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ilovew3tdiapers · 14 days ago

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Soak Cycle

Chapter 1

Author's Note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older. Readers should also be 18+ only!

Bryce stirred at the sound of Kendra’s voice beside him. “Hey, hon… it’s happened again.”

For a second, he didn’t know what she meant. Then the cool dampness between his legs registered. A sick, clammy patch under his thighs. Sheets clinging to his skin.

Not again. Please not again.

He sat up. The sheet dragged across his skin with a slow, sticky pull. “I—I’ve just been stressed, you know? The job stuff, and your mom breathing down our necks… I’m sure it’ll stop once things calm down.” His voice was low, half-hoarse. He glanced at her. At the dark circle that might actually be touching her. “Did it…?”

“Not this time.” She rolled onto her side and rubbed her eyes. “We’ll need to strip it. Again. I’ll start the coffee. Can you toss everything in the wash?”

He nodded. “Actually—let me do the coffee.” He sat up straighter, grasping at the thread of something useful. The sheets needed to be laundered, but that was just cleaning up his own mess. Bringing things back to baseline. “You just relax. I’ll make it how you like. Two sugars, oat milk, little cinnamon on top? I’ll even bring it back here. Breakfast in bed, maybe?”

She gave him a long, flat look. Then her eyes slid down to the dark patch soaking through the sheet. “In this bed?”

Shame crawled up his neck. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, standing. “You go sit on the couch, I guess. I’ll… yeah.”

Kendra stood, pulling on an old hoodie and stepping into her sandals. She didn't say anything else as she padded out of the bedroom.

Bryce peeled back the covers. The fitted sheet clung to the vinyl mattress protector underneath, making a pop as it released a corner. The protector crinkled loudly with every movement. They’d put it on the bed a few weeks ago, when the occasional ‘accidents’ had started to become less occasional. He slipped out of the soaked underwear and into a fresh pair, then he balled the sheets, pillowcases and all, and gathered his pee-soaked underwear in the middle and carried it all into the hallway.

And there she was.

Diane stood at the end of the hall, dressed in a pressed blouse and dark jeans, holding a Tupperware container and a canvas tote. She was tall, imposing, with her silver-streaked hair pulled back into a low, severe ponytail. Not an ounce of softness to her posture. Her eyes dropped to the bundle in Bryce’s arms. Then rose—slowly—to meet his.

His stomach flipped. He froze, damp sheets clutched to his chest. “I—uh—just had a bit of a spill,” he said. “Coffee. You know.”

Diane raised one eyebrow. Her lips didn’t move. She glanced past him toward the open bedroom door. Then back at him. Then she looked toward the kitchen. Kendra stood there, holding two mugs.

“Mom. Hey. You’re early.”

“I was dropping off flyers for the fair. Thought I’d say hi. But I see you’ve got your hands full.” Diane’s tone was measured. She didn’t look at Kendra when she said it.

Bryce swallowed. The sheets shifted in his arms. One corner sagged just enough for a small dark stain to peek through.

Diane didn’t step aside as Bryce tried to move past her, so he gave her the smallest possible nod and squeezed through sideways, the wet bundle pressed awkwardly to his chest.

“I was actually stopping by to collect the lot fee, as well,” she said, turning slightly to address Kendra. “It’s the sixth.”

Kendra froze, mug halfway to her lips. “Bryce said he dropped it off Monday.”

Bryce winced. “I—meant to. I was working on some new sticker sets and—”

“You forgot,” Kendra said.

“I didn’t forget.” He shifted the bundle. A cold drip hit the top of his foot. “I was gonna swing by yesterday, but I got caught up—”

“With your sticker business,” Diane said. “Of course.”

He flinched at the tone. Not sharp. Just… dry. Appraising.

She turned back toward the kitchen. “Well. I hope you’re not planning to stand there dripping coffee on the floor all morning.”

The laundry nook was just off the kitchen, tucked behind a pair of bifold doors that never quite closed all the way. Bryce shoved the sheets into the drum, sloshing them around with a grimace. His underwear thudded in after them. The smell of pee and detergent rose up.

From the kitchen, voices carried. “I know it’s been a rough stretch,” Diane was saying. “But enough is enough. You deserve better than this, honey.”

“Mom…” Kendra sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“He’s not a bad person,” Diane said. “But that’s not the same as being a good partner.”

Bryce froze with his hand on the washer dial.

He waited. He wanted to hear Kendra disagree. Push back. Say something—anything.

“He’s trying,” she said softly.

He stood there for a moment, blinking hard. Then twisted the dial and slammed the lid shut. The machine kicked on with a lurch, water rushing in loud and fast. He came back into the kitchen, breath tight in his chest, half an argument already lined up in his head.

Kendra was reaching into the dishwasher. She pulled out a mug, turned it in her hand, and frowned. There was a cloudy line of grit around the rim. She set it on the counter and reached for another. Same problem. “You said you’d fixed this,” she said. “They’re still coming out gross.”

“I did fix it,” Bryce said. “I ran a cycle with vinegar, and the hose is clear—”

“It’s not fixed if we can’t drink out of them,” Kendra snapped.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

She sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just—tired. Never mind. It’s fine.”

Diane gave her daughter a quiet look. Then looked at Bryce. “If you two want to keep living here, things are going to change.”

“I’ll get you the rent right now,” Bryce said, stepping toward the small cabinet where they kept mail and bills.

“I already give you that lot at cost,” Diane said. “No one else in this park gets that rate. The least you can do is pay on time.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.” What he wanted to say was that it wasn’t generosity. It was leverage. A way to keep them tethered, grateful, under her thumb. He didn’t say that either, because they were tethered. They couldn’t afford this place without her.

Diane slipped the Tupperware into the fridge like she lived there, then set her tote on the counter. “We’re getting the field ready for the fair. I’ve got a volunteer group working all week. We’re doing landscaping, repairs, a full cleanup push. I want to make the park shine this year.” She looked at Bryce, not smiling. “Since you’re not working right now, I expect you to pitch in. Full days. Orientation tonight.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, looked at Kendra.

She was wiping at a mug with a dish towel, jaw tight.

Diane didn’t wait for a response. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and gave Kendra a brief kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said, and gave Bryce one final glance before heading out the door.

The screen banged once behind her.

Bryce exhaled slowly. “You could’ve told me she was coming.”

“She wasn’t supposed to come in,” Kendra said, then shook her head. “She just shows up. But she’d stop by less if you remembered to pay the rent on time, you know.”

“I said I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“I’m not the one you need to convince. You can tell her again tonight.”

“Her little chore group?” He laughed. “No way am I going to that.”

“You’re not working, Bryce.”

“I’m working on the business.”

“You’re doodling, Bryce. You’ve been working on the same four sticker designs all week. You haven’t mailed anything. You haven’t ordered vinyl. The cutting machine’s still unplugged.”

“I’m prepping,” he said. “For the fair. I’ll sell enough to get us out of here. For real.”

Kendra set the mug down harder than she needed to. “I’m not going to argue with you about this,” she said. “You need to show up tonight. It’s not a request.”

He leaned against the counter, arms folded. “We could leave,” he said. “Find a sublet. Crash with Jen and Art for a while. They have that guest room fixed up now. You’re acting like there’s no other option—”

“There is no other option, Bryce. Unless you’re hiding rent money somewhere.” She didn’t say it cruelly. That was the worst part. She said it like it was just true. Just simple math.

He stared at the floor. “So that’s it.”

She didn’t answer.

He ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “Fine. I’ll go.”

Chapter 2

The trailer park clubhouse smelled like lemon cleaner and microwaved hot dogs, with an undercurrent of plastic chairs and old astroturf carpet. The walls were beige, but covered in cheerful flyers—most of them about the fair: raffle prizes, talent show, “family fun.” Folded tables had been pushed into a rough semicircle at the center of the room, surrounded by mismatched chairs. Someone had taped construction paper stars along the windows. He’d always avoided the place. It was Diane’s domain, and the only other people who hung out there regularly were the ‘lifers’: The grizzled old guys who played cribbage and the women’s knitting-and-gossiping circle.

Today, though, there were maybe a dozen guys inside, all roughly his age or older, dressed in what looked like… some kind of uniform. Khaki shorts, tucked-in sky-blue polo shirts with a yellow neckerchief. Each also wore a sash with cheerful, cartoon-ish patches sewn on: a diaper pin, a mop, a smiling sun, a teddy bear. One guy wore ankle socks with little ruffles.

Bryce stopped in the doorway. What the hell was this?

He didn’t get long to think about it. A cheery voice cut across the room. “You must be Bryce!”

All eyes turned toward him.

An attractive young woman walked toward him with a clipboard in one hand and a tote bag slung over her shoulder. She was maybe mid-twenties, with honey-blonde hair in a loose braid, a polo with a green sash, and perfect posture that made her seem taller than she was. “I’m Leah,” she said. “So glad you made it.”

She guided him in with a light touch to his back—gentle but firm—and motioned toward an open chair near the middle.

Diane stood at the front of the room beside a fold-out whiteboard, holding a printed schedule.

“Thank you all for being here,” she said, her voice even and calm. “This park deserves better than it’s had in years. And with the fair coming up, I want every guest who visits to see just how special Sunny Glen really is.”

A few of the guys nodded enthusiastically. One clapped.

“We’ve got a full week ahead, and you’re all here because you’ve proven you can be trusted with responsibility and follow-through. This is about more than service—it’s about structure.”

She gestured toward Bryce. “This is Bryce. He’ll be joining you for the week. Let’s make him feel welcome.”

They did. A chorus of friendly “Hey man,” “Welcome,” and “Nice to meet you” filled the space. One guy even waved both hands.

Bryce gave a small, awkward smile. His ears felt hot.

Diane handed the floor to Leah. “Our Chapter Matron will go over assignments.”

The phrase landed in Bryce’s brain like a plate. Chapter Matron?

Leah smiled like she was introducing a camp activity. “Let’s remember our rules tomorrow: stay hydrated, stay positive, and ask for help before you need it. If your Buddy needs a check-in, be proactive.”

Bryce blinked. What?

A few guys nodded solemnly. One raised his hand and asked about stickers for “helping without being asked.” Leah told him he was already on the list.

Bryce shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of how underdressed he felt in his t-shirt and jeans. Not that he wanted one of these weird, Boy Scout-adjacent uniforms. He leaned toward the guy next to him, trying to whisper. “Wait—sorry—what is this?”

The guy beamed and extended a hand. “Trevor! I’m your Behavior Buddy.”

Trevor had a lot of patches on his sash. Maybe more than anyone else there.

“Oh. Cool. Um…” Bryce shook his hand. “I think I might’ve missed the memo here. Are you guys, like, a Lion’s Club offshoot or something?”

“You don’t know about DIP?”

“Dip? Like…for chips?”

Trevor’s eyes sparkled. “No way! That’s wild. Miss Diane’s, like, a rockstar in our circles. I figured she would’ve told you all about it.”

Bryce squinted. “Circles?”

“DIP!” Trevor said, as if it were obvious. “Diaperboy Improvement Program. We’re all about second chances, structure, and personal growth. Guys like us—we do better with guidance, you know?”

Bryce opened his mouth, then closed it again. Did he say ‘diaperboy’?

Trevor kept going, totally unfazed. “We help with community stuff—cleanup, volunteering, support visits—but it’s not just chores. It’s about improving ourselves. We set goals, track progress, earn badges. We learn to accept help. And yeah, we all wear diapers. But it’s not weird—it’s, like, freeing.” He grinned. “You’ll see.”

Bryce didn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands. He tried to keep his expression neutral. Trevor was still talking—something about hydration tracking charts—but it was starting to blur together.

Bryce nodded when appropriate. Smiled once or twice. Said “gotcha” even though he didn’t. It wasn’t Trevor’s fault. The guy was nice. Too nice. Enthusiastic in a way that made Bryce feel like a problem someone was excited to solve.

After a few minutes of small talk and logistical chatter about the week’s work schedule, Bryce excused himself, mumbling something about needing to prep dinner.

Trevor gave him a cheerful wave. “Don’t forget—diaper check-ins at 7:45 sharp!”

Bryce didn’t respond. Just pushed open the clubhouse door and stepped into the cooling evening air. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked home fast, heart thudding, brain spinning.

The trailer looked the same as always—sun-faded siding, a crooked wind chime knocking around under the awning. Normal. Safe.

He opened the door and stepped inside.

Kendra was curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath her. She had a book in one hand and a mug in the other. The book’s cover caught his eye: Woman Unbound: Shaping Our Female Future.

He blinked. “What is that?”

She didn’t look up. “It’s from my mom. Something they read in SHINE.”

“SHINE?”

“A group to help young women step into leadership roles.”

He shook his head, closed the door behind him, and kicked off his shoes. “Okay, so, you’re not gonna believe what this DIP thing actually is…”

She listened quietly while he explained. The uniforms. The badges. The diapers. The “Buddy” system.

“I thought it was just, like, picking up trash or whatever. Community service. But they’re treating it like it’s this whole lifestyle thing. Structure and behavior modification and—like, there was a diaper change station set up in the corner with these huge diapers.”

Kendra nodded slowly, flipping a page in her book. “I know.”

He stared at her. “You knew?”

She set the book in her lap and finally looked at him. “Mom gave me the welcome package this morning while you were dealing with the bedding.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she pointed to the counter behind him. There was a paper bag sitting next to the fruit bowl. Branded with a cartoon sun and the words Welcome to DIP! We’re So Glad You’re Here.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asked.

“I’m telling you now. Why don’t you take a look at the welcome package?

He picked it up, opened it, and pulled out the contents one by one: A soft, mint-green pacifier on a plastic clip. A small stuffed dinosaur, floppy and plush. A stack of laminated schedule cards with clip art stars. A sheet of cartoon-style stickers—badges for things like “Helpful Attitude” and “Mommy’s Lil Helper.” And a spiral-bound booklet with a bright cover: The DIP Handbook: Guidelines for Growth and Obedience.

He held up the sticker sheet, squinting at the print quality. “These are garbage,” he muttered. “Like, terrible DPI. Who’s printing these?”

Kendra didn’t respond. She just watched him, lips pressed together, unreadable.

He pulled the last four items from the bag: khaki shorts with an elastic waistband, a blue polo shirt, a white undershirt with buttons in the crotch--a ‘onesie’ he thought they called it--and a sash. The only patch on the sash was two short legs and the words ‘First Steps’ stitched below.

She set her book aside again. “The first guideline is diapering you for bed.”

He laughed. “Come on. That’s not real.”

Her expression twitched—guilty, maybe. “I mean… yeah. It’s weird. But if we just go along with it for now, it’ll get Mom off our backs.”

“Kendra, seriously—”

“She said she’ll be checking in.” Kendra stood and stretched. “Let’s just do this and get through the week. Then we can revisit after that.” She walked toward the bedroom.

He hesitated a moment, then followed.

A folded changing mat was laid out on the comforter, and beside it, a thick, white diaper sat waiting like a dare. The landing zone was printed with soft cartoon clouds and a sleepy bear holding a bottle—Brightbums Comfy Cub, according to the packaging in the corner.

He stopped in the doorway. “You already set this up?”

“She dropped off a case of diapers this afternoon. Or, rather, she had one of your new buddies drop them.”

“They’re not my buddies,” Bryce muttered.

Kendra walked over and opened the diaper, smoothing it across the mat. “It’s just for nighttime.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know.” She patted the bed. “C’mon.”

He didn’t move.

She raised an eyebrow. “You said it yourself—you’ve been stressed. The sheets are trashed. You want to wake up soaked again tomorrow?”

He stared at the diaper like it might jump up and bite him. “Fine.”

He lay down stiffly, arms folded over his chest. The mat crackled under his back.

Kendra knelt on the edge of the bed. She pulled his jeans down, then his boxers, folding them neatly and setting them aside. The air in the room felt colder than before. He flinched as the wipes hit his skin—cool and damp, with a sharp scent of aloe and alcohol.

The Comfy Cub was thicker than he expected. She lifted his legs with one hand and slid it beneath him, then tugged it into place and taped it snug around his hips. The tapes gave a dull rip-snap sound as she pressed them down. It wasn’t rough. It sure as hell wasn’t sexy. It was efficient.

“There,” she said, standing. “Done.”

He stayed still, staring at the ceiling. The padding between his legs forced them slightly apart. When he shifted, the plastic surface of the diaper crinkled.

“Stay there,” she said, and left the room.

He heard her rummaging around in the kitchen. She returned with the green stuffed dinosaur and set it beside him on the bed. “They recommend you use this to talk through frustrations.”

He looked at it. Then at her. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“How about I print a picture of your mom’s face on it and use it as a voodoo doll?”

“It’s part of the adjustment process,” she said, ignoring his snark. “Helps establish new routines.”

“I don’t need a routine. I need—we need—money so we can get out of here. I mean, I always knew your mom was crazy, but all of this?”

She gave a small shrug. “Then don’t use it.”

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Okay. So now what?”

“You could read the handbook,” she said, already halfway to the door.

He scoffed.

“Or you could fix the dishwasher. Like you keep saying you will.” She left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Bryce sat up slowly. The diaper crinkled with the movement, hugging his hips too snugly. The stuffie stared up at him with soft black eyes and a lopsided stitched smile. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Its tag read “Tummy.”

He made a face. “No,” he muttered. “You’re not Tummy.” He glanced toward the door. Then quietly said, “You’re Harold.”

He left the bedroom and walked into the spare room. His studio was barely more than a converted closet—six feet wide, maybe eight feet long—with a chipped desk against the far wall and a pegboard hung with scissors, transfer tape, and half-used rolls of vinyl. His cutting machine sat under a cover that hadn’t been lifted in days. Doodles were taped everywhere—marker sketches, design mockups, slogans he kept telling himself were clever.

There was a sticker draft for a fictional band called Gutter Romance, drawn in neon reds and purples like a bad tattoo. Another one read LO-FI SCENE QUEENS in jagged, bubble-letter script. On the next peg: a set of decals for a sandwich shop in town that hadn’t paid him yet, and a pack of circular “Support Your Local Print Nerd” stickers with crossed squeegees in the middle.

He sank into the old rolling chair with a sigh, the bulk of the diaper puffing under him as he shifted to get comfortable, and sat Harold on the desk.

He found a blank page in his sketchpad. Picked up a pen. And started to draw.

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