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“Gooood morning, little Kedra! Are we feeling nice and weak this morning?”

Kendra winced as her senses returned. Every time she was tucked into her crib for bedtime, part of her still expected to wake up in her own bed, in her own apartment, with the alarm clock alerting her that it was time to get up for work. But every time, she only found herself here, in the local gymnasium that had once been her sanctuary, and had now become her prison.

Once again, she tried futilely to sit up on her own. Her thin fleece blanket was wrapped snuggly under her, pinning her into the soft, yielding mattress of her crib. It couldn't have weighed more than a pound, but she found that she couldn't shift the simple sheet of fabric even an inch upward. She might as well have been lying under an elephant for all her efforts accomplished. After a few seconds of pointless struggling, she exhaled, lay back, and waited to be released.

“Ooooh, it's so adorable how you try to lift your widdle blankie all by yourself! Here, let Auntie get that for you!”

Kendra rolled her eyes. She was surrounded on all sides by her alleged “Aunties” these days. She wasn't even certain that it was the same group of ever-smiling, weirdly perfect women in colorful athletic attire, or if they switched in and out in shifts. They were all so completely indistinct in face, voice, and expression that they could simply change their clothing and hair style and be totally unrecognizable. The one that was hovering over her now was her usual handler: a busty blonde woman in a skin-tight cheerleader's outfit of light purple. Kendra was reasonably sure that this was the same woman who had originally put her back in diapers after she had somehow failed to lift an unweighted press-up bar,  but there was no way to be sure. These beautiful creatures had none of the slight flaws and little idiosyncrasies that made people feel like unique individuals, and they all seemed to share but one personality between them. Despite never being allowed even a moment of privacy, Kendra was starting to feel lonely. She longed for one simple conversation with another actual human being, preferably one that didn't revolve around the state of her diaper and how utterly helpless and pathetic she was.

With a smug little flourish, the woman daintily pulled aside the fuzzy yellow blanket, revealing Kendra's own distinctive attire. As always, she was dressed a light purple tank top with the ribbon she had “won” for being the weakest gym member prominently displayed on the lapel. She was naked below her belly-button except for a bulky disposable diaper decorated with cartoonish crying eyes and the word “Crybaby”. Judging by the warm wetness between her legs and the sharp ammonia scent mingled with baby powder in the air, she guessed it had been barely ten minutes since she had last wet herself. She was starting to get used to the feelings and smells of her diapers. Her all-but-non-existent control over her bladder made diapers an absolute necessity for her, as her bevy of “Aunties” never tired of informing her.

“Oh, yes! I think we're looking very, very weak today!” said the blonde woman, giving Kendra's cheek a playful pinch. “Such a cute widdle crybaby! C'mon now! We've got a big day ahead of us!”

Despite her outfit and her recent change in fortunes, Kendra still looked like she should be the strongest woman in the room, and indeed most rooms she might care to enter. Her arms and legs were even more muscular and toned than those of her Aunties, whose artificial perfection would only permit them to embody a fairly mainstream concept of idealized femininity. Her abs were a tight six-pack, and looked impressive even contrasted with the soft bulk of her diaper. Unfortunately, Kendra had been shown over and over that her impressive physique was now for display purposes only. Even the most incidental of physical tasks was beyond her, and her Aunties made certain that she never forgot that either.

Kendra felt herself being taken by the waist and lifted effortlessly out of the crib. Her bare feet were settled onto the gym's smooth tile floor. The gym was her home now, more so than it even had been in her previous life. She hadn't been to work in weeks. She wondered sometimes if her old colleagues were wondering where she was, or if the company she had worked for even still existed. She didn't think about her old life very often. It would only get her crying again. She always felt like crying now, which she was sure had something to do with her diapers. It seemed to get worse when she was wet, which she usually was.

She felt her legs strain against the floor as her soggy backside dragged her downward. She was frustrated by the physical inconsistency of her newfound weakness. She seemed able to walk fairly normally, which should have been impossible for someone too weak to lift a small comforter. If not for her diapers, Kendra doubted that she would even waddle when she walked, unless she was wet. Somehow, whatever insane force now controlled her life had decided that a soggy diaper should feel like it was carrying a load of bricks.

She felt her bottom lip quiver as her Auntie serenely slipped a finger past the leg-band of her diaper. “Whoopsie! Wooks wike a certain somebody made some widdle tinkles during her beddie-bye time! Good thing we keep you in these nice thick diapers, huh?”

Kendra sighed. She was not in the mood for this. She wasn't sure there was a right mood for being spoken to like a toddler. Right now, all she wanted was to be alone with her own thoughts for a few minutes.

“What's that, Crybaby? Aren't you glad you have your Aunties to make sure your cute widdle tushie stays nice and dry?” She punctuated her question by vigorously patting the rear of Kendra's diaper. Kendra barely managed to prevent herself from being bowled over. She drew in a slow breath through her nose, trying to center herself.

“Yes. Thanks. That was...just great of you guys.” she spoke softly, hoping that somehow, it would be enough to earn her a few moments of respite.

“You're so welcome, little Kendra! I guess it's time to get you into a nice dry diaper, isn't it? Does Kendra need changies? Does she need a widdle changie-poo?” The woman swept her fingers across Kendra's bare belly.

“Ugh...yes! Gawd.” she answered, with the same enthusiasm she might have shown to being offered a root canal.

“Awww, is somebody being a grumpy-pants today? That won't do at all, Kendra! Ask Auntie for your changies like a good girl now.”

Kendra managed to stifle the snarl of indignation building in her throat. She knew it could only result in still greater humiliation. She drew in a deep breath through her nose to calm herself. She spoke slowly, putting one word in front of the other, trying not to form them into a sentence in her own mind. She wasn't realy saying it, she assured herself. It was just a noise she had to make to satisfy this insane creature.

“I...need to have my diaper changed, please...Auntie.” she stated clearly. Her face burned.

She was rewarded with an enthusiastic pinch on her cheek.“Aaah, good girl! Still, it sure does seem odd that a big girl like you can't handle her own soggy pampers. Why can't you just change yourself, Kendra? Hmmm?”

Kendra glared at the playful little smile of the creature that had her at its mercy. She glanced down at the sagging bulk between her legs. Her legs were already feeling sore, and she was on the edge of tears. She needed out of this heavy, wet thing, even if it would only be replaced with another exactly like it. She also knew that fighting it was pointless. This idiotic little game would keep going until she gave in, and all the resistance in the world wouldn't earn her a dry diaper.

“I...can't change myself...because...because...” she could already feel it. That strange, warm, electric sensation in the air around her. The promise of intense, seething pleasure, purchased at the expense of all her self-respect. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff. She sniffled. Her eyes felt puffy.

The woman leaned in, grinning mischievously. “Hmmmmm?”

“I'm...too...weak!” she whispered through her teeth. Heat flared in her cheeks. Her knees wobbled under her. That strange, hot feeling rushed up her spine and spread across her skin, tingling through every cell of her body. She clenched her jaw, struggling to keep control of herself as the sensation grew stronger “ I'm...mmm...too weak...to change...my...oh gawd! I can't...I can't change my...I can't change my own dipeeeheehees!!!”

Kendra collapsed into her tormentor's arms as the waves began to crash over her. The woman cradled her and patted her back as the convulsions began. Tears began pouring down her cheeks. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to wear diapers. She didn't want to bawl her eyes out just to get herself into a diaper that would maybe stay dry for twenty minutes. Most of all, she didn't want this to be her only source of pleasure in life, her only solace from an existence of continuous humiliation. A high-pitched whine escaped her throat.

Of course, it was perfectly true that she couldn't change her own diapers. Somehow, even prying the tiny tapes open required far more force than her fingers could possibly produce. But that wasn't what made her toes curl up. It was admitting, and even more than that, being forced to admit, that she had completely lost the strength that had once been her most prized and hard-won possession, that sent her into paroxysms of ecstasy. She felt her caretaker gently rub her back as the fit reached a crescendo.

“Shhhhh. That's right! Very good girl, Kendra! You need your Aunties to change your soggy diapers for you, don't you? You need help getting your adorable butt all clean, cuz you're just a big crybaby! Oooh, it's just so adorable how you need help to do everything now! You can't change yourself, you can't feed yourself, you can't even tie your shoes! You're so lucky to have such nice Aunties to take care of you! Yesh you are!” said the woman, planting a sloppy kiss on Kendra's cheek

Kendra wanted to tune out the constant inane blather. She wanted to hate being talked down to to like this. But it was impossible once the waterworks started. Her brain wouldn't stop squirting happy-juice into her at every stupid, cutesy, condescending word. She was just as powerless to control her feelings as she was to remove her wet diaper. It was all she could do to stop her mouth from loudly agreeing with everything the cheerleader said about her. She lay in the woman's arms for a few moments, having her back patted until she had calmed down enough to stop trembling. She swallowed hard, trying to get her breathing under control. She wondered how long she could hold out until the next one. Her crying fits were just as inevitable as her accidents, and they were becoming almost as frequent.

The cheerleader casually picked her up and carried her over to the changing table once again, as though she weighed no more than a kitten. It was conveniently located right between her crib and the large, glass-fronted cooler where hundreds of identical baby bottles of Weak-Sauce sat waiting for her. The cheerleader grabbed one from the case and inserted it between Kendra's lips. As always, Kendra found that her mouth accepted the nipple without even seeking her opinion on the matter. It was a sickeningly sweet milkshake-like substance, and Kendra felt its effects spread through her muscles as she reflexively suckled. It was basically impossible for her to drink now unless someone held the bottle for her. Even if she held it in both hands, it was like trying to drink from a steel I-beam. She could now eat and drink only what her Aunties decided to feed her, and they had put her on an all-Weak-Sauce diet.

As she finished her ba-ba, the lights in the gymnasium began popping on, one at a time, illuminating the soft pink and lime green of the walls. As the cheerleader methodically went through the now-familiar diaper changing procedure, the early-bird crowd began to trickle in though the big double doors. Some stopped to coo over her as she was slowly wiped clean, powdered, and put into yet another thick, humiliating Crybaby diaper from the ample stockpile under the table.

“Ooh, she's getting a diaper change! How cute!”

“Good Morning, Crybaby! Whoops! Did somebody wet in her sleep again?”

“Are you going to try to do a push-up again, Kendra! That was so funny!”

Everyone was so damn happy to see her, just when she most wished to melt into the floor.

“Okay, Kendra!” said the Aunty, securing the final tape in place and giving the final product a discerning sniff. “There! A nice clean, fresh diaper for widdle Kendra! Time to get to work now! Biiig smile!”

Kendra had thought that she had hated her old job. It had been a tedious and seemingly interminable series of meetings, phonecalls, e-mails, paperwork, and meetings that might have been e-mails. That was initially why she had begun her intense workout sessions, just something to do to blow off some steam and absorb all her pent-up energy and frustration.

Her new job was infinitely worse. She was the gym's mascot. Each day, she was passed from gym patron to Auntie to another patron to another Auntie, and everyone got the chance to play with her to their heart's content. They would smile and giggle and tell her how cute and powerless she was. They would pinch her cheeks, pat her bottom, blow into her tummy, plant kisses all over her face, check her diapers, and feed her bottle after bottle of Weak-Sauce. They didn't even seem to notice her feeble attempts to push them away, and only giggled if she tried to complain. And she had to smile through all of it. She knew that if she refused to smile, she would be made to.

“Who's a widdle cutie-pie? Who's da cutie pie who can't keep her pants dry? Who's the cutie pie? Huh? Is it you? Are you da widdle cutie? Oh no! Here comes da tickle-monster! Brrrr-rrrr-rrrrr!”

The tickling was the worst. Any time Kendra was caught without a big, fake smile plastered across her face, she was sentenced to yet another round of tickle-torture. Her feet, her belly, her armpits, everything was fair game. Her arms had no power to shield her from their invading fingers. And of course, once the tickling started, there was simply no way to keep her bladder from giving way, and then it was back to the damn changing table once again, and the cycle would begin anew. Everyone who visited the gym seemed eager to take a turn at changing her, and if they couldn't, they were just as happy to supervise the procedure and offer helpful advice.

Of course, nearly all the gym's patrons were more creations of The Sponsors, whoever they might be, so it wasn't too much of a surprise. Kendra's cheeks were almost always tired from having to force a smile. The only acceptable alternative to smiling was crying, and being rocked and cooed over and called an adorable crybaby was even more embarrassing than her accidents. Even the freedom to be miserable was denied her.

Luckily, there were breaks. Rare, precious moments when Kendra wasn't the center of attention. Usually, Kendra would be tucked into her crib for a nap or dumped in the playpen with her toys. Since she was never very tired and the toys and stuffed animals held no appeal for her, there was nothing for Kendra to do but watch the dozens of gorgeous, smiling women exercise. She would sit and watch them lift weights, go through yoga routines, and perform any number of repetitive movements that were all completely beyond her capabilities now. It was all fake, naturally. The women were able to repeat the same motions again and again for hours at a time, all while flashing their perfect smiles and never shedding so much as a drop of sweat. They were incapable of doing anything as nakedly human as perspiring or panting for breath. No one showed the least hint of fatigue, strain, or even noticeable effort as they casually surpassed the limits of human ability.

If she wasn't watching the bogus women go through their bogus workouts, the only alternative was watching the screens. Kendra did her best to avoid that, but as under-stimulated as she was, it was hard to ignore them There were plenty of them scattered around, positioned in front of each treadmill and above each bench and along the walls. Some extreme version of targeted advertising was at work, since most of the ads were for Weak-Sauce. There were a variety of ads hocking the stuff, although they always went along the same lines: Some woman would complain bitterly about how her friends or co-workers were always asking her to carry heavy things for them or help them rearrange furniture, then some other woman would suggest she try new delicious awesome wonderful Weak-Sauce, a bottle of the stuff would disgorge its viscous contents across the screen, and in the next scene the woman would be relaxing on a beach as servants brought her more Weak-Sauce in a tall, frosty glass, or else she would turn into a princess being carted around in a sedan chair. Lather, rinse, repeat. Kendra noted bitterly that none of the gym patron nor her Aunties ever touched the stuff, despite being bombarded with ads for it all day. It was all just for her.

For all the pleasure and happiness that was being blasted through her system day after day, it all made Kendra sick to her stomach. She knew that she was giving up. Her mind was feeling more and more fuzzy as the days passed. How long could she be expected to withstand this? What hope was there that anything would change?

Kendra was sitting in her playpen boredly watching another of these tedious ads when a light tremor shook the gymnasium, knocking over a stack of Crybaby diapers from under the changing table and toppling over the cheerleader just as she was completing a hand-stand. Kendra's cheeks were so tired and sore, she didn't even crack a smile at her tormentor's pratfall. Kendra sometimes wondered about the tremors. They had been so mild at first that she could pretend that she had only imagined them, but that last one had been noticeably stronger. Even stranger was the way the dozens of beautiful women exercising around her seemed to pay no attention whatsoever, simply picking up and continuing with what they were doing without comment. Maybe it was just another of their inane ads, trying to build up anticipation before rolling out some ridiculous new magical product or another. It didn't seem possible that anything could now be happening that was well and truly outside the Sponsors' control.

Then, something happened that caught Kendra entirely off-guard. If not for the horrible, interminable sameness of her environment, she might have missed it, but as it was, it shocked her to her core.

“...creamy, delicious taste, and it really turns my muscles to mush! One little sip, and I can barely even'''fttt'''t'fft'ttt''f'f'' on my own coat, let alone keep my jeans dry! Thanks Weak-Sauce!”

The brightly-colored image of the smiling woman proudly demonstrating that she was unable to muster the strength to button up her coat turned gray for a moment, and her voice was replaced by static. The image wavered on the screen, as though the television had bad reception. Then, with a pop and a flash, the commercial resumed. Kendra furrowed her bow. She hadn't seen anything close to that in all the time that the Sponsors had been broadcasting their strange commercials. What could that mean? If it was just another of their little gimmicks, why interrupt their own ad? And there had been something else there on the screen, just for an instant.

Mrs. Emilia Brandon sat on the carpeted floor in front of the television, her eyes at half-mast. She wasn't allowed on the couch anymore. Once, it had been her carpet, her furniture, her television. Her house. Things had changed. These things were not hers anymore. Other things were hers.

Now, she was wearing herpajamas over her diapers, holding her blankie, and watching her shows. She hated her shows. They took up almost all of what should have been her free time now. If she wasn't stuck in her crib for another wholly unnecessary nap, in her highchair having various jars of pureed nonsense shoved into her mouth, or on the changing table blushing and squirming as her babysitter diligently wiped and powdered her, she would be sat on her diapered rear in the living room to watch the most inane programming ever witnessed by the human eye. As a mother herself, she was reasonably familiar with the sort of low-effort schlock that studios churned out for little kids, even for actual infants. These were far, far worse.

They were always intensely boring and stupid. She was certain that this was a deliberate choice on the part of whoever or whatever was creating them. She was fairly certain that there was more than one show in her daily parade of idiotic programming, but the plots were so meandering and the characters so interchangeable that she was never sure when one episode ended and another began. Right now, she was watching what appeared to be a collection of diaper-wearing clowns who all lived on an painted-background island where the felt sun always shown behind a felt rainbow in the sky. They mostly just sat around, discussing their diapers, and intermittently breaking into musical numbers.

“I love my diapees!” said a clown with bright yellow wig, apropos of nothing.

“Me too!” agreed a clown with a bright pink nose.

“Did you hear? Shelly-Belly told me that Mindy Bobindi is learning to use the potty!” announced a clown with bright green suspenders, having just arrived from off-screen.

“What? But that means she won't get to wear diapees anymore!” said the clown with a bright pink nose with an expression of shock and horror.

“I know! It's sooo weird!” said the clown with green suspenders. “Why would anyone want to stop wearing diapees?”

“I know! They're so comfy and convenient!” pointed out the clown with the yellow wig.

“And so cozy and absorbent!” agreed the clown with a bright pink nose.

“So cute and fun to wear!” opined the clown with bright green suspenders.

“And it feels so good to wet in them!” pointed out the clown with a bright pink nose.

“I know! I love making my diapers warm and soggy!” announced the clown with the yellow wig.

“An' smelly! An' squishy!” giggled the clown with the pink nose.

“Well, nobody is potty-training me, that's for sure! I'm gonna stay in my diapies forever and ever!” said the clown with the yellow wig, crossing her arms defiantly.

Another clown joined the trio from off-screen, this one wearing a bright orange pair of over-sized glasses that seemed in constant danger of falling off.“Guys, guys, guess what! Mommy says I'm staying in my diapers!”

“Yayyyy!” cheered the clown with the yellow wig, pumping her arms in the air with joy.

“Yep, she says I'm totally diaper-dependent for life! Trying to potty-train would just be a waste of time!” said the clown with orange glasses.

“Diapee...deep end...ant?” asked the clown with the pink nose, squinting her eyes in confusion.

“It's what Mommy says we all are! It means we can't go potty anywhere except diapees!” explained the clown with orange glasses.

“Mommy is so smart!” said the clown with green suspenders.

“Guys, I gots an idea!” exclaimed the clown with the yellow wig. “Let's all make stinky messes at the same time!”

“Good idea! Mommy will be so surprised!” concurred her colleague with the green suspenders.

“Anybody remember how to count down from three?” asked the clown with the pink nose.

“Nope!” said the clown with the yellow wig, proudly.

“Great! Lets sing!” proposed the clown with orange glasses, joining hands with her compatriots and taking a deep breath.

“I don't wanna watch this crap!” Emilia shouted angrily, trying to muffle her ears with her blankie to block out the clown's synchronized pants-pooping. She knew that it was useless to complain, but it was one of the few things that she was still able to do of her own volition. Any attempt to assert herself as an adult was a complete non-starter thanks to the bizarre effects of the pacifier that her daughter had stuck in her mouth all those weeks ago when this new phase of her life had begun.

Her babysitter soon appeared, her smile as gentle and radiant as ever. The shy, subservient young lady who had first been introduced to her as her babysitter always vanished as soon as her daughter left the house, replaced with a confident and frankly condescending woman. “What's that, baby girl? Is it dipey-wipey time again already?”

“No! I just don't want to watch this garbage anymore! Gaddamn it! Why is it always diapers with you!” snarled the middle-aged woman.

The younger woman giggled. You could not have asked for a more good-natured giggle. “Noooo! No, that's silly! Diapers...”

She grabbed the elastic band that held the oversized diaper to Andrea's hips and gently pulled. “...are always with you!”

“Stoppit! Goddamn it! I'm allowed to have feelings that don't involve diapers!”

The smiling young woman pointedly ignored her, instead leaning forward and pulling open the back of her charge's diaper with two perfectly-manicured fingers. Emilia wished that there was some way to stop her from doing this, but no matter how she struggled with herself, her arms lay limp at her sides as her personal space was violated once again. “Hmm, nothing yet. I bet you just want your pacifier again. Is that it? Does the big diaper baby want her dummy-dum?”

“No! I don't want anything! I just can't watch this bullshit all day! I'm losing my goddamn mind!”

She buried her face in her hands. She was trembling with frustration. “Can't I just watch some news? Can I watch anything other than this bullshit? For heaven's sake, even staring at the damn wall would be more engaging!”

“Aaaaah! Looks like we're being a precious widdle cranky-britches today! Watch your little shows like a good girl, now!” she took Emilia's chin in her hand. “You don't want to be a bad girl do you?”

Emilia winced. She hated her spankings more than anything. The babysitter took such obvious satisfaction in the ritualized humiliation of the act. If she had been especially “bad”, she would even be made to retrieve a hairbrush from the bathroom herself and shyly present it for her babysitter's use, on pain of an even longer punishment. Whether they were done by hand or by hairbrush, the spankings didn't really hurt. The diapers she was forced to wear were so thick now that it felt more like her butt was being patted a little too enthusiastically. That wasn't the point. The point was to drive home how utterly powerless she was. She was in diapers because Alisha had decided that she would be. She could not go to work, because her daughter had decreed that she couldn't anymore. She had to have a babysitter look after her at all times, because that was what Alisha had decided. And if her daughter was not satisfied that her day had been nothing but a humiliating gauntlet of naps, feedings, diaper changes, and staring mindlessly at the idiot box, she would  be once again issued a spanking to remind her just who was in charge of her life now.

She groaned inwardly and looked down at her bare feet. “No, you don't need to do that...goddamn it....I'll be good.”

The babysitter patted her head. She frowned and gritted her teeth. “Glad to hear it! Now, you just keep sitting on your big, silly diapered butt and watch your cute widdle shows! These are vewy, vewwwy stupid shows, made just for big babies like you! So you be sure to watch carefully and absorb all those important lessons!”

Emilia only groaned in response. The babysitter gave her rear a light little slap of warning. “Got it?”

Emilia hung her head. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Why?” she whispered, almost to herself.

The babysitter seated herself beside her charge on the carpet and threw an arm around her shoulders. “What was that, sweetie?”

Emilia looked up, straight into the babysitter's shining blue eyes. Even while crying, her expression was fierce. “Why? Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to you?”

The babysitter giggled. It was such an innocent, sweet little giggle. “Oh my! What a silly question! Surely you already know that, sweetie.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “It's because you didn't negotiate as well as your daughter, gumdrop. If you'd just said yes when we told you to, it might be you in charge of things around here. Just think, one little word, and I might be stuck wiping Alisha's butt while you get to run off into the world to do as you please!”

Emilia glared. “I didn't 'negotiate' anything! I told you to leave me the hell alone! And I'm still telling you that! Piss off already!”

The babysitter shrugged carelessly. “Well, if you're not going to negotiate, you can't very well complain about what you got! This is your life, now, diaper-butt. Now, I'm going to go to the kitchen get you a nice warm ba-ba for your lunch. When I come back, I don't want to hear any more of your silly little complaints.” she retrieved Emilia's Pouty-Baby pacifier from the pocket of her apron. Emilia's eyes locked on it instantly. It hovered menacingly in front of her face.“Talking is a privilege, pumpkin. You need to learn to use it carefully. When you talk from now on, I expect to hear nothing except how happy you are to be a big baby, and how lucky you are to have a sweet babysitter like me to look after you. You will watch these stupid shows, drink your ba-ba, piddle in your diapers, and take your naps like a good girl. The punishments can always get worse, you know!” she tweaked the end of Emilia's nose.

“You think you can do something to me that's worse than this?” snarled Emilia gesturing to her general situation. The four clowns on the screen were now wearing diapers nearly as big as themselves.

That musical little giggle again. As nice as it sounded Emilia was growing to hate it. “Of course it can, sweetie. Maybe we need to take the baby for a little stroll through the park? Maybe we should visit some of your old co-workers? Perhaps a little family reunion can be arranged? I'm sure a lot of people would be very interested in seeing your new lifestyle.”

Emilia blanched. “You wouldn't...” she said, but she knew it wasn't true.

“Perhaps we need to put you on a nice schedule of maintenance spankings? Just a few dozen...or hundred....little swats every day, need 'em or not! Just to remind you of your place in the household? What do you think?”

“No...” breathed Emilia.

“Ooh, I know! We could get you a starring roll in a wonderful new commercial! Maybe even one for the new line of...laxatives!”

Her voice was still sweet and reassuring, but her eyes took on a manic look at the final word. Emilia winced and her shoulders sagged. “No. You...you've made your point.”

“You're going to be a good girl?” asked the babysitter, cocking aneyebrow.

“Yes.” breathed Emilia.

“What was that?” said the babysitter, cupping a hand to her ear.

“I'll...be a good girl.” spat Emilia. “Not like I have a choice anyway.”

“That's right! Good girl!” said the babysitter, rising to her feet and giving Emilia a pat on the head. “Be back in a moment with your ba-ba. Enjoy your show!”

The floor shook. A vase rattled its way off the end table. Several books tumbled off the bookshelf.

“What was that?” asked Emilia. There had never been an earthquake in this area, so she naturally assumed that this was more of The Sponsors' demented handiwork.

“What was what?” asked the babysitter, still smiling sweetly.

Emilia stared at her. It didn't seem possible that she could have missed such a strong tremor.

“Never mind. I'll just...watch my shows.” said Emilia, her mind suddenly racing. The babysitter shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen.

The clowns on the screen were comparing their now-clean diapers.

“Mommy put me in reaaalllly thick diapees!” stated the clown with the pink nose.

“Well maybe, but have you seen my new diapee? It's wayyy thicker!” exclaimed the clown in the green suspenders.

“You're both wrong!” shouted the clown in the orange glasses. “My '''fttt'''t'fft'ttt''f'f''er than any of you!”

Emilia stared in wonder as the painfully bright colors faded to gray. The smiling painted faces became indistinct for moment. There was a loud pop. Just for an instant, Emilia thought she saw a brief image of a woman trying to climb out of a crib. Then, the inane program picked up again, just as before.

“You're all crazy! Look at this thing! Mommy must love me the best if she put me in this!” protested the clown in the yellow wig.

Emilia narrowed her eyes.