, talk about all out.” Francesca felt small and childish sitting in the crib while wearing a sundress, onesie, and a diaper in the crib, but at the same time… it all started clicking into place why the girls loved this place so much and protected it so well, in addition to Eric’s own safeguards. Francesca felt a sense of peace and relaxation wash over her and she sighed contently. She heard as well as saw the rail being slid down and then Annie climbed in to sit at one end of the crib, but she also pushed the rail back up into its previous position. Francesca sat up as well to make room for her.

   “I can tell you’re starting to get it,” Annie murmured. Francesca nodded. “It all sounds like a big conspiracy when we talk about it like this, but in a sense it really is. This place is so special, Frankie, I can’t even begin to describe what it’s done for me over the last few months, especially after what I’ve been through. It’s like it restored my faith in humanity.”

   The words were a straight shot through Francesca’s heart, because it reminded her forcefully why she was here in the first place. The Caretaker whom they knew and loved was suspected of being connected with child pornography, and that was a heavy black mark to carry around if convicted. Francesca hoped there was nothing to the allegation. “Yeah, I am getting it,” Francesca agreed. “Who would have thought that going backwards almost to the beginning, even in a sort of role play would be like this?”

   Annie nodded with a smile. “Who would have thought indeed? But it is, and I love it. I’ve thought about going back into diapers full time, but it’s more trouble than it’s worth, generally. I wore diapers for… I think it was four days straight before I realized what an issue it would be to go back to being dependent on them.”

   “Wow,” Francesca said. “I’ve only ever worn them for… maybe a day straight?”

   “Yeah, it’s less hassle on weekends to be in diapers for consecutive days than it is during the week. Trying to deal with diapers in an office environment is something I experimented with once, and that was enough. I was almost a nervous wreck the entire day, and decided it just wasn’t worth it.”

   Their conversation at that point was interrupted by Sadie walking into the nursery and getting up onto the changing table, Eric close behind her.

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Nine

   Francesca’s earlier suppositions about Sadie and Eric the Caretaker being an item were given more foundation as she observed their banter while she was changed. “You go through these so fast I should really put you in something thicker,” he teased while he wiped her bottom with a wipe.

   “But, I don’t want a different diaper! I like my Cuddles,” she pouted.

   Eric made her wait for it. “Hmmm, I don’t know…”

   Sadie’s reaction was worthy of the Academy Awards. She looked as though her heart had been smashed to pieces and her eyes could have come from an anime drawing, such was the emotion she displayed. “Please don’t put me in anything but my Cuddles,” she begged in a mumble, doe eyes locked and loaded; right then she was a far cry from the aggressive persona Francesca had first encountered.

   There was a moment’s pause, and then Eric relented. “Oh, alright,” he said and he retrieved another of the diapers to put on Sadie while she quietly cheered.

   Annie nudged Francesca gently. “She does that to him all the time,” she whispered.

   “She really likes to play, doesn’t she?” Francesca whispered back. Annie confirmed it with a nod and said no more; Sadie was off the changing table and walking towards them. Eric had vanished, presumably back to his office.

   “What’cha doin’?” she asked as she found a piece of the crib mattress to sit on as well.

   “Chilling,” Annie said. “Gabbing.”

   “Ooh, anything juicy?” Sadie asked.

   “I wish,” Francesca said. “No, just talking about all of this and how cool it is, really. This crib is neat.”

   “That’s putting it mildly,” Sadie giggled. “I actually do sleep like a baby in this thing.”

   The comparison was lame, of course; how could one sleep in an enormous crib and not feel like a toddler or an infant? But Francesca smiled and nodded and decided to relocate elsewhere in the house. “I’m suddenly thirsty,” she said as she stood up and headed out of the nursery. The truth of it was that Francesca was starting to feel uncomfortable around all of the adult baby things. She was beginning to discover her limits when it came to exposure to the fetish and all that came with it. While she was glad that Annie and Sadie enjoyed it and enjoyed it in what seemed like a responsible fashion, Francesca wasn’t sure that she could handle much more. Maybe she was just overloading herself, going in too deep too fast? She’d only been in town a few days, and all of her initial projections of weeks to accomplish her task had been completely destroyed in favor of this suddenly faster time table. No doubt it was making the brass happy, but what was it doing to her? She pondered that while she poured herself more punch and leaned against the counter to drink. Francesca also took a moment to relax and further saturate her diaper, idly wondering if the Caretaker would check her or simply ask the next time he came out to deal with diapers. Francesca also wondered if she would let him change her diaper… and then decided that she wouldn’t. She wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable for someone she had met perhaps a few hours before, especially in her current situation.

   So lost in thought was Francesca that she didn’t notice Annie come into the kitchen for nearly a minute. “Hmm?” Francesca said, coming out of her reverie. “Sorry, I was… lost in thought.”

   “It’s okay,” Annie said. “Still processing everything, huh?”

   This woman is perceptive, Francesca thought. “Yeah, I am,” Francesca admitted. “So much of it is pretty cool, but some other parts throw me for a loop.”

   Annie nodded. “Yeah, it can be overwhelming, especially all at once. That’s how it felt for me when I joined this club; when I came my first time there were a couple girls, including Sadie, playing at Level Three, so watching Eric just walk up to them, feel their diapers, and then take them to be changed was… well, shocking.”

   Francesca had to know. “What did it feel like when you let him change you the first time?”

   “Scary,” Annie admitted. “I was so nervous I was almost shaking. Before he started he reminded me that I could just say ‘no’ or the safe word and he would stop, but I just… went for it.” Annie got herself something to drink, as well. “He was very gentle, but also quick. He didn’t leave me exposed longer than he had to, if that makes any sense.”

   Francesca felt a small measure of comfort in Annie’s recounting; so she wasn’t the only one who felt like that about something that was extremely intimate. “That’s good,” Francesca said, unsure if that was the right thing to say.

   Annie giggled. “Yeah, it was. I was worried he would lord over me while he changed me like that mommy did, sort of, but he just kept it simple and once it was done he left me to my own devices. It makes me wonder,” Annie’s expression became thoughtful, “if he had some bad experiences way back that made him like this. I mean, he’ll play with you, but only within the rules… and never outside of them, either. He’s very strict, but to himself, not to us.”

   “That’s a good thing, though,” Francesca said. “I mean, if he was all over me I’d probably be calling 911.”

   “Point,” Annie conceded. “But… sometimes it’s not even like he’s really there… it feels like he shuts himself off, sometimes, like he’s afraid of something.”

   “Maybe he’s afraid of giving the wrong impression?” Francesca suggested.

   “Could be,” Annie agreed. “But I don’t know.” She brightened. “But, for what he is, he’s very good, and I like that he doesn’t take any more liberty than what you give him. That really can’t be said enough, actually. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen or heard of, which is probably why this place is so sought after by… well, everyone.”

   “Why is that?” Francesca asked, taking advantage of an opening to learn more about the Caretaker’s House and why it was so secretive.

   “Part of it is the fact that it’s for women only; a lot of men want in on that action, because a lot of women who like this sort of thing keep their heads down for fear of being stalked. Men routinely hound them for pictures or with friend requests, and it’s really off-putting. Most of the messages I get through the forum or wherever get deleted before I even look at them. Spend enough time in the system and you start learning what to filter out,” Annie explained, and then paused to drink. “The other part of it is what goes on here. It’s almost a complete age play scene. If Eric didn’t have the rules he had, or made them more restrictive to the players, it would be far more like an adult nursery instead of mostly pretending to be one.”

   Francesca was confused. “What do you mean?”

   “Age play is where you really knuckle down and pretend to be an age you aren’t; for us that’s usually four or younger. If you really get into it, you stop communicating in clear English, stop walking, or just walk very badly, wear baby clothes, and you’re cared for by a designated person, such as a mommy or a daddy or a nanny or a babysitter. You play with toys, color in coloring books, and generally just lose yourself in the scene. What makes this different is that while the three Levels give a general age play range, you aren’t required to behave like you’re in that age bracket. You can still talk, walk, and behave normally. Some places are all about getting into character and staying there.”

   “Wow, that sounds… scary,” Francesca said.

   Annie shrugged. “It all depends on how deep down the rabbit hole you want to go. It’s like I said; some people just want to relax in diapers, others want to get the full experience.”

   Francesca grimaced. “Speaking of, I probably should change mine.” After her recent wetting, she was starting to feel somewhat waterlogged.

   “Not going to have Eric do it?” Annie asked.

   Francesca shook her head. “Too much too soon, I think.”

   Annie nodded. “That makes sense. But… I have to ask,” she blurted before Francesca could start moving.

   “Ask what?”

   Annie took a breath. “Are you ever going to let someone else change your diapers?”

   Francesca noticed that Annie seemed embarrassed to ask the question. “Maybe,” she shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

   Annie fidgeted a little bit, shuffled her feet, and then as if they had given away her innermost secret, she looked down at them. “Just a thought I had, is all… um… maybe to help you get used to it… I could change you.” Annie didn’t look up at Francesca until she had finished speaking.

   Francesca herself was very surprised. “That’s… um… yeah, I don’t even know how to respond to that, Annie. I mean, it’s really sweet of you to offer so I won’t feel embarrassed… but I think I’d still feel embarrassed, even if it was you. Besides, isn’t it against the rules?”

   Annie shook her head. “The rules only cover what he does with us, not what we do with each other.”

   Francesca let out a breath. “Annie, why are you offering this?”

   “Because, Frankie, I can tell you’re getting really weirded out this whole thing. Also, I’m pretty sure you’re curious about how far you haven’t gone, yet, but you don’t feel safe letting some strange man touch you. On the flipside, you do know me, sort of, and I do know you, sort of, and…” Annie paused. “Well, I’ll just say it. Right now, it’s fifty-fifty that you’ll ever come back after tonight, and fifty-fifty that you’ll ever hang out with me ever again after tonight as well, now that you’ve seen all this and how much I get into it. Either you will, or you won’t; that’s what it boils down to. For your sake, I’m offering a safe way to get the… full experience, if you will, without making it weirder for you than it already is. Besides, fair is fair… I could use a change as well, and you could change me after if you want, just in the interest of fair play.”

   Francesca started to get mad at Annie. “You’re really pushing this, Annie, almost too far.”

   “I know, Frankie. I don’t want to, but… I really like you. You’re the closest thing to a real-for-real friend that I have in this messed up fetish. I mean, Sadie’s cool and all, and so are some of the others, and Eric is an absolute sweetheart. But you’re… normal, and cool, and fun.”

   Francesca smiled a little bit, as Annie’s words served to relax her negative emotions. “Thanks. But… I don’t think I’m ready to go that far. Besides, don’t you think it’s a little… strange… to ask to change someone’s diaper and then tell them you like them?”

   Annie rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, I didn’t mean it like that. Seriously, this is all platonic. You need a friend in this world, and I need a friend who’s… not yet as inside of it as I am. Plus, you’ve already watched me get my diaper changed, so unless you’re hiding a penis under your dress, me changing your diaper won’t be any more weird than that.”

   Francesca was still opposed to the idea, but Annie’s words had weakened her resolve. It would be far less awkward to let Annie change her as opposed to having Eric do it. Worse, after watching Annie and Sadie get changed, Francesca had wondered what it would be like to be changed as well, and she had to admit to herself that this was an excellent opportunity to explore it in a fairly safe fashion. However, Francesca knew there was a price to pay for all of her curiosity regarding the diaper fetish. She decided that it was worth it. “Alright,” she relented.

   Annie was very tactful in her victory. “I promise to be quick,” she assured Francesca as they walked to the nursery. As they went through the house Francesca noticed that Sadie wasn’t in the living room, and assumed that she was hanging with Eric in his office. A low buzz of conversation seemed to emanate from that direction as both women walked into the nursery. Annie shut the door behind them and turned to Francesca. “Do you want to be changed on the table or on the floor?”

   Francesca surveyed the enormous changing table and moved towards it. “Table,” she answered. Why not? Might as well be official about it, she thought to herself as she climbed onto it and laid down. It was surprisingly comfortable, just like the crib. Francesca wasn’t sure if she liked how inviting it was. “Please don’t be offended if I freak out and kick you,” she joked.

   Annie stuck her tongue out at Francesca and flipped up her skirt to open the snaps of her onesie. Francesca tried to think of other things while it happened, but the ripping sound that the tapes made when they were pulled open grounded her irrevocably in the present. She blushed deeply when Annie pulled the front of her diaper down, and nearly flinched when Annie started to wipe her skin. Francesca couldn’t decide whether to feel violated, mortified, or both. Mercifully, Annie was silent during the process, aside from asking Francesca to lift her bottom up so she could pull away her wet diaper and finish cleaning. “Would you like a different diaper?”

   “No, thanks, Teddy is fine.”

   Annie selected one of them from the shelves beneath the table and unfolded it; she again asked Francesca to lift up and when she settled back down it was onto a clean diaper. Annie sprinkled some powder over her for good measure and made quick work of fastening the four tapes. She also closed Francesca’s onesie and finished by saying, “all done.”

   Francesca sat up and got off the table while Annie finished balling up her wet diaper and dropped it into the diaper pail. “Thanks,” she said when Annie was finished.

   Annie smiled warmly. “You’re welcome.” Then, she hoisted herself up onto the table. “Fair is fair, you know, unless you don’t want to.”

   Francesca debated for a moment before she nodded. “No, you’re right; fair is fair,” she said and motioned for Annie to lie back. Annie giggled a little as she complied. Francesca, however, was momentarily at a loss. She had never changed a diaper bigger than a Pampers for someone else; the sight of the enormous (by comparison) diaper before her was daunting. Then, she recalled what Eric had referred to Annie and Sadie as when the evening had begun: highly capable toddlers. Thinking of Annie in that context was far different, but it let her reach for the first tape with greater confidence. Soon enough she was cleaning Annie’s bottom, studiously ignoring the strangeness of the whole process as she did so, and then she was putting Annie into a clean diaper identical to the one she had been changed into so recently.

   Soon enough, the change was done and Annie got off the table as well. “Thanks. Not too bad for a newbie.”

   Francesca rolled her eyes while she said, “thanks,” but her smile was sincere. “It was thoroughly weird, though, on both sides. Let us never speak of it again for five minutes.”

   Annie laughed and opened the door to leave the nursery. “That bad, huh?”

   “Worse.”

   “Cheer up, Frankie, at least now you can say you’ve done it,” Annie soothed.

   “True, but I didn’t even get a lousy t-shirt,” Francesca muttered, affecting discontent.

   “The one you’re wearing is much nicer and has a snap crotch.”

   “Well, there is that,” she admitted as they settled companionably in the living room to talk. It was really all Francesca could do at that point and not flip out and run screaming into the night. The shock of the preceding ten minutes was slowly permeating her consciousness to the point of bringing on a headache. Francesca steered the conversation away from diapers and diaper things and asked more questions about Annie’s background and her profession; anything to avoid what she feared to be an inevitable mental collapse. The more they talked about banal, everyday things, the further away from the abyss she moved, and it was almost half an hour after they had left the nursery before Francesca felt herself return to something that approximated normalcy.

   “Are you alright? You don’t look so good,” Annie said, concerned.

   “It’s nothing… probably just drank too much punch and the sugar overload is playing hell with my system. Don’t ask me why I picked Hawaiian Punch… it just seemed like the thing to do and now I sort of regret it,” Francesca shrugged.

   “It happens from time to time,” Annie sympathized.

   Francesca spotted a clock out of the corner of her eye and looked at it fully. “Oh, wow, I didn’t realize how late it was. I actually probably should get home; I have an early day tomorrow getting settled in.” Which was accurate, from a certain point of view; she would undoubtedly be in a number of debriefings regarding the Caretaker. Now that Francesca was on the subject of leaving, she found that she was impatient to be gone from the Caretaker’s House. However, Francesca forced herself to make a courteous and thankful departure, making it a point to again compliment Eric on his carpentry skills and to say thanks to Annie and Sadie for inviting her over for a memorable evening.

   “Will you be able to find your way home alright?” Annie asked.

   “Sure; once I get on the main roads I should be alright,” Francesca responded as she smiled her way out the door. It required more self-control than usual for her to drive normally away from the Caretaker’s House; not before committing its location to her phone’s memory, however. When she did make it to her apartment, barely had she gotten through the door before she was quickly stripping off her sundress and onesie; she balled them together and threw them viciously across her bedroom once they were off, breathing heavily as she stood there in only her bra and diaper. Her breathing became more ragged and she curled up on her bed, cocooning herself in her quilt bare moments before she began to weep. All of her emotions, the furious anger at allowing herself to be touched like that, the righteous indignation at demeaning herself in such a way, and her sudden, irreverent hatred for all things to do with the Caretaker case manifested themselves as tears that she shed into the warm embrace. Francesca had no idea how long she cried, but when she came out of it with puffy eyes and shaking breaths she very deliberately and without fanfare removed her still-dry diaper, dumped it into the trash can, and retreated to her bathroom for a shower. Francesca scrubbed herself repeatedly from head to toe to rid herself of imagined dirt and taint from that House, and only after she felt she was truly clean did she turn off the water after her last rinse and emerge to towel off. Normal underwear had never felt so good.

[hiddenname150]

This story is impacting in a way few other stories are please continue.

[KilroyIsHere]

I'm thoroughly enjoying this. Please continue.

[bshn]

Great story keep going CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!!!

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Ten

   The harsh screeching of her alarm woke Francesca at what felt like far too early in the morning. Mindful of what was sure to be a full day of work, she shuffled out of bed and began her morning routine. After breakfast and a shower, she dressed for work and headed to the local FBI office to report in. No sooner had she shown her badge and ID to the front desk was she summoned immediately to Agent Thompson’s office for a debriefing.

   “Good morning, Agent Bowden,” he said cheerfully. “Can I offer you any coffee?”

   “Yes, thank you,” Francesca replied.

   “How do you like it?”

   “Cream and lots of sugar, please,” she answered and settled herself into a chair. After two continuous days of extraneous padding, sitting in a chair wearing normal clothing felt different. Francesca had to remind herself that this was the way things were supposed to be, and the thought almost made her smile. She was one step closer to being free from diapers forever. Whatever enjoyment she derived from them—and Francesca would be lying if she said she didn’t at least get a little from them—was not enough to compensate for the comforting normalcy of routine underwear, let alone the feelings of responsible adulthood they gave her. She was a big girl, after all. While she did like Annie as a friend and would forever be grateful to her for so conveniently expediting her involvement in the Caretaker Investigation, Francesca did not intend to ever draw so heavily upon diapers again.

   Thompson returned with a mug of coffee for her, and after she thanked him he sat behind his desk and opened a file folder sitting upon it. “I have to say, Bowden, you pulled off a real coup this weekend. Barely here three days and already you’re producing results. If North didn’t value you so highly I’d ask you to stay on permanently.”

   “Thank you, sir, but I like my home branch just fine,” Francesca said pleasantly.

   Thompson smiled, but there wasn’t much good humor to it; his eyes were those of a predator with a beast in view, and the beast was wounded. “To business. Do you have the address of the Caretaker’s House?” Francesca pulled out her phone and repeated the address for him, as well as describing the house should there be any mistake. Thompson wrote it all down; it would later be committed to digital memory via scan and manual typing by another agent. “Now, what can you tell me about the Caretaker himself?”

   “His name is Eric, and he’s very much what his digital reputation claims him to be: polite, mannerly, very careful in his behavior, very attached to his rules. He is also very hands off of his… guests? I suppose that’d be the best term for it. A gifted carpenter: a lot of the furniture they use for their age play games is truly well built. Um… I didn’t get a last name because I was constantly attended by Annie, whom I told you about earlier and I didn’t want to blow my cover by snooping around too much. He does work as a draftsman for a local construction company, and it’s very likely, at least in my estimation, that he is romantically involved with Sadie, another frequent ‘guest’ at his place,” Francesca said. She even added in estimations for his height and weight for good measure when she remembered to do so.

   Thompson took down more notes, nodding as he did so. “Excellent, excellent. That’ll be enough for us to start our background check and secure the warrant to search his place. Did you get a chance to see what sort of security or computer he runs?”

   Francesca shrugged. “Looked like a fairly good quality PC with a nice HDTV for a monitor… I didn’t see an alarm panel or anything suggesting a robust security system, digital, physical, or otherwise.”

   “Alright; good. Now, tell me what you think of him personally; could he be dirty?”

   Francesca sighed. “Honestly, based on what I saw last night, I don’t think so. Is it possible? Certainly; who knows what he does during the day or when he’s not hosting an event. I didn’t really get a close enough… look at him, for lack of a better term, to make any sort of definitive judgment other than a maybe. Five to one says that the only pictures you’ll find on his computer are those of Sadie and some other women romping around the House.”

   Thompson nodded. “That’s what our profilers suggest, but we can’t be too careful in this situation. Alright, Bowden, that’ll be all for the moment. We’ll be sending a team in to sweep his place after we get a handle on his routine and can determine the best window. Chances are we may need you to go in again, so don’t burn any bridges in the meantime.”

   Francesca nodded, and accepting the dismissal she retreated from the office. “Agent Bowden?”

   Francesca turned to the sound of the voice and saw a younger man she didn’t recognize, though his voice did sound familiar. She narrowed her eyes at him, and even before his ID badge resolved to show his name clearly, she asked, “Bart Clayton, right?”

   Clayton smiled. “Guilty. Nice to meet you in person, instead of over the phone,” he said, offering his hand, which Francesca shook.

   “Likewise,” she smiled.

   “So, while you’re here we’ve got you a desk set up so you can keep tabs on any current cases you’re working back home as well as stay up to date on this one.”

   “Good; I have a lot of paperwork to file,” Francesca muttered.

   “I hear you. At least the chairs are comfortable and the coffee’s not too bad,” Clayton said reassuringly.

   “True,” Francesca agreed, and sipped her own; untouched since Thompson had given it to her. Clayton led her to the appropriate standard desk with computer and peripherals set up to go.

   “Happy typing; I’m at this extension if you need anything,” he said, gesturing to a post-it he’d affixed to her monitor’s frame.

   “Thanks for everything, seriously,” she told him, adding a gentle smile.

   “Anytime. We all play for the same team, after all,” he said with a winning smile before he went back to his own desk.

   Francesca settled into the chair and logged into the FBI Network. She dealt with her email first, and then set about entering contact reports and updating whatever information she could to the appropriate files for the Caretaker and child porn ring investigations. While she was working, Thompson’s admonition not to burn any bridges came back to her; she pulled out her phone and sent Annie a text: ‘Hey, work is eating me alive today. How about we get together for drinks tomorrow?’

   The response wasn’t long in coming. ‘I would love to! Have a great day! ’

   Francesca smiled and returned to work; however, by the end of the day she had little to smile about, as she was truly exhausted from the seemingly endless mounds of paperwork that would come back to haunt her the next day, as she hadn’t been able to get through all of it, as well as the meetings, regular and spontaneous, both in person and over the phone, about her weekend’s escapades. She changed out of her working attire and into more casual wear, and then surveyed her temporary apartment with chagrin. She could almost see little yellow wisps of stink coming out of the garbage can in the kitchen, which was all the resolve that Francesca needed to empty out all the garbage cans in the apartment and take their contents to the complex’s dumpster. With that accomplished, Francesca started microwaving her dinner (ready-made meals were a fattening blessing to the FBI agent on the go) and went back to the bedroom where she tidied up a little bit before going back to the kitchen to retrieve her now-hot food from the microwave. She ate and drank in silence, and when the meal and its dishes had been dealt with, Francesca realized that it wasn’t as late as she thought it was, and while she had a lot of work to do, Francesca had no intention of letting it completely destroy her evening. However, she realized that her entire reason for being in that apartment in the first place was work, so she decided to focus on the less strenuous elements of it.

   She went to her laptop and logged onto the forum to check on things. There was an amazing number of private messages in her inbox, some very well written and polite, others barely comprehensible arrangements of the alphabet, and even a number of them in different languages. The theme was immediately apparent, however: it was primarily men wanting to talk to her about diapers, diaper-wearing, or voicing hopes of getting to ‘play’ with her in diapers. She also had a number of requests to be a ‘mommy’ to a number of people, but after browsing through a number of messages she logged out of the forum, mostly to preserve her own sanity. The amount of attention had been truly staggering, and a lot of it had come at her just in the last few days. She remembered how her research had shown the disproportionate ratio of men to women in the fetish, but to be confronted with it so dramatically through the impersonal remove of the Internet caused Francesca a little bit of culture shock. She was moved to go to the bedroom and take a diaper out of the drawer she had set aside for them and look at it. She even said aloud, “what is it about you on me that is so attractive?” It was an extremely irreverent question, voiced only by her lack of understanding and frustration.

   She walked to the bathroom and considered her image in the mirror. When no answers or wisdom appeared, she made a disgusted noise and went back to her bedroom. She emerged freshly diapered and returned to the bathroom, where she considered her image and its newly applied padding, barely suppressing the returning feelings of taint and disgust. “Ugh, I don’t get it!” she groused, but deep down she knew she did. It was so simple as to be complicated. Every man behind one of the messages she had received was reaching out for contact within the community, hoping to be able to find an outlet for their private passion in a likeminded person, who would likewise share in their preferred activities. The fact that the majority were men only made it worse: a lot of the men involved in the fetish wanted to associate and fraternize with women, naturally, but since women were harder to come by, that made almost any findable woman a precious thing… that would invariably be sought after by anyone who felt they had a chance. Which… was pretty much everyone; at least, that’s how it felt to her. Francesca felt a minor twinge of shame that she would never respond to any of the messages she had received from them on the forum.

   There was the flipside of being an FBI agent in the mix to consider. With that in mind, Francesca made herself comfortable in front of her computer and began to read through the messages one by one. After reading a message she deleted it, especially if it was poorly written or was simply a poor soul looking for something she had no intention of ever giving. Francesca did ponder saving a few that came from men who expressed themselves clearly, confidently, and stressed a no-pressure environment, but in the end she reminded herself in every situation that in a matter of weeks she would push this site and everything that went with it out of her mind for good. She would probably never wear another diaper, or talk to Annie again once the case was closed, especially if she told her the whole truth. Annie might end up hating Francesca, in spite of their conversations. When it came down to it, Annie loved the world of diapers and age play, at least in her own way, and Francesca did not. She didn’t mind the diapers so much, especially now that she had experienced them for herself and found that they weren’t toxic, in a sense. But, could she really see them as an effective means of stress relief or comfort as Annie saw them? Francesca doubted she would, but when she stood up after clearing her forum inbox of messages, her now-wet diaper put a visible lie, in a sense, to her mental assertions. Francesca rationalized this as her simply using up the store of diapers that she had acquired, so that when her involvement in the case came to an end, she wouldn’t have wasted anything. She was, however, aware of her own double standard in that regard, because on at least one level she truly did not mind wearing diapers, and actually even would go so far as to privately admit that she enjoyed them on another, although she would never admit that openly to anyone else; it was likely Annie knew that she liked them in her own way, which was fine with Francesca. Annie was sharp in more ways than Francesca figured she let on.

However, Francesca was not yet aware of how powerful her already-created double standards and flimsy rationalizations were becoming, as well as how much she was beginning to treasure her relationship with Annie. Francesca had friends back home, sure, but with Annie there was a closeness borne out of mutual vulnerability—that had come about even before they had changed each other’s diapers—that bade fair to form a massive dagger that would lance through Francesca’s own heart just as certainly as it would Annie’s when Francesca’s true colors were inevitably revealed. It was a dark spot in the back of her mind that tormented her for a time before she went to sleep.

The next day ended up being an all-hands-on-deck sort of day; as she had been previously, the moment she reported in she was summoned into another briefing, this time with a variety of big shot agents coming in from other branches to hear her thoughts on the Caretaker, while still more attended via video conference. She answered questions and delivered opinions based on solid thought—or at least thoughts she presumed were solid—on everything to do with Eric’s suspected involvement in the child porn ring, while Thompson was grilled on the status of the search warrant and surveillance on the subject so as to establish the best time to execute said search. Francesca could almost see the tension in the air, mingled closely with anticipation. The true significance of the case began to impart itself to her as she watched a variety of heavyweight agents and administrators, both in the room and on computer screens, discuss, question, and postulate. When she was left alone for enough time to really think about it, the scope of the whole case revealed itself to her as gargantuan. She had known on paper how big it was, of course, but the presence of all these people filled her with awe; she was humbled to the point of going weak in the knees and collapsing. The outcome of the case, the lives of dozens, perhaps hundreds of children, the abbreviated futures of who knew how many perpetrators, all of it had rested on her shoulders. It came back to her then just how complete her three-day victory had been. A sudden rush of elation colored her cheeks red, but her entire emotional high was sundered before it could take flight by the sudden pronouncement from an SAIC from another office: “We’re not ready to prosecute this.”

It had the weight of law to it, and the room was silenced. “What do you mean?” another agent asked.

“Agent Bowden has given us the information we need to tie off this loose end, yes, but the case as a whole?” The speaker paused and shook his head. “We’re looking at some nasty reasonable doubt for a few subjects in different parts of the web. Even if this Caretaker guy had turned out to be dirty, or does turn out to be dirty, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got people from D.C. to Juneau foaming at the mouth for us to close the door on this thing yesterday, and we can’t. Not if we want a clean sweep. If we go too soon, we’re looking at another catastrophe like we had in Benson.”

The room stayed silent on that remark. Francesca had to search for the reference, but it came to her quickly enough: Benson had been an attempt to wrap up a small part of the porn ring with an isolated arrest because of documented actions of child abuse. The FBI had moved in and made the arrest as planned, but had added charges dealing circumspectly with the porn ring to the mix after the fact based on pictures found on the subject’s computer. The move had originally been thought sound, but the subject’s legal defense had risen to the occasion and poked enough holes in the FBI’s case against the perpetrator that had rendered the evidence to do with the porn ring declared inadmissible in court, and the perpetrator’s eventual, expected sentence of twenty-to-life had been reduced to nine months in the county jail for the ironclad abuse charges followed by two years of probation—normally, sentences to do with that crime were more severe; the lighter-than-it-should-have-been sentence stemmed from the criminal’s defense. To make matters worse, some of the people the perpetrator fraternized with on the Internet had been connected to the porn ring; they had immediately turned turtle and vanished off the grid for weeks in some cases, months for others. The case had been dealt a heavy blow in terms of time lost, and only recently was returning to the position it had been at before the colossal miscue that had been Benson.

“If we’re going to do this,” the original speaker went on, “we can’t press for it. We’ll sort out the Caretaker soon enough, but he’s not the only loose thread. We could lose up to a third of the subjects in this case if we mess this up again, all covered by reasonable doubt. We might break the ring, sure, but we don’t want to just break it. We want to kill it. People, we have to be patient. They aren’t going anywhere. We’ll get ‘em. And when we do, they’ll get theirs.”

The briefing dismissed soon after that heavy pronouncement, and Francesca retreated to her desk as quickly as possible to bury herself in paperwork before she could be dragged into another briefing. While she did not at all object to rubbing shoulders with the big shots, she had work to do and the briefings were becoming tedious. The same ground was being covered and re-covered, with nothing new being added to the mix. Too, she was impatient to be alone so she could think and breathe. Francesca was feeling more and more like her head was just going to pop off and float away, or worse. Adding insult to injury, her weekend in diapers had almost caused her to spontaneously wet herself during one portion of the briefing. She had only just clamped down on the thought before it could trigger a muscle response (and thus bring her unending shame), and briefly pondered whether or not it would be wise to consult one of the FBI’s many staff therapists, or better yet, she thought darkly, just wear diapers to work. No, that would be too easy, she had decided. It would almost be like throwing in the towel before the fight had even finished the first round. However, what was the most alarming about the situation was that she was finding herself wishing she could simply just bite the bullet and be in a diaper right then. The perplexing desire caused her to sit back and examine it more thoroughly. Where had it come from? Why was it even there? Why did she find the prospect of wearing a diaper to work both enticing and desirable, in spite of all the unspoken dangers that must necessarily accompany such a risk? Minutes swam past uncounted while Francesca grappled with her own mind. With finality, she resolved to ask Annie about it when she met up with her for drinks later that night. If nothing else, Francesca thought, Annie would definitely be someone she could talk to about this sort of thing. It was another hot coal lying across her already-smoldering conscience.

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Eleven

   When her working day came to an end, Francesca returned to her apartment, immediately shed her business attire and decided to have an early dinner in before meeting Annie for drinks as they had previously agreed. When she messaged Annie about where and when to meet up, she was also deliberately avoiding going near her diapers with the intent to meet Annie as they had first met: when only Annie had one on in public. She dressed in more casual attire and after finding out from Annie where they were to meet—a different place, this time, closer to Annie’s apartment than hers—Francesca departed for the short trip through town. When she arrived at the bar in question, she was pleasantly surprised that it was styled more like a café than anything else. Annie was there waiting for her, and they exchanged warm greetings and pleasantries while sitting down.

   “So, how’s life at your new office?” Annie asked.

   “Busy,” Francesca grumbled. “Meeting after meeting, paperwork, paperwork, more paperwork, spreadsheets… sometimes I wonder why I ever got into this gig in the first place,” she said while making a face.

   Annie sensed the impending punch line. “But…” she prompted with a knowing smile.

   “…Then I see my paycheck,” Francesca finished with a matching smile.

   “Yes, that usually makes it worth it. I mean, there are days when I just want to set the building on fire and laugh while it burns to the ground. What office worker hasn’t thought of that at least once?”

   “Well, thinking and doing are two different things, after all. I just have to remember not to bring any marshmallows to work on a particularly bad day…” Francesca said dryly.

   “Amen, sister,” Annie agreed. A waiter came to get their drink orders, made what he thought were smooth leers at both women, and left to fill their requests. After he had gone, Annie resumed. “So, you’re adjusting pretty well, then?”

   Francesca took a moment to let the question hang in the space between them; something in her question suggested to Francesca that Annie had a hidden meaning to her inquiry. “Yes and no,” Francesca answered truthfully. “I mean, I want to wear them to work, now. All I can see as the result of that is disaster, though.”

   Annie nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I tried it once, ages back like I told you, and it was a nerve wracking experience that first day. The second day wasn’t as bad, but still.” She shrugged. “Give it a shot, if you want my opinion. Start off normal, and then maybe during your lunch break go change to finish the day out, or maybe vice versa. It really doesn’t matter which way you do it, but it will definitely save you some trouble, especially if you have a desk with locking drawers.”

   Francesca hadn’t considered either of those options, and found her decision to ask Annie about the urge to wear to work to be a wise one. However, the very next thought was self-chastisement: how could she even be seriously considering wearing an adult diaper to work? Worse, not just any workplace, it was the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If she got caught, there was a slim chance she might be pulled off the case for ‘getting too emotionally involved.’ That had the potential to be a black mark on her record, something Francesca had no intention of ever allowing to happen. Their conversation turned away from diapers (which was a blessing) allowing Francesca to just talk to Annie like a normal human being. She found it strange that there was such a divide in her conscious thought about it, but shunted it aside along with the thoughts of how much it would hurt Annie when Francesca inevitably betrayed her. Instead, Francesca turned her mind to thoughts of how great their friendship was and how nice it was to have a friend in this new town. After a couple of drinks apiece, they paid their tab, left the not-so-smooth waiter a modest tip, and made good their exit from the establishment. Once outside, they talked a while more, and then Annie invited Francesca over to her place for a nightcap. Francesca found the idea of going back to her place just then dreary, so she accepted Annie’s invitation. The trip was, naturally, short, and once inside Annie breathed out a sigh of relief as though glad to be home. “I need a diaper,” she announced, and headed for her diaper closet. “If you need a change, feel free to grab one,” Annie offered and disappeared into her bedroom to change her diaper. Francesca meandered over to the closet and looked at the stacks upon stacks of diapers inside; she absently picked up an ABUniverse Cushie and examined it only to be startled by Annie’s sudden reappearance.

   “That was fast,” Francesca said.

   “Yeah, I didn’t wear a diaper out to drink. Even I need to step back from them every so often to make sure I don’t lose touch with reality,” she admitted, surprising Francesca. “Have you ever tried those?” Annie asked, gesturing to the diaper in her hand.

   “No, actually,” she admitted.

   Annie shrugged. “You should. They’re not great, honestly, but when it comes to play diapers, they can’t be beat from what I’ve seen.”

   “‘Play diaper’?” Francesca repeated.

   “Yeah, it’s a diaper designed mostly to look like a real baby diaper rather than be more functional like a Bambino.”

   “Oh. Neat,” Francesca said, and went into the restroom to change, not even aware of how smoothly she had fallen back into the routine. If nothing else, the Cushie was adorable, and Francesca found the single tape both very cool and somewhat lacking at the same time. However, the diaper went on like it was supposed to and fit properly. Francesca took her pants and underwear back to her purse by the door; Annie likewise was without pants, leaving her surprisingly thick diaper out on display, and Francesca wasn’t inclined to rock the boat. Plus, she was resigning herself to the fact that she liked hanging out in diapers with Annie. However, she looked at Annie questioningly after noticing the unfamiliar tape panel on her diaper. “Which diaper is that?”

   “It’s the Bambino Bellissimo. They should have called it the Bambino Pillow, but I’ll live,” Annie joked. “They’re pretty new.”

   “How are they?”

   “I like ‘em a lot; great overnight or lounge diaper, not sure if I would wear it outside, though,” Annie responded.

   “Cool. The panel is adorable,” Francesca said.

   “Yeah, overall it’s a really cool product,” Annie finished as the women went into her living room and sat down to talk. The getting-to-know-each-other process continued as they traded more stories from college, shared work anecdotes (carefully in Francesca’s case), and chatted about life in the area. Only occasionally did the subject of the Caretaker, Sadie, or any of the other diaper-wearing people in the region come up, and then only in relation to a pertinent story recounted by Annie. While they talked, Francesca found herself forgetting about the awkward nature of their situation and attire. Even when she felt the need to relieve herself, she simply relaxed enough to carefully release into her diaper. This actually served to bring Francesca out of her comfort zone as she focused on not leaking all over Annie’s furniture: while she was comfortable enough in a Bambino to let loose (a chilling thought), the Cushie was far thinner.

   “Hey, would you like something to drink?” Annie asked.

   Francesca thought about it. “I don’t know; nothing alcoholic, at least.”

   “I was thinking milk,” she responded.

   Francesca shrugged. “Um, milk is fine, I guess.”

   Annie bit her lip. “I’m going to have mine in a bottle. Would you like yours in a bottle as well?”

   It took Francesca a moment to make the connection. “You mean, like… a baby bottle?” Annie nodded. “Seriously?” Annie nodded again, looking more embarrassed. Francesca was silent for a moment, and couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of Annie squirming a little under the weight of the silence between them. “Sure, why not,” Francesca finally answered, much to Annie’s surprise and delight. She disappeared into the kitchen to rustle through cabinets, and curiosity prompted Francesca to follow her. Her wet diaper sagged noticeably, but Francesca paid it no mind while she watched as Annie filled two bottles with milk. On another level, her watching was more a matter of professional and personal safety; they might be friends, but that didn’t mean Annie might not have some other ace in the hole. Annie handed Francesca one of the bottles and took the other for herself; they returned to the living room. Annie decided to sprawl across her couch so she could drink her bottle lying on her back. Francesca couldn’t help but stare in fascination; she looked away when she saw that Annie’s diaper was expanding slightly with wetness. However, while she had a bottle in her hand she had yet to drink from it. She looked at it as though seeing it for the first time, and then hesitantly raised it to her lips to drink. She drew a thin stream of milk into her mouth and wondered what the allure of drinking from a bottle was.

   “Try laying back to drink,” Annie suggested.

   Francesca was skeptical. “Does it really help?”

   “I think it does,” was the response. Francesca looked at the bottle again, and then shrugged. She laid back on the love seat, tried to relax, and began to drink. She felt very silly, but it did seem to work. The change in angle helped the milk flow more freely, or so it seemed. Maybe it was just her imagination. It was a relaxing activity, and Francesca let herself sink into it. A slight tickle in her abdomen suggested that there was still something in her bladder so she let it flow out into her diaper.

   “Hey Annie,” Francesca asked suddenly.

   “Hmm?” Annie hadn’t bothered to stop drinking from her bottle to respond.

   Francesca opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated and shut it again. She made two more false starts before spitting it out. “What does a dirty diaper feel like?”

   This time it was Annie’s turn to be surprised. “Seriously?” But, she wasn’t going to refuse an answer; after a moment to organize her thoughts she said, “it feels like sitting in hot mud. The act itself is… well, it feels really unnatural to be doing something like that, but in reality it’s one of the most natural things we do. Um… well, it smells horrible, obviously, and it’s a real pain to clean up by yourself if you want to change like a baby and only use baby wipes.” Annie almost started drinking from her bottle again, and then hesitated to look at Francesca. “You don’t need to do that now, do you?”

   “What?! No!” Francesca cried, shocked and appalled. “I was just… wondering,” she mumbled.

   “You might as well do it sometime,” Annie suggested. “I mean, it is part of the experience, but rather than go through the process of changing yourself, just take off the diaper and then rinse off in the shower; it’s just easier. Eric will change poopy diapers the normal way if the mess isn’t too bad, but if it’s like, diarrhea or something like it, he takes the diaper off in the bathroom so he can get rid of it while we rinse off in the shower.”

   Francesca couldn’t help herself. “I take it you’ve had first-hand experience?”

   Annie blushed, but nodded. “I wanted to be really babyish one time, so I took a laxative. I think it was the wrong kind for my system, because the resulting mess almost blew out of my diaper’s leg holes.” She started laughing while Francesca looked at her in horror. “It was bad, and I mean, really bad, Frankie. Do yourself a favor and don’t overdo it on the Ex-Lax if you… give yourself a helping hand with messing your diaper.”

   “Thanks. That’s… good to know,” Francesca responded, and resumed drinking her milk, almost sorry to have asked the question that started the conversation in the first place.

   “Do you have any plans for the weekend?” Annie asked abruptly.

   Francesca shook her head. “Not yet, why?” she responded after disengaging herself from her bottle.

   “Would you like to stay over Friday night? I haven’t had a girl’s night in ages.”

   Francesca thought about it, and stalled while she sorted the professional ramifications. “That… sounds like a really good idea, actually,” she said, then remembered what she had been told, and what would now become her excuse: don’t burn any bridges. “So yeah, I’m in.”

   “Yay! We’ll order in, watch movies—”

   “Give each other manicures and pedicures?” Francesca put in.

   “Well, duh! I mean, I know it’s like, totally girly, but seriously. I haven’t had a good manicure in ages. Maybe I’ll color my hair, too…” Annie thought aloud, considering possibilities. Francesca giggled quietly. The idea reminded her that she hadn’t had a girl’s night of her own with any friends or colleagues in a long time. Why not? She thought.

   “Did you want to invite Sadie?” Francesca asked.

   The expression on Annie’s face showed that she hadn’t thought of that, and she said as much. “Did you want to invite her?” Annie asked, in a tone that suggested she’d be fine with not inviting Sadie over.

   Francesca shrugged. “I don’t know, really; I mean, the idea just popped into my head. Sure, she’s a little abrasive and kinda off-kilter, but I can put up with her. If you don’t want to invite her that’s fine, but I expect that there will also be a heavily infantile theme to go with it, because, you know, diapers…”

   Annie mulled it over while she finished off her bottle. “Hmmm. You know, now that you mention it, that’s not really a bad idea. I’ve never really seen Sadie be a girly-girl, before. She might actually be good at it.”

   Francesca laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But, I kinda want to get to know her a little bit better and prove to her I’m not some monster out to destroy her, or ruin Eric or something like that.”

   Annie smiled. “Yeah, she’s really protective of this whole thing. She hates anyone or anything that might rain on her parade.”

   A dozen statements came to Francesca’s mind, but she held back. “Yeah, but in her defense, it is a pretty cool. I mean, hang out with some random guy while in diapers, he feeds you, changes you, doesn’t try to rape you… I’d probably try to kill someone if they were ruining that for me.”

   “Good point,” Annie responded.

   That got Francesca thinking. “So, what about some ground rules? I mean, I trust you, and I trust Sadie to a point, but we’re not at Eric’s, so we don’t have that… umbrella, I guess.”

   Annie made a face while Francesca nursed at her bottle. “Well, okay, some obvious basics are stay in diapers unless you don’t want to wear them, um, don’t leak, and since you brought it up, Frankie, don’t poop your diaper unless you’re prepared to immediately change yourself.”

   Francesca almost snorted milk out her nose laughing. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

   “Also, if you want to be changed rather than changing yourself, ask. You can offer, of course, but it’s better to ask. Also, you can bring your own diapers if you really want to wear a specific kind, otherwise I have more than enough to go around for three women for like, a week, so don’t worry about me running out. I have… probably over two hundred diapers at least in that closet, and that’s just Bambino. I’m not counting the ABUs or whatever else is in there… it’s a lot of diapers.”

   “Yeah, that is a lot,” Francesca agreed. “Do you just… order so regularly you have a big stash?”

   Annie shook her head. “No, I generally buy two cases at a time of a given diaper, especially if I really enjoy wearing it. It’s harder to enjoy something when you use it so routinely that it runs out in a fixed amount of time, so I get more enjoyment by having more around, thus no fear of running out. It’s expensive, but I usually, like, binge once every other month, just to stock up. If you figure that I use two diapers a day during the week and as many as ten across both weekend days, that’s twenty diapers a week, so that’s two bags of Bambinos plus half another bag.”

   “Yeah, I can see where you’d need a stash that big,” Francesca agreed.

   “Speaking of, would you like to try a Bellissimo?” Annie asked. “You look like you could use a clean diaper.”

   Francesca nodded. “Mmhmm,” she said around her bottle; the milk was getting warm and the bottle was almost empty. She finished it just as Annie was coming back with the diaper, wipes, and powder. “I know it’s not our girl’s night, yet, but I’ll ask anyway: would you like me to change you?”

   She was tempted, but decided against it. “No thanks,” she said as she got up and accepted the offered diaper and supplies from Annie. “It was sweet of you to ask, though,” she said with a smile as she went to the bathroom. She heard “you’re welcome” as she closed the door.

   The Cushie diaper plopped to the floor the instant Francesca ripped open the tapes; she wiped herself clean, and then dealt with the used diaper before unfolding the new one. If she thought that the Teddy diapers were big, she was unprepared for the size of the Bellissimo. “Wow,” she whispered as she sprinkled powder into the diaper before situating herself on it. After pulling it up and lying back, she struggled with the tapes. She got them fastened, of course, but she wasn’t sure they were tight. “Hey, Annie?”

   “Yeah?” Annie called back. Francesca got up and left the bathroom, taking her wet diaper with her to throw away. The thickness of the Bellissimo seemed to alter her gait in a more pronounced fashion than any other diaper she’d worn. “You can put that in the kitchen garbage. What’s up?” she asked, when Francesca came back.

   “I don’t think my tapes are tight,” she explained. “Could you please… um… fix them?”

   “Sure,” Annie said; Francesca walked over and lay down in front of her, and Annie made short work of fixing her diaper; Francesca found herself looking forward to Friday.

[bshn]

sounds like it is time for a dream sequence   
i love this story keep up the good work

[Nighthawk]

Chapter Twelve

   “There,” Annie said after she was done fixing Francesca’s diaper. “You weren’t too bad about it, but these diapers take some getting used to. I don’t know why, but they do. I love ‘em, though.”

   “Thanks, Annie,” Francesca said as she sat up. Now, she really started to feel like an overgrown toddler. She squeezed her legs closed a few times and at each time she was rewarded by a pillow-like ‘fluff’ and the obligatory crinkle.

   “Sure thing,” Annie said as she moved back to the couch and sat down. Francesca happened to see a clock and sighed.

   “I should get home; work tomorrow,” she muttered, genuinely downcast. “I’ll have to have you over for dinner or something at some point,” she said, forgetting that she might have sensitive things all over her apartment. “You can raid my paltry collection of diapers for a change,” she said.

   “Ooh, nice pun,” Annie said. Francesca moved to the door and gathered up her purse, pants, and shoes, the latter of which she put on. She got her keys out of her purse and tossed her pants over her arm as she made to leave. “Um, Frankie?”

   Francesca turned back to Annie, expecting the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. She wasn’t disappointed. “What’s up?”

   “Um… you’re pants? Don’t you want to… put them on before you go?”

   Francesca shrugged, and smiled wickedly. “Nah. It’s a short walk from here to my car, and a short walk from my car to my door. My pants probably won’t fit over my diaper, anyway.”

   Annie simply stared at Francesca in awe. “Well, you go, girl! Thanks for coming over! Call me or text me tomorrow about dinner plans, okay? I’ll let you know if I have any ideas about Friday.”

   “Sounds good,” Francesca said, and opened the door to leave. She forced herself to remain calm. “Have a good night!” she said cheerfully as she walked away. Her diaper crackled like thunder in her ears, but she ignored it and deliberately kept a casual pace. When she entered the stairwell, she heard Annie’s door close, and then she was well and truly on her own. She kept her composure down the stairs and down the hall to the side exit—she wasn’t sure she could handle the main door—and then she was outside, standing in plain sight wearing a shirt, a diaper and precious little else. Her heart blasted in her ears, but she kept up her pace. Francesca managed to get to her car and get in it—thanking God all the while for keyless entry—without losing it. The drive to her apartment was calm by comparison. However, when she got there she still had to get back out of her car and repeat the process to get to her door. She sighed, and gratefully pulled into an empty space next to the sidewalk. She took a breath, got out, started walking, and managed to hold back tears as she did so. The worst was when she got into the complex’s stairwell; she heard voiced above her, people walking her way, and she became frantic. There was no place to hide but under the stairwell, so under the stairwell she went. Fortunately, it was a closed-frame design, meaning no one would be able to see her unless they were looking. She got underneath it as swiftly and quietly as possible as heavy footfalls and loud male voices began to come down. Francesca wedged herself as far back as she could go and held a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming or breathing too heavily. When the footfalls of the men descending came onto the last flight, the whole assembly shook with each step. With her heart in her throat, Francesca stayed as still and quiet as she could and waited, willing them all the while to just get out of the building. The door opened and one man left, but two more—maybe three?—didn’t.

   Francesca was trapped under the stairwell, uncomfortably folded up against the wall and under the steps as she could be while two guys she didn’t know or recognize talked about sports. One of them stepped into view, and her eyes went wide with terror. All she could see of him was his shoes and the ankles of his pants, but his body posture told her he wasn’t looking at the stairs. All she could think in her head was, ‘go away, go away, go away,’ and ‘now would be a really awkward time to poop my diaper,’ which was a thought so utterly out of left field that she was worried she might need to do just that. She couldn’t deny that the concept was very intriguing from an experimental point of view: she’d already slept in diapers, wet them, been changed by someone else, spent an entire day and more in diapers, but that was one thing she hadn’t done. She was embarrassed to admit to herself that she wanted to try it. However, right then and there would have been fatal, even if she had to go. She was so afraid that she was actually trembling.

   The voices wouldn’t go away. They stayed there, standing, talking, laughing uproariously at jokes and anecdotes that Francesca found extremely lame, and that was in spite of her current fear. Every time the man in her view took a step or shuffled his feet while they talked, Francesca held her breath and froze. One of them stepped so close to her that she felt herself begin to shake, and also to wet her diaper. Finally, however, they left and the door crashed shut behind them. Francesca let out a breath and collapsed from her tightly rolled shape under the stairs. Her relief was so powerful that she actually began to flood her diaper. After a minute to make sure she was well and truly done and that no one else was coming, she got out from under the stairwell and made haste to her apartment without being seen, though her wet diaper crinkled mightily all the way. When she got into her apartment, she locked the door and slid down onto her bottom against it. That had been too close, she thought to herself while she regulated her breathing to calm down. She had only meant to shock Annie with her brazen act, not actually be seen, but, she chastised herself, being seen was a possible consequence of stepping out into a public setting. Francesca took her shoes and socks off and went immediately to bed, not at all caring whether or not she needed a diaper change; she was asleep almost at once.

   By some miracle Francesca woke before her normal alarm time, and in a sudden rush of adrenaline she hurtled into full consciousness and worried that she was late for work; only after she saw a clock did she not panic and start to relax. She checked her diaper, remembered that she had wet it the previous night, found that it wasn’t terribly wet and decided to use it again. But, as she was relaxing herself to wet her diaper again, she felt that wetting wasn’t all she needed to do. The thought appeared at once: this was her chance, a chance to experience a dirty diaper in a convenient way; she would have to get showered to go to work, so why not? What, she thought to herself in reasonable tones, would be the harm?

No! She didn’t need to let her curiosity get the better of her like this! She was still an adult, after all. But, she was an adult who needed to evacuate a night’s worth of waste one way or another and in the end, her curiosity won out.

   Francesca relaxed and let herself start to pee while standing in her bedroom. Her diaper crinkled as it took on the extra weight, but Francesca had never intentionally defecated into anything other than a toilet for as far back as she could remember. Was it better to simply relax and let it happen like a baby, or squat so she could push better? She tried to relax, first. She felt things moving within her as her bladder’s flow trailed off and stopped. Francesca made a few false starts for her back end before she made a disgusted noise and walked out of her bedroom and into her kitchen to get breakfast. Cereal was the order of the day, and she sat down to eat it in a conflicted state. While sitting, she relaxed her bowels again to let them proceed, but whenever she felt that there was progress, there would be a barrier in the article of the hard surface of her chair. Still, Francesca felt that she was approaching the point of no return; her mess was almost sure to spill out into her waiting diaper the instant she stood up. She couldn’t help but find the thought exciting. She was about to poop her diaper deliberately, and… she was excited about it? “Oh God, what is wrong with me?” she muttered to herself. Nevertheless, she resolved to see the event through, even though her heart was beginning to beat faster and faster, to the point where she was finding it difficult to continue breakfast.

   She prepared her body, or so she thought, as she finished her cereal. When she stood to take the dishes to the sink, she was surprised to find that her body aborted at the last moment. When she stood at the sink to rinse them, however, this time there was no turning back. Francesca put a hand over her mouth as she felt the mass begin to exit her body, and involuntarily she began to squat to help it along. Then it happened; in a rush it all came out at once and Francesca was suddenly wearing her first dirty diaper in over two decades. The mess hung in her diaper and pressed against her skin uncomfortably. When she stood back up, she kept her legs apart as though trying to avoid something disgusting while her face contorted into an expression of disgust. But, she put her hands on the sink and righted her posture so that she was standing straight and tall, and experiencing everything that happened when you did that to a mess-filled diaper. It felt immense, and it pressed against the backs of her thighs; she felt as though her skin outside her diaper was being soiled just by proximity. Francesca sighed. “Well, I wanted this… might as well… get the download,” she said with a grimace. Francesca was sure that she would never do something like this to herself ever again after this point. Worse, the smell of her deed was beginning to emanate from her now heavily-laden diaper. Francesca tried to ignore it. She walked around her apartment tidying things up for no reason other than to deliberately push back changing out of her diaper as she so desperately wanted to. Francesca even went so far as to dribble a thin stream of urine into her diaper to prove the point that she was going to stay in her own mess for a little longer.

   She did everything but sit down in it over the next little while. She bent, stretched, twisted, turned, all the while experiencing the terrible feeling of a loaded diaper. Finally, she had to get ready for work and when she went into the bathroom, she carefully lowered herself onto the floor, but couldn’t bring herself to smash the mess against her bottom at all, and hurriedly stripped out of the fouled garment. She emptied the larger contents into the toilet and flushed them away before wrapping the diaper up as tightly as possible and burying it in the trash can. She was in the shower moments later; steam clouded the bathroom swiftly as she vigorously scrubbed herself, her cheeks red with sudden shame. Francesca couldn’t help but feel disgusted with herself every time she looked down and still saw brown water rinsing away. It took a while before Francesca felt clean, but she eventually felt clean enough to get out of the shower and finish getting ready for work. As she was leaving for the office some time later, she carried along an extra attaché case that she meant to leave in her car in case she felt the need: it was a spare diaper and changing supplies in zip-lock bags. She didn’t have the courage to leave the apartment while wearing a diaper so soon after narrowly getting back into the apartment without being discovered. However, Francesca was becoming more and more of a thrill seeker as she binged on her diapers… which was extremely dangerous, and she knew it. However, the reverse of this realization was the knowledge that she wanted to experience almost everything to do with wearing and using adult diapers before she gave it up for good and all and moved on with her life, likely soon after the case was closed and she returned to her home office.

   Only by great indecision and a fear of discovery did Francesca make it through her working day without retreating to her car to fetch that attaché. It took a great deal of effort to focus on her work, though; almost at every turn she was confronted with another element that reminded her of Annie, Sadie, Eric, the changing table, diapers, bottles… she sighed as she sorted through documents and appended details to the documents that would eventually form the basis for her final report on her involvement with the case.

   “You alright, Bowden?” a voice spoke, startling Francesca. She looked up to see Agent Thompson standing over her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

   “It’s okay. I’m fine. Just… paperwork,” she said, gesturing to her computer monitor.

   Thompson nodded sympathetically. “The nemesis of every agent, but a necessary evil,” he said, and was silent for a moment while Francesca nodded quietly, waiting for Thompson to get to the point of his visit to her desk. “How’re you holding up with this case?”

   “It’s going well. My… C.I.? Friend? I don’t know what to think of her. We get along really well and she’s been a great resource for getting me close to the Caretaker,” Francesca answered.

   Thompson nodded and looked down at the floor for a moment before back to her. “That’s good, but that wasn’t what I asked. Naturally, I’ve looked at your personnel file, and while you’ve done good work, this is your first real undercover assignment. Everyone’s first time isn’t all roses and cupcakes, Bowden. You’ve got a strange one on your plate, a dangerously strange one.”

   Francesca was confused. “I’m not following.”

   “Simple,” Thompson said. “It isn’t drugs, murder, prostitution—well, that we know of, at least—or any of the other major crimes that we routinely prosecute, at least not directly. That’s why it’s dangerous. It isn’t something you can easily draw a distinct line in the sand about and then stay to the safe side. I’ve seen some agents work cases that were similar to this, some in white collar crime, where the agent got way too close to the subject, and almost caught an acute case of Stockholm Syndrome. That’s what I’m getting at. You’re doing a hell of a job, Bowden, but make sure you remember which side of the line you’re on is what I’m saying.” Thompson wasn’t speaking to her gruffly, but softly and as privately as he could in a busy office. Francesca suspected that he spoke with experience. “Because, the worst situation in this case is that they’re all dirty, and we have to take them all down. The worst feeling in the world to have is when your confidential informant, who is more a friend than an enemy, looks at you with that combination of pain and betrayal as you pull your badge and read them their rights.” Thompson picked up on Francesca’s suspicion, or so it seemed to her. “Yes, I am speaking from experience. There’s a guy in the slammer doing fifteen years that I had to bust because he was dirtier than we thought. He hates my guts. Not because I’m a fed, but because I burned him, turned on him, knifed him in the back, essentially. Hopefully, you won’t have to do that to your friend. The way this case is going, you probably won’t have to. But, it’s something to remember.”

   “Thanks… I think,” Francesca said after Thompson stopped talking.

   Thompson made a face. “Yeah, I know I suck at these speeches. But it had to be said. You’re looking tired, and not because you’re worn out; it’s because you’re getting too close thinking that’ll mean you’ll do a better job. You’re half-right. Remember to come up for air every now and again and you’ll be okay.” With that, he turned and walked away.

   Francesca couldn’t help but be amused at Thompson’s attempt to be reassuring, but she knew he meant well. She also wanted to know about the case he worked where he had to bust the guy who now hated him, but that was professional curiosity, something to talk about at the water cooler with everyone else. Talking about the higher-up agents was a time-honored tradition in the FBI, as it was at almost any other office building in America, if not the world over.

   When Francesca got back to her apartment that evening, she was greeted by the faint smell of her dirty diaper from that morning; she immediately emptied all of her apartment’s garbage cans and took one large bag out to the dumpster; she was embarrassed to realize that most of her garbage was used diapers. However, her embarrassment was not enough to deter her from changing into a diaper as soon as she got back upstairs. Francesca also declined to put something on over her diaper, and instead fixed herself a light dinner.

   While she ate, she was troubled by conflicting thoughts of duty and desire, friendship and honor, selfishness and sacrifice; slowly her stomach closed to anything else while she dealt with the increasingly troubled nature of her mind. Finally, she set down her fork in defeat. Tears welled in her eyes almost immediately—she buried her head in her hands and cried. Whether it was for moments or for minutes, Francesca did not care. Now she understood, she thought to herself bleakly. Whenever she saw agents at the conclusion of a difficult undercover case—or any undercover case, for that matter—they always came in looking like they had just come back from war. Francesca could sympathize. She understood that she was being pulled in two different directions, one way towards the law-defending life she had chosen for herself, and the other way towards a life that left that world to one side in favor of a carefree return to a time when life was far, far simpler, such as it never would be again.

   Grimly, Francesca stood from the table and went to where she kept her notes and documents on the Caretaker Case. She rifled through them until she found her original notes from her very first day on the case. The three questions she had written down for herself regarding how far she was willing to go seemed to come from another world; she let her fingers brush over the plastic shell of her diaper as she recalled the reluctance she had felt when she had written the question asking if she was willing to wear adult diapers. Now, she was finding it hard to imagine life without them. Yes, they were disgusting when they were heavily saturated, yes, they smelled bad after a little while, no, she didn’t really need them at all, but yes, she liked to wear them.

   Francesca took out a clean sheet of paper and hunted down a pen amongst her things. The ink on the page was like writing fire into stone. Almost unconsciously, the need to release her bladder was met by a subtle relaxation followed by her diaper expanding slightly.

   She couldn’t do it.

   There it was, plain as the sun in the sky on a clear day. Francesca Bowden, FBI agent with a bright future ahead of her, did not want to stop wearing diapers. In fact, she wanted desperately to wear them all the time. She wanted to be friends with Annie and have slumber parties and go out and have fun and forget all about this nonsense of being an adult every waking moment of the day. She even wanted to be friends with Sadie, and maybe the other diaper girls who came to the Caretaker’s House. She might even let herself be taken care of by the Caretaker himself. It was a world unlike anything Francesca had ever heard of before, the nearest thing to heaven that wasn’t a tropical beach far and away from the speed and ferocity of civilization. It was as simple as the diaper taped round her waist. It was bliss.

   However, her vision clouded again and fresh tears dripped onto the page she had written laboriously her own declaration of intent. Sniffing them away, she crumpled the paper into a ball and dropped it onto the floor.

   No matter what, she knew she wouldn’t get what she thought she wanted.