The Moocher (Patreon)

         Another addition to the Samantha the Witch storyline, which I always totally intended to be a series. Darker and heavier than usual, so beware. I hope you enjoy.

        “This is completely unfair! I have a whole lifestyle that I need to maintain here! I have friends that expect certain things from me! Do you understand that I've spent years building all these connections? I have to maintain a certain standard in my lifestyle! If you just...stop sending me money, everything I've worked for goes up in smoke! What did I do wrong? Why are you doing this to me?”

I'm not like this. Really. If my aunt hadn't placed me in such a tight spot, I would never dream of talking to her like this. I just don't know how else to respond. When I opened up the little envelope that she's been sending me every month since I first left home for college, it had less than half of what I normally get! She used to send me an annual lump sum at Christmas, but that tended to disappear by March, so we discussed the issue and agreed that a monthly stipend was the best. I just don't get it. She's loaded, and I've been really careful to stay on her good side to keep the flow going.

“Look, sweetheart, you know I've always done my best to make sure you have everything you need to be happy and successful. I know this is sudden, but this...whole arrangement just isn't really realistic anymore. I've been going over my accounts, trying to find room in the budget to keep maintaining you the way I have, and the money just isn't there! I'm really sorry, but you might...you might need to start looking for other sources of income.”

I was flabbergasted. How could she say something so calloused?

“Are you kidding me? Auntie, please. You know it isn't my fault college didn't work out for me. Law was too confusing, and politics turned out to be way too corrupt and compromised. I had a run of bad luck, is all! Please, just be patient. I know I'll find my calling eventually, and I'll need a good network when I do. If I have to...” my gag reflex threatened to choke off the sentence before it could escape. “...get a job, like, a job I have the qualifications for right now, everyone I know is going to leave me behind! I'll be a nobody!”

I hate yelling at her like this. I hate how pathetic I sound. I'm not like this normally. I was taught good manners. I have social graces. I'm intelligent. I have wit, charm, poise, good taste. It's just that I haven't quite worked out how to convert all that into a revenue stream yet. And it's not like I can keep building my brand if I have to waste all my time on some dead-end job.

“I know it's a big adjustment, and I'm really sorry that it's so sudden, but I've had a lot of unexpected expenses that I just wasn't prepared for! I'll keep the checks coming for as long as possible, but that's only so that you'll have time get a career going. I mean, you are almost thirty now, sweetie. Most people your age can support themselves...”

I cast my eyes down and scrunched up my face, as though holding back tears. She can't do this to me, not after all this time! If she goes on like this, I might have to turn on the waterworks. I hadn't done that in a while, but we all have to do what we can to get by.

“It's not like it was when you were my age! Not at all. Everyone is struggling now. I thought...I thought I could count on you.”

Aunt Celia swallowed hard. I could tell I'd scored a hit to her heart-strings. “What about real estate? Didn't you say earlier that you were working on your license?” 

Crap. I was hoping she had forgotten about that. Truth be told, I was mostly stalling for time until I could set myself up with something more appealing.

“I tried! Really! You just have no idea how competitive it is out there now!”

Celia was clearly unhappy, but she wasn't budging. “I'm sorry! I really am, but I can see any other way. I can't afford to keep supporting you on the level that you've gotten used to. We both need to learn to adapt .”

I shook my head. “I still don't understand. What happened? Last time we spoke, you were practically swimming in money!”

The door opened. It made me jump. I certainly wasn't expecting anyone, but mostly I was just taken off-guard because most people who visit my aunt have the good manners to knock or ring the doorbell. I whipped around and saw a shorter woman with dark hair and an air of confidence like nothing I had ever seen. Her clothing was in striking contrast to my aunt's. While Aunt Celia's dress was classy in an understated, conservative kinda way, this little minx was dressed like a lottery winner who had just come back from buying half the mall. Her jeans, shoes, belt, blouse, jacket, and jewelry were all designer brands, all brand new, and all selected with all the taste and sophistication of a pot-smoking baboon.

“Uh, ever heard of knocking?” I asked, angry at having such an important conversation interrupted.

Aunt Celia turned to me. She looked absolutely shocked. “Allison! You can't talk to her that way!”

“Eh, don't worry about it.” said the intruder, smiling lazily.”Hi! I'm Samantha. Don't believe we've met.” she extended a hand toward me, as though she expected me to shake it. 

I glanced down at it and cocked an eyebrow. “And...who might you be exactly?”

“Allison...this is Samantha.” said Aunt Celia. She sounded nervous all the sudden. “She's...well, she just the most wonderful, important person ever! Welcome back, Mistress! Thank you so much for gracing my poor home with your presence!”

I had to do a double take. Did she literally just call this rando “Mistress”?

“Aww, you're so sweet! So who's this bitch?”

“Excuse me!!!!??” I almost screamed the word. Nobody calls me that and gets away with it!

“This is my niece, Allison, Mistress.” said Celia. She was holding her hands under her chin in a gesture of abject submission. Seriously, what the hell? She's so not like this.

Samantha suddenly reached out and stroked my chin with her index finger. I drew back from her. “Hey! Stop that!”

Samantha just chuckled. “She's pretty cute! Hey, come back here now, I'm gonna tickle you.”

What? I stared in disbelief as I stepped toward her. She immediately dug her fingers under my shirt and began brushing her fingertips across my belly. I pushed her hands away as quickly as I could. “Quit it!”

“No, you hold still and let me tickle you, stupid! Arms at your sides. Good girl.” 

I relaxed my arms and exhaled through my teeth  as she set about my belly unobstructed. “Whatever, bitch. Not like I'm even ticklish, anyway. What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to pick up a big fat check from my personal piggy bank! Oh, and by the way, you are very ticklish.”

Goddammit! I was just about to ask what the hell she was playing at when tiny needles of electricity starting shooting out from her fingertips as they danced across my unprotected skin. I couldn't pull away or lift my arms, of course, but my feet began randomly shufflling underneath me. My whole body was squirming, and a very undignified choking squeal escaped my throat. I struggled to get control of my breathing, but it felt like none of my body parts were cooperating with me. Fuck! Is this what being ticklish is? It's awful!

“Oh, that sounds wonderful, Mistress! How much would you like today?” asked Aunt Celia, beaming at happily at her “Mistress” as I struggled to regain control of myself.

“Eh, I'm thinking twenty grand or so would be fine. I'm planning on taking a little jaunt over to Paris, and first class tickets ain't cheap. Plus, Mom found some new diapers on the internet and showed them to Lily, and that's all she talks about now! Guess it's time to stock up again!”

“Oh, that does sound like fun, Mistress! Let me just get naked and I'll get out my checkbook!”

Diapers? Naked?!! Even though Samantha had stopped tickling me and was copping a feel on my ass, I could still barely breathe. What the hell was happening here?

I watched in horror as my Aunt began pulling off her clothes where she stood. She tossed her ensemble onto the couch piece by piece. I felt my cheeks burn. She was a woman of education, sophistication, class! Yet here she was, stripping in her own living room for this leering little creep. And she was grinning like a maniac the whole time!

“What are you doing? Stop it!” I meant it as a forceful exultation, but it came out as more of a shriek.

“I just need to get ready, dear. Samantha likes me to be naked when I write her check.” explained Aunt Celia. She sounded so calm about it, as though I was the one acting strange by questioning her. Her bra went onto the couch, and I did my best to stare at the opposite corner of the room, shielding my eyes from the shameful display. 

“Nah, I don't think so. Go on, take a good long look at your auntie's little show.”

I turned to look. She had her hands on her breasts, playfully bobbing them up and down as she stood with that same goofy smile on her face. “Are you in a hurry today, Mistress, or shall I do some jump-rope for you?”

This...is not happening. It's some kind of horrible dream. It has to be.

“Yes, go ahead. Say, do you mind if I cuddle with your niece on the couch here while we both watch you demean yourself?”

“Of course not, Mistress!” said Aunt Celia cheerfully. She retrieved a lime-green jump-rope from a drawer under the television and set the speakers to an energetic techno beat. “Whatever you desire is absolutely fine with me!”

“Come along, bitch.” said Samantha as she took me by the hand. I wanted to slap her stupid face for daring to call me that, but she just pulled me over to the sofa without any effort. She sat me down and curled up beside me. She wrapped one of my arms around herself and snuggled up to me. I snarled in frustration. Aunt Celia began bouncing up and down to the beat, occasionally whipping the jump-rope around herself, always with that care-free smile on her face. It was sickening. Clearly, she had practiced this very thoroughly.

Samantha rested her chin on my shoulder and whispered to me in a husky, sensual voice. “You really don't like this, do you?”

What the hell kind of question was that? “No!” I shouted over the music. She just giggled.

“It's so cute! You just hate being controlled like this, don't you?”

My eyes shot wide. Controlled. That was what was happening here. I couldn't understand how that thought had evaded me up till now. It was so obvious. How was this possible? It's like we were both under a spell or something!

“Yes.” I whispered. I hated how weak my voice sounded. “I hate it!”

She pinched my cheek between thumb and forefinger and shooshed me. “Shhh. So adorable. So helpless and frustrated. It's like I can just play with you like a doll, and you can't do a thing to stop me. I think I like you this way. See, when I take over management of someone's life, I'll usually just make them fall head over heels for me. Make them just delighted to live as my obedient little slaves. Look at your auntie, making a fool of herself just to please me. She's so happy to be wrapped around my finger. I probably would have done that to you if I'd run into you a little sooner. But I think I need a little more variety in my life, so here's what I'm gonna do for ya. You're going to be subject to all my whims and obey every order I give you from now on. And you're going to be perfectly aware that that's what happening. It'll make you so, so mad! Having to do as you're told, having to follow all my humiliating instruction to the letter, knowing all the while that I've taken everything from you! That I've drained your family wealth, that I've turned your auntie into a pathetic, degraded little plaything, that I've stolen your freedom and your dignity. So infuriating, isn't it?"

My whole body felt like it was on fire. Pure, white-hot rage was shooting through me. I wanted to strangle her! I wanted to make her suffer and scream in agony for daring to treat me like this!

"Only, but you won't get to feel all morally upright in your anger. No, no, no. No fully-justified, righteous indignation for this little cutie. You''l be more like a whiny little brat, who can't stand being under the thumb of a controlling authority figure. You'll know, deep down on the most instinctual level, that I'm right. That you deserve to be controlled and degraded like this. That it is only proper that I be in total control of you. But you won't be able to admit it, even to yourself."

And just like that, my blinding rage sagged and collapsed inside me, leaving only a faint haze of annoyance and resentment. It's isn't fair. I have every right to be angry! She's done nothing to deserve this kind of power over me! But somehow, instead of visions of bloody vengeance,  and all I feel like doing is stomping my feet and throwing a tantrum like a petulant toddler who doesn't want to be put down for a nap. I frowned as she petted me. How can she be such a meanie?

"You'll have little freedoms that none of my other bitches get. You'll be able to complain. You'll be able to object to my orders. You'll get to huff and puff and pout when I tell you what to do. You even get to contradict me when I tell you how things will be. But you won't be able to disobey me at all, obviously, or do anything of substance to undermine me. You'll just be a whiny little brat who can't handle being bossed around, no matter how necessary and right it is.”

I winced and trembled as she spoke. I felt my bottom lip slide forward. "This isn't fair! You can't do this to me! I...I can't... I'm...I'm...not...whinyyyy!”

“That's the stuff!” she tweaked my nose. "One more little wrinkle. As much as you hate me, as angry as it makes you be completely under my control, you're going to have a great big crush on me. You will feel extremely attracted to me, and only to me. Just being in the same room with me will feel like the fulfillment of your most intense erotic fantasies. You'll get all hot and bothered just hearing my voice. Everything I do, how I move, how I smell, will be exactly your idea of sexy. You'll feel so horribly pathetic, being so enamored with literally the worst person you can think of, but you'll be just as powerless to suppress those feelings as you are to disobey my commands. It'll be just so hard for you, so very humiliating, wanting so badly to be free from me, wanting to get back at me for how I've treated you, but completely unable to stop the butterflies from fluttering around in your stomach whenever I'm around."

No. Even she couldn't do something this horrible to me. But she had. I could feel the hot, quivering, tingling excitement pour over me as I listened to her voice. I was suddenly intensely aware of the texture of Samantha's jeans as I lay across her lap. The scent of her perfume in the air. The way she spoke, so utterly careless and confident, even as she sealed my fate. It was all so goddamn sexy! It felt like electrical currents were shooting up and down my spine, spreading through every fucking nerve I had. My pussy throbbed, slowly at first and then faster and faster, until I found myself rubbing against the cushion underneath me without even thinking. My heart was pounding like a hummingbird's. I had to get some relief, somehow, or my whole being would simply melt down like a reactor! But I couldn't really give her the satisfaction of masturbating in front of her, could I? The shame of that was too horrible to contemplate!

"And no stimulating yourself down there without my permission. No fingering, no humping. That's for naughty girls, and you're my good little cutie!"

Oh, gawd! My clit was on hands and knees, begging for attention, but I couldn't do anything to relieve the pressure! How long am I expected to stay like this? I can't just live this way!

 Samantha gave me a peck on the cheek, sending another surge of horniness through me. Then, she simply hopped up from the couch as though nothing had happened.“That's enough Celia. It's time for my payday!”

Celia was breathing heavily and sweating now. Her whole body was red from the exertion. “Coming...right up, Mistress.”

She turned off the music, and danced off to grab her checkbook, leaving the jump-rope on the rug. 

“By the way, did you ever get that package I ordered for you?” asked Samantha.

“Yes, Mistress. It's in the garage. I left it unopened, just like you said.” called Celia, obviously desperate for approval.

“Whaaaa?” I asked. I felt like I was about to cry. For real.

“It's a surprise!" she stage-whispered with a conspiratorial wink. Then she called to Celia: "Go ahead and grab that once you're finished  with the check.” she ordered.

“Of course, Mistress! You did say twenty thousand?” she asked, pressing the checkbook against the top of the credenza.

“Can't you just leave it blank, stupid?”  asked Samantha.

“Oh, of course, Mistress! I'm just a little worried that the check might bounce. I'll need to sell most of my remaining stock portfolio just to cover this.” explained Aunt Celia. I gasped. To think my own auntie was worried about bouncing a check! How much had this awful woman taken her for already?

“Really? Damn, I guess I thought you had more reserves than that. Don't tell me I've sucked you dry already?” Samantha gave Celia a playful swat to the rear as she bent over and wrote.

Celia paused with her pen hovering over the amount line. “I'm afraid so, Mistress! Between you and my niece, I'm afraid I've only a few assets left. Most of my money is tied up in this house, now. I was even considering selling it and moving in with my niece to reduce my expenses.”

“Huh. You own this place outright? Oh, twenty grand is fine for now. No, twenty-five. Play it safe.” said Samantha.

“Stooop iiit! Stop stealing all our moooney!” I stomped my feet and shook my fists as I watchd my dear Aunt Celia hand her the check with a proud smile.

“Ya know, it occurs to me, this place is bigger than my mom's house.” said Samantha, tucking away the check into the pocket of her jacket. Gawd, how can she make every motion look so damn sexy? “I think it might make more sense for me to just move my whole household into here. You have the room.”

Celia was overjoyed at this idea. “Oh, that would be wonderful! I'd love to have you living in my home, Mistress!”

Samantha blew a raspberry. “Your home? Guess again, bitch. You'll sign the house over to me. If I feel like it, you can stay here and be my personal maid. Or maybe I'll just send you out to sleep under a bridge somewhere. Depends on my mood.”

“Whaaat?” I moaned. How can anyone be such a meanie?

“Of course, Mistress! Whatever you decide is best. Ooh, I'll just grab that package for you!” she said, hurrying off toward the garage.

“You can't do this to me! What am I supposed to do nooow?” I'm not whining. I'm not!

“I have a few thoughts on that, actually.” said Samantha with a little smirk.

Celia returned with a brown paper package cradled in her arms.

“Now Celia, I had originally intended these for you, but now that your niece is here, I think it would be more fun if you were on the supply side of this particular transaction. Why don't you open that up and show our little cutie here what her new life will be like."

I stared. What the hell is she doing to me now?

I watched as Celia tore open the thin cardboard covering and pulled it aside. Inside was a puffy block of colorful plastic packaging. Several bipedal cartoon dinosaurs were holding hands across the front. Above them, in puffy white lettering, was written a compound word that made my eyes widen with terror.

Pull-Ups. Adult-sized, but decorated with cartoon dinosaurs. 

"Nooo!" I screamed.  "I'm not wearing those! I'm almost thirty for gawdsakes!"

Celia just looked at me, her smile never fading. She was obviously much more interested in what Samantha had to say on the issue.

"My my. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were ungrateful for my present." remarked Samantha.

"Shame on you, Allison!" said Cindy, taking her cue. She dragged a finger through the plastic and pulled one of the puffy squares free and shook it out. It quickly tripled in size in her hands as the thick padding puffed up. It was white with purple and green decals, and had little frilly leak guards at the leg gathers and around the waistband. A chubby chartreuse triceratops with a purple belly was smiling and waving from the glossy front panel. "Look at what Mistress got for you! Say thank you to Mistress!"

"No!" I crossed my arms and stuck out my tongue at my auntie. "I don't need those! I'm notta baby!" I can't believe the words that are coming out of my mouth, but between my anger, my terror, and the erotic haze of being completely dominated by Samantha, I couldn't focus on anything.

"Well, that's an interesting perspective, to be sure." said Samantha carelessly. "But if I may offer a teensy amendment: You do need these. You see, Allie-wallie, from now on, whenever you aren't wearing your cute widdle Pull-Ups, you're going to feel a little...tickle."

I jumped and patted at my shirt. Where did that come from? Samantha wasn't anywhere near me!

"And that...tickle...is just going to get worse...and worse...and worse. It'll get harder and harder to stay in control until, sooner or later..."

I was jumping up and down, giggling helplessly as the invisible fingertips brushed scross my belly, my thighs, my armpits, even my chin. 

"Stoppit! Stop!!!! I'm gonna...I'm gonna..."

"...that happens."

The hot wetness spread through my jeans and ran down my legs as the tickling continued to grow stronger. I hated not being able to stop giggling and squealing and dancing around while Samantha utterly humiliated me. Soon, I was writhing on the floor in my soggy jeans, laughing uncontrollably as they stood over me and discussed my situation.

"My, my. Looks like we have a cute little pantswetter on our hands! Better get her dressed properly. Celia, Allison is no longer allowed to wear big girl clothes."

"Oh, dear! Allison, you mustn't wear those anymore! Come, let's get these off of you."

I tried my best to stop her, but the involuntary jerking motions in my limbs made it impossible. She pulled off one item of clothing after another, and all I could do was kick feebly and flop around. After a few minutes of struggling, she finally manged to get both of my feet through the leg-holes and pulled my new underwear into place. Only then did the merciless tickling cease, and I was left lying on the rug, covered in sweat and gasping for air. 

Samantha knelt down beside me and began stroking my hair, as though to calm a frightened animal. "There you are. Now, if you're ever foolish enough to try to remove those yourself, the tickling is going to get ten times worse. You also aren't going to try to stop anyone else from pulling them down, or checking you, or slapping your butt, or anything else involving your pull-ups. You are not in control of these. They are here to remind you, every minute of every day, that I am in total control of you. And since I control you, I hereby decree that you are now in the process of being potty-trained. Thing is, instead of graduating back into panties, this training is going to go absolutely nowhere. Your bladder control is going to be very inconsistent, very unreliable. And it'll just stay that way. It won't ever get the slightest bit easier to avoid an accident. And you do need to avoid accidents, because peeing in your silly little Pull-Ups is just the most humiliating thing you can imagine! Oh, the shame of knowing that you're still not ready for big-girl panties, even at your age! You'll maintain a nice potty training chart on the wall, dutifully recording each and every embarrassing accident. Every time you need to use the potty, you'll have to come running up to your auntie, tug on her sleeve, and ask her very, very nicely to take you to the potty. Now, Celia?"

Aunt Celia brightened, just as she did every time Samantha addressed her.

"Forget all that. The real reason Allison here wears pull-ups is because she's still being potty trained. It's completely her own fault too. She's not incontinent or anything, just dumb and lazy and irresponsible It's very funny and very silly that she still hasn't mastered something so simple at her age, but you should also feel kind of ashamed of her. You definitely don't need to respect her privacy or take anything she says seriously. You'll be in charge of helping her learn to use the potty. But there's no need to stress about it. It's basically a lost cause at this point. When she needs to use the potty, any excuse is good enough to tell her no. It serves her right for not handling it herself. When you do take her to the potty, you'll be responsible for pulling her training diaper down and wiping this lazy little bitch down after she's done her poo-poos and pees-pees! She might squirm a bit, what with all the tickling, but I'm sure you'll learn to handle her like a pro."

"Noooo..." I whimpered from the floor, too exhausted and mortified to even try to stand. I couldn't accept what I was hearing. This has to be some horrible nightmare! 

"Be sure to go over every stage of the process with her each and every time, explaining to her in great detail how to sit on the potty, how you wipe, when to flush, and how to wash her hands afterward, no matter how hard she insists that she already knows all of it. You're very disappointed in her, of course, so be sure to remind her that she's much too old to still need you to wipe her ass. Now, after flunking her potty training so many times, you might even be tempted to just give up and put her back in proper baby diapers full-time. She might even ask you to do that, since she's so lazy and terrible at controlling herself that even being diapered might be preferable to this humiliating farce. Well, that's not an option either. There'll be no retreating into the comforting embrace of diapers for this silly bitch. Just endless, pointless, futile, humiliating potty training. Now, Celia, when this lazy bitch has a silly little accident, which will happen all the damn time, it'll of course be your job to clean her up. Be sure to shame and chastise her plenty about her poor bathroom skills, and give her a nice, thorough spanking to make sure she understands how important it is to try harder, even though it won't matter a bit.”

“As you wish, Mistress! I'll do a very good job for you!” gushed Aunt Celia. "Allison will learn to potty like a big girl if it takes the rest of her life!"

"Noooo." I whimpered. I admit it. I whimpered. This was far too much for me.'

"Yes you will, Allison! I don't care how dumb or lazy you are, I will get you potty-trained!" said Aunt Celia. Her hands were on her hips. 

"Yes, quite a silly little dumbass." said Samantha, shaking her head and chuckling to herself. "It's a good thing she's so cute!"

Aunt Celia softened. She bent down and patted my head. "Well, yes, there is that."

"Now, let's talk about your new roles in my household! Since the two of you are out of cash, I think it's long past time you learned to earn your keep. I', going to line you both up with new careers, so that you can help support me and my family. Get dressed, you two. We're taking a little trip."

We did as we were ordered, of course. My jeans didn't come close to concealing my thick Pull-Ups, but Samantha informed me that this was my problem. Samantha ordered us out to the car, and Celia drove us to the McDonald's on the end of the block. Samantha had a long talk with the manager while my aunt and I filled out our application forms. By the time we finally left, she had spoken to the staff and quite a few customers as well. She made sure that her new business would have extremely loyal customers and very tolerant staff. Nobody was allowed to quit anymore. Samantha simply took over everyone with only a few words. It was horrifying to watch, and I hated how unbelievably hot it all was.

And that was how my “career” at McDonald's started. Samantha assured me that although I would be starting at the bottom, if I worked hard and did everything my managers asked of me, I would stay at the bottom, because that is where I belong. It wasn't easy to hear, but I knew it was now true. Still, I wasn't allowed to slack off. This dead-end job would be my personal calling, even if I absolutely hated Samantha for calling me to it.

It didn't stay a McDonald's for very long. Samantha had a few meetings with the higher-ups from corporate, and pretty soon our location was eligible for a set of pretty conspicuous exceptions to the normal branch rules. Within two weeks of my first day on the job, the golden arches had been removed from our sign and airbrushed from nearly every surface inside, and the first-ever branch of Big Baby Bun-Bun's Burger Barn was established. The locals just called it Sixbees. The new logo was a stylized icon of a pink stuffed rabbit sitting in a white diaper with a huge safety pin. It was on the big sign, on the windows, and all over our new uniforms. Samantha must have decided that the darker outfits worn by regular McDonald's employees were a little too stylish and dignified, because she completely redesigned them. The one worn by Aunt Celia and rest of the regular staffers consisted of a pink cheerleader's outfit with white gloves, white knee-length socks, and pink ribbons for the mandatory pigtails. The skirt was far too short, and the workers kept flashing their white panties as they went through their routines. As silly as it looked, I envied Aunt Celia when she happily modeled it for me. Mine was so much worse.

As Samantha explained to me the day before our grand re-opening, I was going to serve as the mascot of  Big Baby Bun-Bun's Burger Barn. More specifically, I was to fill the role of Big Baby Bun-Bun. My “uniform” included an over-sized name-tag to point this fact out, even at considerable distance. It also included a large, floppy pair of bunny ears, a very tight pink tank top with the store logo printed across my breasts, a set of fake rubber buck teeth, a bright red clown nose, a pair of roller-skates, and white face-paint with whiskers and dimples. I looked absolutely ridiculous even before I added the diaper.

It wasn't a real diaper. It was meant to be iconic, like something a cartoon character would wear for a comedy bit. Several layers of thick, white toweling material held together with massively oversized pink safety pins. I wore them over my training pants, under a pink rubber diaper cover that pressed the whole stupid thing against me. It made me look practically pear-shaped, and it was so hot inside that my training pants always ended up soaked in sweat by the end of the day, even if I hadn't had any accidents.

Samantha really took her time making sure my routine was up to snuff. I hadn't roller-skated in ages, and that, unfortunately, became part of the “fun”. At regular intervals throughout the day, I would slip, trip up, drop a tray, or tumble ass-over-teakettle. Sometimes it was part of my act, but it often happened on its own, simply because thick diapers and rollerskates are a really stupid combination. Every time, I had to go through the same routine of rubbing my bulbous rear through the diapers and yelling silly lines like “Owie, Owie, Ow!” or “Ahh! Big Baby Bun-Bun Fall Down!” in the silly squeaky voice that Samantha insisted I had to use while in character. I was actually grateful that my diaper was so thick after falling on my ass so many times. Every table was provided with a tray of carrot-sticks, so customers could feed me while I took their orders. Of course, I had to grin like an idiot and play along with it all. “The Customer Is Always Right” after all. Uggh. Sometimes customers would sit me in their laps to take selfies. Sometimes they would just slap me on the rear as I skated past. Sometimes they would deliberately shove me so that I would fall over or crash. It wasn't my place to get mad, though. Samantha was very clear on that. I was there to be enjoyed, laughed at, and played with. No matter how awful my customers were, I had no choice but to smile and giggle like an idiot and put up with it. If they wanted to play with my boobs, I had to stand there chattering away until they were done. If they felt like tickling me, I couldn't even try to block their hands, and then say goodbye to any chance of keeping my training pants dry.

Speaking of, my bullshit potty training wasn't on hold during my shift. If I had to pee, I had to go find Aunt Celia and tug on her sleeve so she could take me to the potty. Even if she was in the middle of working the cash register. It almost never failed to get a big laugh. Better than half the time, Aunt Celia would just say “Silly Baby Bun-Bun, your bathroom is right here!” and give my ass a big slap. Then I would let loose into my panties, announce loudly to the whole room that I had wet my diapers, and wait for Auntie to finish helping customers so she could come get me changed. There was a changing table set up next to the drinks fountain for that purpose, although an empty table or the front counter could be used in a pinch. 

Samantha would visit sometimes during our shift, usually with her mother and sister in tow. I actually kinda like them. They seem absolutely thrilled to be under Samantha's control, but I can't really blame them for that. They laugh at me like everyone else, but at least they're polite when they order, and when they're around, I'm at least not the biggest diaper baby in the room. The sister, Lily, usually takes a huge, steamy dump in her diaper while her mother hand-feeds her a half-dozen Big Macs and then washes it all down with an extra-large strawberry milkshake or two. Frankly, I'm amazed she's still as slim as she is. Honestly, given her diet, it's a wonder she can still fit through the front doorway.

Just as Samantha had ordered, Aunt Celia happily signed possession of her house over to Samantha, who moved in along with her little circus. Most of Aunt Celia's treasured possessions went straight into the trash to make room. Samantha took over the master bedroom, Ant Celia's craft room went to Samantha's mother, and the guest room became a nursery for Lily. Aunt Celia and I didn't get rooms of our own. We were more like housepets, or maybe two pieces of living furniture. The whole place always stank because of Lily's diapers, but apparently I'm the only one who's bothered by the smell, and no one seemed to care what I thought. 

As soon as we were home from work, it was right back to work on our 'other jobs'. Auntie had to stay in her stupid cheerleader's outfit while she did her chores. Samantha's mom also helped keep up the house, and the two of them seemed to enjoy talking about how wonderful Samantha is while they washed the dishes or folded the laundry. If it wasn't so stomach-turning to listen to them, I might even envy them. They get along so well, and they're always smiling and laughing.

It was always a relief when Aunt Celia stripped me out of my work outfit when we got home. I wasn't thrilled to be left in nothing but a pair of Pull-Ups and my bunny ears, but at least I was free of the bulky cloth diaper for a while. Then, I had only a few hours of "free time", in which Samantha's mom would usually set me something demeaning to keep me occupied. That often meant helping out Kathy in the nursery. If everyone else seemed oblivious to the stench of Lily's diapers, Kathy positively thrives on it. It all she seems to want to talk about, and she'll just talk over me if I complain or try to change the subject. She seems happy, too, but I can't bring myself to envy her.

Occasionally, I'll be allowed to sit down on the living room rug with Lily and watch whatever bullshit they're making her watch that night. Usually it's trashy cartoon shows for little kids, or banal puppet shows, or even potty-training videos. I hate those. The only thing I like about watching cartoons is that I get to zone out and forget what a horrible farce my life is. Hearing about the importance of wiping my butt for the umpteenth time just reminds me too much of everyday life. Lily doesn't care for them, either, although her reasons are a little different. She gets upset whenever the subject of my potty-training is brought up, and insists that she'll be in diapers forever. I don't think she has anything to worry about in that direction.

Inevitably though, seven-thirty will roll around, and I have to brush my teeth and run off to the master bedroom. I share a bed with Samantha, which is to say, Samantha uses me as a human pillow. There was a long plastic chain with one end attached to one of the legs of her bed and the other to a collar that I had to secure around my neck as soon as I got there. Then, I had to lie there and wait for Samantha.

The wait was always very boring, without being even slightly relaxing. Samantha never has any kind of fixed schedule. She seems to just wander around randomly, bringing madness wherever she goes. Some nights, she would not show up at all, but I couldn't really rest because she might show up at any moment. Besides, lying in her bed always made me ridiculously horny. Her blankets always smelled like her. I could even detect her scent when all the bed covers after my auntie would strip the bed straight out of the dryer. Combined with the possibility of Samantha showing up, I had the hardest time getting to sleep.

My Auntie sleeps in the same room. She has a little padded bed in the corner to curl up in like a cat. On nights when Samantha is out late, we sometimes get to lay in bed and chat long into the night. I do my best to keep the conversation on neutral topics, like the movies and tv shows we used to be able to enjoy in our old lives. It's not easy to stop her from wandering back to her favorite topics, though: how wonderful Samantha is, how lucky we both are to be under her control, how endlessly embarrassing it is that I'm still not potty-trained, how embarrassing it is to need my bottom wiped for me.

Of course, it's so much worse when Samantha arrives. My tongue always slides out my mouth and hangs on my chin when she comes in the door. I hate her so much. My auntie is always watching and cheering me on when she pulls aside her panties and makes me service her. I hate how excited it makes me feel. No matter how much I hate it, I always end up begging her, pleading with her to let me rub myself through my Pull-Ups. Sometimes she'll be in a good mood and let me, and she and my Auntie will encourage me while I do it. More often though, she will just pat me condescendingly on the head and tell me to just put up with it.