The Book - Part 2 (Patreon)

"'Wow!'" Wendy typed. "Cassie smiled and clapped her hands. 'The potty isn't scary at all! Who needs stupid, old diapers?'"

Was it amazing? No, certainly not. Honestly, ever since seeing those first pictures, all she wanted to do was finish up with this project, and never think about it again. It had all been so strange... She'd made certain to give the character of her book a name, and, despite the illustrations that had already been done, it definitely wasn't Wendy. 

"So sorry about the confusion," she'd written to her illustrator. "I thought I'd sent the latest manuscript, but it turns out I was mistaken. Hope it isn't too much trouble for you to change the name on the crib! Oh, and I really envisioned her as a blonde, not a redhead."

Wendy hadn't heard anything back... She wondered if she would. It must be confusing for the other woman, being told, by the publisher, to leave everything alone, while the author was telling her to switch things up. Wendy couldn't say she'd blame her for not siding with her, even if this book was technically meant to be her vision.

When she got the next e-mail, telling her, "Here's a few more," she was anxious to see which way the woman had gone. Her stomach knotted, not wanting to see that toddler version of herself again, afraid, best efforts on her part or not, she was going to.

Sure enough, baby Wendy was unchanged, at least in design. Her underwear had gotten a change, although Wendy didn't exactly consider that a good thing. The version in the picture was in a pair of fluffy, pink training panties... Just like the ones the real Wendy had put on that morning.

Wendy had no idea what was going on; she'd searched her house thoroughly, found no evidence of anyone squatting there, tormenting her. However, not only had her underwear vanished, every time she bought more, she always misplaced the shopping bag at some point between walking in the door and getting them to her room. Once, she'd specifically walked straight back, not stopping or setting it down, yet, when she opened up her underwear drawer to get rid of all the babyish junk inside, and replace it with real panties, the bag was gone. She retraced her steps, assuming she'd dropped it... It was nowhere to be found.

She hated to admit it, but she was getting used to the trainers. She would never say she liked them, especially over real panties... They just weren't as awful and rough as they'd seemed at first. As opposed to silk, or satin, the cotton was a definite change... The thickness of them made up for that, however, and it was starting to feel oddly comforting, in a way that made her certain she needed to figure out what was happening so she could stop wearing them.

She hadn't managed it quite yet, though, not with her publisher breathing down her neck to finish writing. So, as she stared at the picture, she truly did look just like the girl in it, from her red hair, to the yellow t-shirt and pink trainers, down to her mismatched socks. For a moment, she thought the illustrator had to be stalking her, had to have a camera, somehow, set up to watch her... But how would she have known Wendy would choose those exact clothes today? Art didn't happen instantly...

It was so uncanny... Wendy had to glance over, catch a look at herself in the mirror, reminding herself it couldn't be her, not really. There, in her computer chair, she saw Wendy... But not the Wendy she was used to. Sure enough, she saw the living, breathing version of baby Wendy, from the illustrations, her feet dangling, nowhere near the floor, her cheeks chubby, her freckles so much more noticeable.

"No!" she squealed, watching as she threw her hands up over her mouth, trying to block the high, squeaky voice she'd heard, that of a toddler, not the grown woman she knew she should be. She tore her eyes away, glancing down at herself, feeling a wave of relief wash over her when she saw her normal body there after all, feet planted firmly on the ground.

She swallowed, glancing back up at the picture. Immediately, she noticed something she hadn't seen the first time, although she wasn't sure how she could have missed it. In the illustration, the girl's trainers were definitely wet, and sagging. There was a difference, she told herself with a sigh. She couldn't be the girl from the picture, because...

She frowned, squirming in her seat; something was wrong. Her trainers felt different, squishy... And not even warm anymore. "No," she shook her head, blushing as she poked at them fearfully, feeling that, indeed, they were wet, and apparently had been for a while. "No, I didn't!" she refused to believe it.

Something had happened, though, whether she accepted it or not. Wrinkling her nose, she got up, shuffling over to grab a new pair of training panties from her drawer so she could take a shower, clean herself up. If she was being honest, it wasn't the first accident she'd had... Even beyond the one she'd had, looking at the first batch of pictures, she'd found herself sometimes waiting too long, while she was busy working, or just watching TV. But why shouldn't she? She had to wear the padding anyway... What harm would it do to get a bit of use out of it?

Usually, those thoughts made her blush, and hurry to the bathroom, where, hopefully, she wasn't too late. Every now and then, she caught herself nodding along absentmindedly, agreeing with the sentiment, before she could stop herself... Even those times, however, she'd never done this, never realized she had a full-blown accident so far after the fact.

She stumbled out into the hallway, turning towards the bathroom... Only to blink, looking around, more confused than ever. It was completely wrong! This wasn't her house at all! She shook her head, frowning, trying to remember when she'd gone to her brother's house, and why she'd thought it was okay to run around it with no pants on over her trainers.

"There you are!"

Wendy gulped at the sound of her sister-in-law's voice, tugging at her shirt, frantically trying to make it long enough to cover her undies, and the accident in them. "What's this?" she asked, grabbing the spare trainer from Wendy's hand, while the other girl attempted to think of a cover story that would explain it. "Sweetie, don't you remember?" she shook her head. "We decided if you had another accident, you could go back to your diapers. You don't need this."

"No, I don't!" Wendy agreed. "A-And I don't need diapers, either!"

"Of course you don't," her sister-in-law smiled, her tone clearly condescending as she reached out and took Wendy's hand. "Let's go get you changed, soggy girl."

The woman led Wendy into their guest bedroom, which was very familiar to Wendy... Not because she stayed there when she visited, because it had been completely changed since then; no, she knew it because it now looked exactly like the nursery from the illustrations, right down to her name, carved in the headboard of the crib. "Wh-What's going on?" she whimpered, looking around. "Wh-Why did you do this?!"

"What are you talking about, silly?" the other woman chuckled, helping Wendy up onto the changing table, slipping down the trainers and sliding a big, thick, thirsty diaper under her bottom instead. "Did what? This is your room, sweetie... It looks the same as it always has!"

"No, it doesn't!" Wendy insisted, nose twitching at the scent of the baby powder being dumped onto her crotch. "Stop it! Please, don't put me in a diaper!"

"I guess somebody needs a nap," her sister-in-law said, ignoring the protests and taping the diaper up snugly around her, taking her over to the crib and raising the bars. "Oh," she added before she left. "Here's those pictures you were looking at on the computer, sweetie. They seemed to make you feel better."

She slid a few pieces of paper between the bars, and, with a, "Night-night, baby," headed out, flipping on the night-night as she went, not that she needed to, as bright as it was outside. There was more than enough light for Wendy to see the first page was the illustration she'd seen earlier, and she quickly flipped it over, not wanting to see it anymore. Beneath it was a drawing of her - or, the baby version of her, rather - on the changing table, a cloud of powder covering her crotch, a fresh diaper underneath her bottom. The woman standing by her, doing it all, was unmistakably her sister-in-law.

She shook her head, whimpering, turning it over, too, the last picture of the baby Wendy sitting down, in a shirt and diaper, happily playing with stuffed animals, the back of her diaper bulging outwards in a way that could only mean one thing. She groaned, nose wrinkling again, this time purely from her imagination, from thinking about doing that... There was no way she'd ever do that! On the other hand... In the picture, the other Wendy looked so happy, so content to just spend time with her dollies, and no have to worry about the bathroom...

She started to flip it, too, most disturbed by it. Before she could, however, she got a second look, noticed the bars in the background, revealing that, in the picture, she was in a crib... Looking at the toys in there with her in the illustration, they matched the ones lined up in the crib in real life, too... Her eyes darted over, catching a glimpse at herself in the mirror, seeing the toddler version of herself again, watching, in horror, as a lump appeared in the seat of her pants. 

"No!" she clamped her hands back there, but it was too late... All she could do was feel the diaper start to fill, feeling the mush pushing out, making the plastic rustle softly as it expanded... She squirmed, face bright red, from exertion and humiliation, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of her head, telling her she should pick up the stuffed animal she had in the picture, that she seemed to be having so much fun with it... "This isn't happening... It isn't happening..."

She kept repeating that to herself, over and over, a rythym forming in her mind, each repetition soothing her, making her feel a little less worried about what she'd done, a little calmer. It took much longer than it should have for her to notice how much messier her diaper felt, how much the mass inside had spread, and that that, without realizing it, she'd been bouncing in place, squishing the mess beneath her like the happy baby from the picture. She blushed, extracting her thumb from her mouth - which she also hadn't realized was there - and laid down on her tummy, putting a stop to that, trying to forget it had happened in the first place, not wanting to think about why she would have ever stooped to that level... Or about how fun and happy she'd felt as she'd done it.

It was a long, mortifying naptime, tossing and turning, trying to find a position that didn't constantly remind her of the load in her pants. The bath that followed was little better, or the diapering once that was over. Once she was free from her sister-in-law's attention, she hurried down the hall, towards her brother's office, where she knew there was a computer, where she could write to her illustrator, tell her, whatever their publisher said, she had to change it all.

"Where are you going, silly?" the other woman chuckled. "You know you aren't allowed in their on your own."

"B-But I hafta write..." she pouted.

"Oh, you have a very important e-mail to write?" her sister-in-law bent over, the patronizing voice returning. "Well, tell you what, baby... Why don't we go back to your room, and I'll get you some nice crayons, and you can write out what you want to say, and then I'll type it up for you, all right?"

"No!" Wendy stomped her foot. "I can do it!"

"And you can get a spanking, too, if you keep that up," the other woman warned, escorting Wendy back to the nursery, sitting her down on the floor with some construction paper and crayons to 'work'.

Did it even matter? She squirmed in her seat, listening to the diaper crinkle, scribbling away. Would the messages really get where they needed to go? What choice did she really have, though? She had to get these pictures changed... But writing was so boring... She kept thinking of how happy she'd looked in the picture, just playing, without a care in the world... Weakly, she tried to push those thoughts away, to stay motivated... If she could just figure out the right thing to say, then Mommy would take care of the rest... Mommy always knew how to fix things.