From The Humble Games Archives: Suki Saga, Biker Queen of Tokyo

   Hello again all!

     Thanks so much for the outpouring of attention and support—It really means a lot to me that people are out there enjoying what we’re doing. Keep those comments coming and feel free to leave comments for the contestants—you may even get a reply.

     At the Humble Games, we look for contestants from all walks of live. We’ve had women from almost every occupation hailing from every corner of the world: Teachers, doctors, lawyers, police officers, models, housewives, students, military personal, CEOs—even a belly dancer.

     But even by our standards, Suki Saga was unique—undisputed ruler of the Cobras, a legendary gang of rowdies on wheels, and at their peak one of the most powerful criminal organization in Japan. Suki’s father had been a founding member, a fact she’d leveraged to gain entrance to the gang at just 16. By 23 she was running it. Three years later, she’d established the Cobras as the underworld’s courier of choice… since she’d either wiped out the competition or taken them under the Cobras banner. They ran everything everywhere, across the island and beyond, and made a nice percentage off every transaction.

     Compared to all that, she must’ve thought our little game would be a cakewalk.

     How wrong she was…

     Arriving late, Suki stormed in wearing full leathers, tracking mud across my floor and scowling at the other players. She was lewd, loud, and uncouth during the introduction, she smoked and drank, and attempted to bully the other players.

     She may have been cute… but beneath she was a little demon. But if there’s one thing the master loves, it’s a challenge…

     “Excuse me, Ms. Saga,” I said reasonably, “there’s no drinking allowed during the competitions...”

     She snorted derisively. “Loosen up, grandma,” she sneered in perfect English, taking another swig from her flask.

     “It’s no joke, Ms. Saga,” I said urgently, “it would be unfortunate if you had an accident.

     She smirked. “Now I know you aren’t talking to me! Worry about these other stupid little bitches—I can hold my alcohol!” Then, to demonstrate, she put the flask to her lips, tilted her head back and proceeded to chug.

    I smiled and said nothing. On the outside, I made no move.

     A small, dark stain appeared on the front of Suki’s cut-offs. It started to grow, getting wider and wider as streams of urine started running down her legs and gather at her feet like a puddle. Oblivious, she continued chugging the contents of her flask—and the more she gulped down, the faster she peed down her legs, until she’d emptied both the flask and her bladder.

     She took the flask from her lips with a satisfied “AAHH!” she stared at me for a moment, smirking an arrogant, as if to say ‘what’re you gonna do about it?”

Slowly, she realized that something was wrong. The smile evaporated… she realized she was standing in a puddle. Hesitantly, she looked down and give a loud, squawk of displeasure when she realized she’d wet her pants.

     She reached down comically to cover up, but it was too late and of little use anyway… Suki’s pants were soaked through and her legs glistened with pee. Blushing bright red, the other contestants giggling around her, shifting from foot to foot in a puddle of her own creation, Suki shot me a pleading look.

     “Well,” I said, crossing my arms, “we’ve made rather a mess here, haven’t we young lady?”

     She looked at me, her cocky sneer replaced by a shocked ‘o’. Taking her hand, I lead her out of the puddle and began stripping her. She was shocked and nearly protested, but a look from me rendered her silent.

     “Look at you,” I chided. “I told you something like this was going to happen!”

     She looked at the floor and blushed furiously when I used her own shirt to clean her off. Once that was done, I pulled her toward a chair on the other side of the room, took a seat, and pulled her across my lap.

     “You bad little girl!” I admonished, beginning her spanking before the gaping crowd. “I explicitly warned you what was going to happen and you deliberately ignored me.”

     “I’m sorry! Owww!” she whined, pumping her legs in a futile attempt at escape. Her rump quivered and jiggled beneath my spanks, and soon her bottom had turned pink. The other players gathered around to titter at the tough biker girl sob and kick across my knee as she took a spanking.

     Her tough girl persona in tatters, Suki kicked and howled and cried as I warmed her butt like a misbehaving child. She begged and pleaded and whined, but I held firm and delivered a spanking that she wasn’t likely to forget.

     Finally, after I’d turned her butt bright red, I finally let her go. She leapt from my lap and launched into a furious war-dance, prancing rapidly from foot to foot and rubbing her spanked bottom. The other contestants looked on and jeered (conveniently forgetting it could have been one of them.) She ooo’ed and aahh’ed, kneading her stinging rump and continuing her silly dance.

     I gave her a few more moments, enjoying the show, before I grabbed her arm. “Come along” I instructed, propelling her forward with a swat on her still stinging bum. She yelped and allowed herself to be lead toward one of the many fully stocked changing tables I have throughout my home. “Up you go,” I said, lifting her to its padded surface. She squirmed uncomfortably on her freshly spanked bottom. “Lie back,” I instructed, retrieving my supplies from beneath the table. She reluctantly followed my instructions, and in moments I had her by the ankles, her legs hoisted high in the air, her tight, round bum exposed to the room, and slipped a big disposable diaper under her tushy.

     Taking a large palm full of Vaseline, I began to work it into her rump, massaging it into her buns and rubbing it into her crack. Suki could only moan and groan helplessly in response. Next came the powder, on both her crotch and her butt, which I patted in firmly. I lowered her rump, still warm and glowing from its recent spanking, down to the soft cloth below it, letting her savor the sensation a moment before I pulled it up between her legs and taping it up—effectively trapping her in pampers.

     I helped her to her feet; by now the other contestants were openly laughing at her misfortune, and with good cause—the bulky, crinkly diaper looked just like an oversized pamper—but Suki’s ample breasts left no doubt that she was indeed a full grown adult diapered like an infant. I popped a pacifier into her mouth, and her make-over was complete. Shifting from foot to foot, she blushed and stared at the floor as the others laughed and applauded.

     “Now Suki,” I said firmly. “I hope your experiences here have taught you a valuable lesson about treating other people with respect. But just in case it hasn’t…” I said with a grin.

     And with a snap of my fingers, she vanished into thin air…

     For Suki, it was instantaneous—one moment she was in my living room, and before she could even blink, there she was, standing out in front of the Cobras’ clubhouse in Tokyo like she’d never left. Had it all been some crazy dream? She smiled at the thought, happy that she wouldn’t have to live out the rest of her life as an oversized toddler.

     “What the fuck?!” she heard someone exclaimed. Laughter quickly followed, first from one person, then from an entire group. She looked toward the noise and realized it was several of her underlings in the gang—openly laughing in her direction.

     Feeling the bile rising inside her, Suki made her way over to them and attempted to demand an answer. “MMupftha huck ‘oo llaau’hn aapp?” She demanded, drawing more laughter. Something had been shoved into her mouth… and she felt a cold chill when she realized it was a pacifier.

     She looked down at herself and realized she was dressed as she’d been when she’d left the Mansion—nothing but a pair of thin booties and a big bulky diaper. She squealed in embarrassment—if the gang saw her like this, they’d never take her seriously again!

     But it was too late... more and more members were coming out to see what the fuss was about.

     “Holy shit,” she heard someone say, “is that Suki!?”

     The gang gathered around, and suddenly Suki was very nervous… there was no way anyone was taking her commands seriously like this! Her stomach began doing summersaults.

    “Lookin’ good, boss!” she heard someone say, drawing derisive laughter.

     “Looks like our ‘queen’ has been keeping secrets from us.”

     “Think we should keep her on as a mascot!” one suggested, drawing cheers.

     Suki grew more and more nervous. I’d made her sensitive to stress, and upon hearing the suggesting and the cheers it brought, she felt her bowels lurch into action. The urge to defecate came quickly and grew uncontrollable as fast as it appeared. With her laughing former comrades watching in disbelief, Suki bent her knees, stuck out her butt, and began to noisily mess her diaper. The bikers first laughed, then groaned and took a collective step back as the stench began to emerge.

     As for Suki, she futilely tried to regain control. But her newly acquired stress-induced incontinence had left her without control, and she could only cry as she uncontrollably grunted out another mess. There was a sticky squelching, and the seat of her diaper began to visibly inflate.

     Now finished, she straightened. Behind her, the diaper was lumpy and saggy, a brown stain beginning to show through. Tears streaming down her face, she looked to her gang for understanding.

     “PU! I think maybe you should get on your bike and ride, Suki,” suggested one of them. The crowd parted… what Suki saw made her cry even harder.

     In her private parking space right out in front of the club, she notice that her pride and joy, the classic Vincent Riptide she’d restored with her own two hands was gone. In its place stood a tiny, yellow and black tricycle; Suki exploded into tears.

     One of the bikers brought the trike over and set it in front of her. Suki stared at it in horror—how could everything have gone so wrong?

     “C’mon sweetie, get that stinky butt on there,” admonished one of the bikers, giving her a firm, open palmed swat to the seat of her dirty diapers. Slowly, reluctantly, she forced herself onto the seat, her stomach rolling as she felt the warm, mushy mess squishing against her rump.

     And so, bawling and with a massive, mushy load in the seat of her diaper, Suki took off peddling into the night, the derisive laughter of the bikers ringing out behind her. Progress was slow on the tiny bike, with Suki’s knees coming up to her chest and the messy load squishing and spreading under her, making her stomach roll even without the foul stench, but soon she was out of sight.

      And that’s how the police found her.

     The situation made front-page news, of course. Soon the pictures of Suki sporting a messy diaper with her tricycle was on every TV station in the country.

     She was deemed unfit for trial (a notion re-enforced by the fact that she became so nervous she shit herself every time someone even mentioned the possibility of going to prison to her) and remanded to the custody of her stern mother, where she remains to this day, still diapered 24/7, still paddled for misbehavior.

     But on the plus side, she still has her tricycle to remind her of better times…

Day One-- Act One

Prologue

     Amy Peale smiled as she looked down at invitation. The first thought that popped into her mind was, "About damn time."

     It was a little sad that she was so excited over it - reality shows were an easy way to re-establish fame, to get people to remember you, but she had really been hoping to land one of the roles she'd been auditioning for. Back when she'd been on The Afterlife of Astrid Appleby, she'd always thought it was ridiculous that reality show contestants were considered popular, some even more than her. Sure, she was just the sidekick, but she was still one of the main characters on one of the more popular kids' shows on their channel, not some ordinary slob whose only talent was being able to force themselves to eat insects without throwing up or something. 

     But the truth was, she hadn't gotten cast in anything for years now, and, at 22, she knew she needed to do something soon to get herself back in the spotlight, while she still had a few years of being young enough to land jobs as something other than a mother left. This could be the perfect solution. And if she could win, it would be even better. She'd be sure to make the talk show rounds then, which would really get her face out there. That was all she really needed, she was sure, to remind people she was still there. And the prize would be nice, too.

     She looked back down at the invitation, trying to remember what the prize was. In fact, it didn't mention one, but she was sure there had to be one. That was why people watched these things, wasn't it? She was still getting by all right, largely because her parents had taken care of her money from the show for her until just the year before, but she wouldn't mind winning a bit more cash. Really, it was the publicity she'd get just for winning that was important, but she wasn't going to say no to a little spending money.

     She glanced up at the top of the invitation, a little surprised again to see it referred to her by her real name, and not Destiny Starr, the stage name she'd chosen for Afterlife. She'd stuck by it for the other little roles she'd gotten after that, but now, ten years after picking it, she couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed by it. She still used it at auditions, since that was what people might recognize her as, but maybe this show would be her chance to finally break free of it. Then again, she couldn't say she liked her real name much more. And, just like at auditions, she worried people wouldn't realize who she was without that name in the credits. She'd have to think on it a little more, she decided, then talk to the producers about which one they'd use on the show.

     Thinking of that, she flipped the invitation over, then looked at the envelope it had come in, but there was no information on who, exactly, was making this show. No producers, not even a production company. It was signed simply by "the game master". She rolled her eyes a little at it. It seemed a little unprofessional, but maybe that was how they did things on reality shows. 

     "Ugh... What am I getting myself into?" she asked out loud, wrinkling her nose. But the idea of not accepting never crossed her mind. It might not be ideal, but this was her ticket back into the spotlight, and she was going to do whatever it took to make sure it was a one way trip. 

Arrival

     The road was growing darker by the minute as the sun sank into the sea. Destiny cursed loudly as she passed the road whose name sounded familiar, looking down at the seat beside her at the directions from her invitation. She scanned through them, looking for where she was now. She felt a bump as her car started to go off the road from her inattention, and quickly jerked the wheel the other way with another profanity. Her mood only got worse as she saw that, sure enough, she should have taken the road. She gave a loud grunt of exasperation, slamming her hand against the steering wheel. Had one of her feet not been on the gas pedal, she'd have stomped it, too. She hated driving - she'd never paid much attention as she'd been taught it. Afterlife had wrapped just a year or so before she'd been old enough to get her learner's permit, so she'd still been waiting for the call about her next series, and assumed she'd just have people to drive her around wherever she needed. 

    As she looked back up at the road, she saw she was more than half in the opposite lane, and corrected herself. She stared ahead, looking for a driveway or somewhere she could turn around, but there was just a big stretch of nothing, so, finally, she just did it in the middle of the road, glad she apparently had it to herself. Why did this place need to be so far out of the way? She was starting to worry there was something wrong, that she was about to walk into a snuff film or something.

     Her GPS failed to alert her the second time she approached the road, either, though she was ready for it and did it on her own. "Stupid piece of junk!" she growled, grabbing the contraption from its mount and throwing it into her floorboards in a fit of anger. It was possible she just hadn't programmed it right - she'd only just bought it that morning, specifically for the trip, and had been too impatient to read the directions - but she'd rather assume it was the machine's fault. Luckily, she was almost there now, and the final bit of directions was easy enough.

     All her fears melted away as she saw the house, expelled in a single, wide-eyed, "Wow." She double-checked the address, just to make sure, nearly running into another car in the process. The place was huge! It was the kind of place she'd always imagined herself ending up in, back when she'd first started acting. Obviously, whoever was making this show had a decent budget, which made her feel much more excited to find out just what the final reward would be for winning this thing.

     She got a little disappointed again when nobody came to carry her luggage for her, and stood at her car for a minute or two, debating whether she should go in and see if there was anybody there, or just do it herself. Eventually, she settled on taking one suitcase, a decision that seemed wise once she'd lugged it all the way to the front door. She hadn't thought she'd packed that much, but that was before she'd had to carry it all that way. She plopped it down in the entryway with a relieved sigh, looking around, pleased, at the interior.

     She wasn't sure how they were doing rooms yet - if they were assigned, or if she had to share, or what - so she left her suitcase there and followed the sound of voices to the living room. Four women sat there already, leaving one open seat for her. "Hi!" she exclaimed cheerfully as she walked slowly over to it. "Oh, I hope I'm not late!" She didn't mind making an entrance, but it did irk her slightly to lose out on her choice of where to sit, especially since the most comfortable looking seats had already been taken, leaving her with an uncomfortable wooden chair, elegant but hardly her first choice.

     She glanced around at the other women, trying to figure out what she'd seen them on before, hoping to judge how likely they were to have a bigger fan base than her, but none of them looked familiar, with the possible exception of the short chick with the dikey haircut… she seemed kind of familiar—Destiny had thought she’d seen her on a talk-show or something a while ago—Margot something? Had they lumped her in with a bunch of unknowns? That might better her chances, but it bruised her ego nonetheless, as she was sure she deserved much more famous co-stars than whoever these nobodies were. Worse still, two of them looked like they were probably old enough to have considered themselves to mature to watch Afterlife when they were kids, which meant that, even if they weren't famous, they'd be less likely to be intimidated, or even just impressed, by her presence. She could feel a pout starting to form before she made herself smile instead, doing her best to seem chipper and enthusiastic.

    She had barely seated herself when the doors at the far end of the room swung open. The man who entered was immaculately dressed, his suit the finest most of the women had ever seen. He had a laidback swagger, a cocky smirk, and sunglasses indoors after sunset. It was almost as though he was daring them to smirk and call him the very embodiment of a sleazy Hollywood producer—yet somehow, he managed to pull it off.

     “Ladies,” he greeted warmly, “thank you so much for being here this evening and thanks for accepting the invitation to my humble home. I am your host, and I’ve been known by many names in my time. For the purposes of our program, you may address me as The Game master, or simply Master for short.”

     There were assorted snorts, especially from the woman with the short hair. But he pressed on.  “I’m sure you’re all wondering what it’s all about—but just in case everyone hasn’t met yet, I’d like to go around the room and introduce our players.

     “First of all—I’m sure some of you may recognize Ms. Amy Peale… Though I’m sure you know her better as Destiny Star, star of some silly piece of kiddy crap or another…”

     “Hey!” Destiny Snapped. It was true of course, but hardly polite, especially five minutes after she’d arrived.

     But he continued undaunted. “Of course we’re also joined by Margret Stern, author, activist, and all around kill-joy who would be sort of sexy if she just grew her bangs out a little…”

     Margret said nothing; content instead to shoot him a cool stare. The Master continued undeterred. “Next we have with us Brittany Phillips, 23, a daycare worker who says she came here to quote: ‘get away from awful children and their stinky diapers.’ Oh Brittany,” he chuckled to himself, “If only you knew how funny that statement truly is.

     “Next on the chopping block is Alice Lipton: CEO for McSegual Medical supplies and contacts INC, and recently indicted on land fraud charges.”

     Alice scowled at him. “I’ll have you know that matter is currently on appeal, sir!”

     “Oh, duly noted,” he grinned. He came to rest in front of the last contestant. A slight, young blond girl, she looked nervous in a way that wasn’t entirely related to appearing on network TV. “Now this is interesting,” he said slowly, watching her with a strange smile. Even behind the dark glasses, the girl could feel his gaze on her, inspecting her every atom like he had x-ray vision. She looked to the floor, but her tucked a finger under her chin, tilting her head back so she met his gaze. “On our lists, it says we have one Jessica Smith joining our little competition…” He said with a slow smile. “But you aren’t her, are you?”

     “Wh-what are you talking about?” the girl said unconvincingly.

     “Oh, you look like her…” he said, bending down close to her. “But Jessica’s a naughty little girl, isn’t she?”

     “Well,” the girl swallowed, “that is, I guess it’s up to interpretation…”

     “Oh no, my dear,” The Master said, bending down close to her. “You see, I know a naughty girl when I see one. A bad girl wears her naughtiness around her like a perfume. I’m defiantly not getting any of that scent off you, little one. The fragrance I’m getting off of you is…” he sniffed the air deliberately and smiled hungrily. “Innocence.” He straightened, seeming to tower over her.  “So tell me: who are you?”

     The girl sighed. “My Name is Lucy Smith… Jessica’s my twin sister.”

     “Dear Lucy,” the Master said with a chuckle, “I did my homework on you-- you’re a sweet and innocent girl—what would make you come to a place like this… and by such shady means?”

Lucy shook nervously in her seat, looking across at the other contestants. "I... well it was... to... to protect her. Fame would go to her head, and I know she wouldn't be able to take it... I...” Lucy’s face gradually grew more and more red as she spoke, embarrassed at how quickly she had been found out. "I just wanted her to be safe." Lucy then stared at the floor, before finally looking up, on the brink of tears. "Are you going to kick me out for lying?"

     “Oh Lucy!” the Master laughed when she finished her story. “I’d like to tell you I’ll go easy on you dear, except… I sssssooooooo rarely get my hands on an actual, genuine innocent…”

    “Um, Excuse me?” Destiny was growing weary of all this. “But-- what kind of show is this, anyway?”

     “Hmmm… interesting question,” he said in that damn, infuriatingly smug voice of his. “Let’s say it’s a test of your metal—a chance to see who you really are on the inside via a series of challenges, both physical and… well, I’d hate to spoil the surprise. To… separate the women from the little girls, so to speak.

     “This show is about finding out who you really are—getting to the real character beneath the surface—and showing it to the entire …”

     “How come I’d never heard of this shoe before now?” Destiny interrupted, playing the role of the showbiz insider.

     “It’s a top secret project,” he answered. “The network wants…”

     "I'm sorry, but on my show..." Destiny began to say.

     The master raised an eyebrow. “Kitty cat, I’m getting a little tired of your interruptions.”

     Destiny knew this was her chance—this was exactly the kind of crap people loved on these kind of shows… Drama, tension, big, larger than life personalities. This was her chance to establish herself as a sassy bad girl… And the world loves a bad girl, she thought.

     “I’m sorry, but this is really unprofessional. Why wasn’t this information made available before the show? This is so disorganized—do YOU even know what you’re doing here?”

     He never lost his cool, his smile never wavered. He was utterly confident in something.

     “You’re asking me for a demonstration?”

     Destiny rolled her eyes, really getting into character now. “Is it really so much to ask? I mean, I was nice enough to come out her for your little show, and there wasn’t even anyone to take my bags at the front door! I think I’m entitled to…”

     She was startled by the sensation of something coiling around her torso and slipping beneath her underarms like a large invisible snake. It was an even bigger shock, however, as she glanced downward, and suddenly saw that she was now hovering over her chair. "What the-?!" she gasped, flailing as she rose higher up, feeling the tiniest spurt of urine escape her at the shock, soaking into her panties before she could stop it. She'd been flown a few different times for Afterlife, but this was something different. There was no uncomfortable harness, no wires holding her up - she was simply floating, like some invisible hand had lifted her up and was holding her there.

     The other women watched in amazement, unable to believe what they were seeing. This had to be a stunt of some kind, didn’t it? Each one found herself checking for wires.

     Destiny simply floated there for a moment, suspended in air, arms and legs flailing. The Master never moved from the front of the room, never moved a muscle or broke a sweat. If he was responsible for this unbelievable turn of events, there was no indication on his serene face. “O-o-OK, Mister Master, sir,” she said, utterly failing to keep the tremble form her voice. “I’ve learned my lesson… you can let me down now!”

     There was some type of movement below her, and for a second she thought he was going to let her down. Then she heard the crowd gasp. To her slowly dawning horror, she felt a sudden chill below her waist. Her heart stopped for a moment as she gaped down at herself, her bare crotch visible for any of those other women to see - not to mention all the viewers at home. Her hands shot down to cover it, her cheeks burning bright red.

     “Woah!” she shrieked, suddenly pitching forward, sure she was going to fall flat on her face.

     But whatever was holding her up had hadn’t let her go; it was simply rotating her in the air slowly, angling her head down and her bare bottom up, until her adorably plump backside was jutting upward invitingly in the air behind her.

     “You can’t do this!” she bellowed self importantly. “I--I’ll sue! Yeah! I’m gonna—AAHH!” she cried, her eyes sprang even wider open and she let out a surprised cry as something smacked, hard, against her bare bottom, causing a gasp to ripple through the room.

     "What's happening?!" she wailed, just in time for another smack across her backside, making her buns quiver.

     “Naughty girls are like bottles of ketchup,” said the master sagely, watching Destiny kick and squeal as another loud swat landed on her backside, “sometimes you need to smack them on the bottom before they come out right.”

     Destiny let out another yelp as another loud swat popped against her wriggling rump. "Stop it!" As if in defiance, it came again, and again, faster and faster. And, just like one of the strikes, the humiliating realization hit her out of the blue - she was in the middle of receiving a spanking, like some naughty little brat. "No!" She tried to shield herself with her hands, but that did no good. If anything, it only made it come harder, and faster.

     "Stoooop!" she screamed, helplessly kicking her feet and thrashing out with her arms, throwing a mid-air temper tantrum as tears began to shine in her eyes. "You can't do this to me!" But clearly, whoever was doing it could, because it kept going, alternating cheeks at first, then going for both at once in a sudden barrage that felt like a whole team of people were spanking her at the same time. They began moving further downward, to the tops of her thighs, while also being sure to go back over the area they'd already covered.

     Destiny punched helplessly at the air and pumped her legs furiously behind her, making her scalding derriere jiggle. Her entire backside felt like it was on fire, and she had no doubt that it was bright red by now. She hadn't even noticed that the protests she kept trying to blurt out had long since been rendered unintelligible by her crying. She was sure her make-up had to be ruined by now, by all the tears that were streaming down her face, but that was the least of her worries. First and foremost was - when will it end?

     And, finally, blessedly, it did. Just as suddenly as it had began, it stopped, and she felt herself being lowered, blubbering, back to her seat, though there was one final smack on the rump just before it was settled back onto the chair. She really wished she'd been able to choose a softer chair now, as the hard, wooden seat only made her swollen, blazing bottom hurt more. She could feel all eyes on her as she fumbled with her panties and shorts, pulling them back up, wishing for once that she wasn't the center of attention. Luckily, she wasn't waiting for long.

We'll Be Back After These Important Messages...

  

From The Humble Games Archives: Contessa Antonia Regina Di Serpieri

     Greetings once again, Humble Heads!

     This will, of course, be the first time the Humble Games will be filmed and broadcast for the entertainment of you fine folks at home… but did you know this isn’t the first Humble Games?

     I established the games for my own amusement far more years ago than I’d care to remember. At first the girls were local peasants, and while it was entertaining to transform them into helpless, babbling adult infants, there was something missing.

     I made my living in those days as a wise man and a healer, traveling to the homes of the rich and powerful to offer advice and medical treatment for a small (OK, large) donation of silver and gold. (And sometimes, if I couldn’t find any business, I’d cook some up myself, but anyway…)

     Word of my achievements spread throughout the old world like wildfire, eventually reaching the ears of the young Contessa Antonia Regina Di Serpieri. Rumors at the time said that the Contessa was the most beautiful woman in Italy, possibly in the whole of Europe; and baby, the rumors didn’t exaggerate.  Lovely and dark-eyed, the Contessa had been orphaned at 16 and inherited a shipping empire that spanned the globe and swelled her bank accounts like a tick. At 23, she had the world on a string— an army of servants dedicated to ensuring her comfort and happiness every second of every day, palatial homes throughout the old and new worlds, and an inexhaustible supply of money. And, as you can probably imagine, it made the Contessa what people would today call “socially maladjusted, aggressive, and narcissistic,” and what people at the time called “a spoiled brat in need of a warm backside.” Needless to say, when I received a note summoning me to her sprawling villa in the Italian countryside, it was more than my curiosity that was  piqued.

     I made the journey as quickly as possible, assuming there must have been some emergency. I was quite annoyed to arrive in the dead heat of the mid-July sunlight to find the Contessa the picture of health, wandering the garden in a silken gown, attended by a team of cowering, simpering maids. She looked me up and down, a lazy smile playing on her full sensuous lips. She was, I’m quite sure, the most spankable woman in the world—an opinion that, being a gentleman, I resisted the urge to share with her.

     We retired inside. I attempted to shift the conversation to the business at hand, asking her what urgent issues she had called me away from my own pressing business (it isn’t easy taking care of five full grown babies, after all.) But the Contessa insisted on tea first, making mindless small talk and regarding me with that infuriating, lazy smirk, asking me about the trip and how my business was, and did I know Lord and Lady Suchandsuch from Whereeveritis, and already I could sense her toying with me.

     Finally, we came around to the business at hand. The Contessa apologized for her ruse, but it was necessary to get me there as quickly as possible so that she could make me her offer.

     My ears perked up… and what offer might that be? I asked.

     Her lazy smile widened her eyes like deep, warm pools of tar. In her accented but otherwise flawless English, she expressed her desire for me to come and join her staff—full time. She painted a rosy picture of traveling the world and tending her empire with me by her side, her faithful advisor and personal physician, offering her advice and tending to her needs (“In business and beyond,” she promised lustily.)

     Dear readers—I won’t lie and tell you that the offer was tempting—and gazing at this vision of loveliness, her succulent body and hauntingly beautiful features (not the mention that she had the money to buy two of everything in existence) I nearly relented. But I knew in my heart it just wasn’t for me… I’m too much of a free spirit at heart, given to odd whims and strange appetites… in other words, not the domestic sort.

     I explained my position to the Contessa… but she didn’t see it my way. First she insisted, her smile growing wider, her platitudes growing warmer. Then, once it became obvious that I couldn’t be bought, she pouted and fumed. Her smile dried up, and her warm brown eyes became narrow pits of lava. She snapped at me for wasting her time (as though she’d had to leave her home to trek across the country side for a meeting under false pretences) then began implying that I in some way owed her.

     Last came the threats—if I refused to take her up on her offer to join her staff, she would pull some strings and see me imprisoned. And it was then that I got annoyed.

     In those days, I shunned overt displays of my abilities in public lest I draw any unwanted attention—especially in a situation where there was money to be made. And yet here I was—confronted by a woman who could surely qualify as one of the naughtiest and most spoiled in the entire world, who would wield her power and influence against me. Had I not used my abilities on far less deserving targets for far less outrages than this?

     “You drive a hard bargain my dear.” I said with a smile, “but so be it— I agree to your terms. Gather the staff so that we may inform them of this new arrangement.” Delighted at having gotten her way, she summoned the head maid and dispatched her gather the staff in the parlor.  She produced a series of contracts and an elegant pen, and she grinned like the Cheshire Cat as I signed them.

     When we arrived, the entire staff, from the maids and cooks to the gardeners, had been gathered in the front room. The Contessa stepped forward, about to introduce me, but I stopped her. “Please allow me, my darling,” I said, taking the back of her hand and kissing it gently.

     “My friends,” I said, stepping forward to address the group, “I am Contessa Di Serpieri’s personal physician and business advisor. It is my sad duty to report that the Contessa has contracted a rare illness and will be unable to attend to her estate and her business affairs for the foreseeable future. Until she is able to return to her position, I will be overseeing all business matters and attending to her health personally.”

     “WHAT?!” the Contessa cried “What are you trying to pull, you poltroon?” she demanded hotly, her eyes blazing furiously.

     “Now now, darling,” I admonished gently, “you’ll aggravate your condition.”

     “’Condition?!’ Just what are you referring to, sir?! I have a good mind to contact the authorities and have you thrown into—”

     A dark stain began spreading across the front of her dress. The Contessa could only gasp and blush as she watched a puddle beginning to spread beneath her feet. The staff looked on—some mystified, some horrified, other just delighted.

     “What—but—no—” she stammered, looking confused.

     “Silly girl,” I admonished, “I told you that was going to happen.”

     I dispatched one of the maids to find a mop and then, In front of the shocked, giggling staff, I stripped the Contessa nude and took her by the hand, leading her over to a nearby fainting couch. “Don’t dawdle sweetheart,” I admonished giving her bare, jiggling rump a swat, sending ripples of delight through the staff.

     From my bag I took a blanket and laid it on the sofa. “Come on, sweetheart—up you go…” I said, giving her another sharp spank. She looked at me, her eyes wide, confusion, humiliation and fear swimming across her face as she complied. “Would the maid staff please step forward?” I said, smiling at the young ladies and their nervous hesitation—would they wind up like their employer?

     “I will require assistance with the Contessa’s care,” I explained, “so please watch closely—although I sure some of you may have some experience with this,” I said, reaching into my satchel and removing a large, cotton diaper. There was much giggling all around as I took the Contessa’s ankles and lifted her legs into the air, exposing her bare bum to the entire room, and slid the diaper under her tushy.

     Though thoroughly humiliated in front of the entire staff by this point, there was still enough arrogance and entitlement left in the Contessa for one last angry outburst: “You can’t do this to me, you oaf! I’ll spend my entire fortune ruining you! I’ll—” but before she could finish her thought, I shoved a pacifier into her mouth. She now stared at me with pleading eyes, but I just smiled as I hoisted her legs into the air once more. I began applying a thick gooey ointment of my own creation to her delicate backside. The cream was designed to prevent diaper rash in adults, and I spread the cold goop across her rump, massaging it into her plump buttocks and caking it in nice and thick into her butt-crack, paying special attention to her crinkled anus. She groaned and shivered with embarrassment in response. I just smiled and lowered her bottom to the fluffy cotton below.

     When I began rubbing the cream into her pussy, the Contessa’s reactions became markedly different—she groaned and sucked the pacifier eagerly, squirming and spreading her legs to reveal her moist, glistening sex. The maids continued giggling (and, if I may say myself, a couple looked like they’d like to strip down and jump up on the couch after I’d finished with the Contessa.)

     Staring at me from behind the pacifier, her eyes smoldered as I pulled the diaper up tight between her legs—though whether she was angry, embarrassed, aroused or some combination of the three, I couldn’t tell. I pinned the pampers on tight, thick and bulky around her slender waist.

     I helped her to her feet, the gathered servants openly laughing now. The Contessa blushed and sucked her pacifier, the puffy padding pushing her legs apart. She looked out at the snickering audience incredulously, her breasts heaving as she sucked deep breath into her lungs, feeling faint from her humiliation. I held a pair of frilly pink panties out in front of her. She hesitated, then daintily stepped into them a foot at a time, and allowed me to tug them up her legs. A frilly pink bonnet followed, and finally, her transformation was complete—the rich, spoiled, and arrogant Contessa Di Serpieri had been reduced to an overgrown sprat in a big bulky diaper.

     She watched helplessly from behind the pacifier as the maids gathered around her, chuckling to each other as they inspected their newly infantilized boss. The Contessa blushed and cringed as the women whose lives she had run roughshod over for so long gathered around to pat her heavily padded butt and gloat teasingly over her downfall.

     “Ladies,” I said, addressing the maids as I took the Contessa’s hand, “please follow us. The rest of you can return to your regular duties, and I thank you for your patience and attention.”

     I pulled her by her hand; she waddled after me awkwardly, trailed by a gang of giggling maids. I pushed open the doors to her bedroom—what she saw shocked the Contessa Di Serpieri so much she nearly dropped her pacifier.

     Her massive bedroom, once the pinnacle of modern feminine luxury, had been transformed into a massive nursery, easily equipped to handle the needs of such a big baby. Her bed was now outfitted with six foot high crib bars with a locking door at the foot. Her vanity mirror had been replaced by a heavy-duty changing table, her make-up transformed into all manners of powders, creams and salves to keep her dainty bottom clean, fresh, and rash free. Her extensive wardrobe, once the envy of nearly every woman in the world, had been replaced by an array of infantile party dresses, frocks, tights, bloomers, onsies, drop-seat jammies, booties, Mary Jane shoes, and ten of every other item a baby girl might wear. And everywhere there were toys—dolls and stuffed animals and blocks and balls, with trunks stuffed overflowing with playthings lining the walls.

     I addressed the maids. “The Contessa is to have absolutely no stress from this point on. She must have total relaxation, a minimum of eight hours sleep per night, and a least one nap per day. She must be kept clean and dry at all times, which is why one of you ladies will be assigned to her in shifts 24 hours a day—at the first sign of a wet or messy diaper, the Contessa must be changed as the stress of a diaper rash will only aggravate her condition further.”

     By now, the Contessa had heard just about enough of this. In spite of having wet herself in front of the staff and being diapered by a man she’d intended to bed, she still possessed vast reservoirs of arrogance and self importance. She spat the pacifier from her mouth and launched into a furious tirade.

     “That’s enough of this charade! This… this charlatan has enchanted us all with some kind of sorcery!”

     “Contessa,” I warned gently, “you must be careful not to aggravate your condition…”

     “I do not have a condition!” she spat, stomping her foot like a tantrum throwing baby. “I demand that you return myself and my estate to their former condition, or I’ll see you…”

     A noisy gurgle emerged from her tummy. Clenching it, she doubled over with an agonized squawk. Sweat began to run down from beneath her bonnet. Inside, her bowels percolated and heaved, twitching and contracting and expanding with gas.

     “What’s… happening?” she demanded in a strained and trembling voice, the hot, burbling cramps descending lower and lower inside her.

     “I warned you what would happen if you got too riled up, sweetie,” I said calmly.

     The maids giggled and whispered amongst themselves as they huddled together to watch the Contessa’s latest humiliation.

     Her bowels heaving and straining and gurgling, the gripped her stomach, gasping and grunting as she began clenching her buns, even as she slowly realized what was happing was inevitable. And then, before the realization of this futility had even fully dawned, she began to noisily fill her diaper.

     “Oh my!” one of the maids exclaimed as the mess arrived in the seat of the Contessa’s diaper, pushed out by a loud, gaseous accompaniment, the Contessa emitting a pathetic mew as the mess settled into the thick, cotton seat.

     She redoubled her efforts to keep the remaining mess inside her body, but it was no use. She gasped, another noisy gush surging uncontrollably from between her clenched buttocks.  Her breath coming in ragged, heaving gasps, she reached behind herself with a trembling hand and gingerly felt the seat of her diaper, as though unable to believe what had happened. She grimaced, feeling the mess squish beneath her prodding.

     Her insides were still heaving, and there was still plenty more just waiting to come out. There was a smattering of giggles behind her. She shot a desperate look over her shoulder at the tittering maids.

     “Help meeee!” She begged uselessly to them, moments before the final, highly flatulent load was involuntarily dumped into the expanding seat of her diaper. Her legs buckled, her buttocks parted, and a warm, sloppy mudslide came rumbling uncontrollably into the heavy, lumpy seat of her diaper.

     Now finished, the Contessa straightened and checked over her shoulder at the saggy diaper behind her. The stench had emerged, and the maids fanned their faces and pinched their noses, openly commenting on the smell.

     “Goodness! Someone certainly made a mess!” said one with a giggle.

     “P-U! I think you’re right!” another agreed, pinching her nose shut.

     “Princess has stinky pants,” one said sagely.

      “Phew! I’m going to open a window,” said another, crossing the room to do so.

     Taking the Contessa by the hand, I led her across the room, her waddle even more pronounced than before. Taking her by the underarms, I lifted her onto the changing table, delighting at the way she grimaced when her full diaper hit the table, squishing audibly beneath her creamy buns.

     The maids snapped into action, helping fetching cloths and diapers as I popped the pins on her pamper open and pealed the front panel down, revealing a mess so massive most wouldn’t believe it was possible. The entire back panel had been used almost entirely up, the mess caked thickly into her butt crack. The poopy smell increased 10 fold, and I fanned my face. “Phew!” I chided her, beginning the clean-up, “You certainly are a stinky little girl! I can see we’re going to have our work cut out for us here!”

     I cleaned her thoroughly, then anointed her quivering bottom and adorable pussy with an array of lotions and powders. She sobbed and pouted through the entire process, until I finally had her wrapped up in a clean, fresh diaper.

     The maids had selected an outfit for her to wear, and I admonished the Contessa to hold still while they dressed her in an adorable frock, hemmed so high her thickly padded derriere stuck out from under it.

     Assigning one of the maids to watch her, I escorted the other giggling women out of the nursery and shut the door behind me, smiling as I saw the Contessa watch me depart, a silent plea on her face as the door clicked shut behind me.