The Caretaker's House - Chapters 1-40 - Updated 1/5/17

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-17 - Updated 3/5/13

I too am glad too see an update

Look forward to more updates

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-17 - Updated 3/5/13

Please continue. :slight_smile:

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-17 - Updated 3/5/13

Is there going to be any more or is this story now dead??? ??? ??? ???

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-17 - Updated 3/5/13

More will be coming, eventually.

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-17 - Updated 3/5/13

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning found Francesca waking in her own bed tangled amongst the covers, naked except for her diaper, and still struggling to make sense of Jenny’s behavior from the previous night. She ordered the rest of her thoughts on her experiences easily enough, from watching diapers be changed to having her diaper changed, and her own final surrender to some age play as she had at last joined her friends in some childish games (such as Go-Fish with enormous, colorful cards), and at last the party’s end, late, far past midnight. Unwilling to get out of bed despite the mild discomfort of being wet, she simply relaxed and allowed the night’s collection in her bladder to empty into her diaper. The renewed warmth was comfortable in its own disgusting way, and she composed her mind to rest once more. Sleep did not come back, but the glorious sensation of being at rest and without responsibility was precious to her at that moment.

In the stillness, however, she reflected on her weekend to date: she had left work on Friday afternoon, and after she had gotten into her first diaper when she had returned to her apartment, she hadn’t been out of diapers, since. She had only changed herself a grand total of three times, and for all the other diapers she had worn, someone else had taken care of it. It was a strangely sobering thought, and she felt dirty and ashamed for… prostituting herself? No, that wasn’t it. There was no obvious pleasure given or received by the action; it had been an economical action rather than emotional, even when the Caretaker had changed her diaper. There had, however, been a great deal of emotion when Francesca finally got into her own car to leave Annie’s apartment complex. The further and further she had driven from Annie’s place, the more and more disgust and revulsion she felt until she was almost in tears as she put the key into her door. In a fit of self-disgust, she had stripped down to her diaper with the intention of taking a shower to wash away another supposed covering of filth and grime, but no sooner had she removed her shirt and bra, when her fingers were gripping the tabs of her diaper did she sigh out the last of her anger and allow her hands to fall to her sides. The diaper was only moderately used, anyway; more to the point, Francesca had just wanted to go to sleep so the day would be done at last.

Now, however, she was past the point of sleep; she resigned herself to the grim truth that her Sunday had started, so she disentangled herself from the bedding and got up. She was immediately chilled, so she pulled the quilt from the bed and wrapped herself in it before she shuffled to the kitchen for something to eat. She found a reasonable breakfast—or brunch, really—and after it was eaten, she shuffled into the living room to sprawl across the couch. Would it really be so bad, she wondered, to let someone just… take it all off of her shoulders? Francesca patted the sodden mass between her legs for a moment as she considered. She found it easy to wish for someone to be there right then to change her, unfortunately, which was not helping her maintain objectivity. She knew that if she was ever going to return to something approaching a normal state (or at least what was accepted as the ‘normal’ state), she was going to have to take steps, be they radical or gradual, to separate herself from diapers. But for the moment, she thought as she looked bleakly at her enormous remaining collection of diapers, the steps she was going to take involved one diaper at a time… or did it?

She didn’t have to wear all of them, she thought to herself. She could simply throw them away if she wanted to. What would it matter? They were going to end up in the garbage anyway, why bother going through the motions? It would be so easy, she thought, just to gather up the packages and take them to the dumpster, and then the problem would be solved. A waste, of course, but perhaps it would be a necessary waste? Francesca amused herself for several minutes considering the scenario of carting several boxes full of adult diapers, unused adult diapers no less, to the dumpster. She considered her inventory. There were a couple of bags of Teddy diapers left, and to her surprise, there were two unopened bags of Bianco diapers that she had forgotten about entirely. There were also a few bags of ABU Cushie diapers, since in her zeal (in hindsight, her foolishness) she had ordered more of the childish diapers than she had actually expected to use. Well, worst case scenario, she could give them to Annie… but wasn’t she going to throw them away? No, she decided. They had cost way too much money to simply be written off like that. One way or another, she reasoned, they would end up being used. Besides, Francesca really couldn’t give up diapers so soon, anyway; the case involving the Caretaker needed to be closed.

In the meantime, however, Francesca had work to do, starting with chores. She put on a sensible shirt, and went about dealing with the few chores that needed to be done. Francesca spent so little time in the apartment that it seemed to gather dust only from neglect rather than habitation, but even so, there were things that needed to be done, and Francesca was looking for excuses not to file reports or go through paperwork. To that end, she called Annie and invited her over for a late lunch, which gave Francesca an excuse to eliminate all traces of her FBI connection from plain view. She did so with great haste, making sure to secret all of the case files, her laptop, ID, and everything else that might have been a problem into a box which she then put on the top shelf in her closet behind another couple of boxes of odds and ends. It helped that the box was labeled ‘odds and ends’ rather than ‘clothes’ or ‘shoes’, which might have attracted unwanted attention from her friend.

It was just as well that she made hiding her true affiliation her top priority: Annie arrived with great haste, and almost burst through the door after being buzzed in. She was so excited to see Francesca’s place that she hardly looked put together at all; she had come over in basically whatever she had been wearing at the time, and so the two women looked much the same in terms of their hair not being done, neither of them having makeup on, or being as one might say, dressed for the day. In fact, Annie’s sweat pants had slid down a little over her bottom on her way over, enough that her diaper was clearly visible. Francesca noticed it, of course, but she didn’t say anything; instead she played the good hostess and showed Annie around her digs. “Good stash,” Annie remarked appreciatively when she saw the bags and boxes of Francesca’s diapers. “Not very organized, of course, but still a good stash.”

That gave Francesca an idea. “Well… I actually didn’t think anything about organizing them beyond stuffing them in a drawer,” she admitted, and then had an idea. “But, would you help me set up a… diaper closet?”

“Sure!” Annie beamed, and then went right to a hall closet that was close to the bathroom as if she knew the place inside and out. Francesca was momentarily suspicious, but then recalled that Annie had once lived in this same area, possibly even in a similar unit. It made sense that there would be a similarity of construction across multiple buildings and complexes, so she decided not to be worried. “Do you mind this closet? I know it’s not as private, but if you have guests over as often as I do, it won’t be a problem at all.”

Francesca opened her mouth to say something, then decided against it. She was silent for a moment while she considered. Well, she thought, I can always cover the stacks with towels or something. “Yeah, I think this closet is a good idea. Not too big, not too small, and I won’t miss it in the near-term.”

“Great! Let’s fill it,” she said, and she led Francesca to her room, where she began to gather the diapers by brand and style, giving Francesca some of the Bambinos while she grabbed the ABUs. Soon enough, the drawer and all of Francesca’s open bags of diapers were emptied, their contents neatly stacked in orderly columns, while the unopened bags were stored on the floor under the shelves. During the organization, Francesca made it a point to open a bag of the Bianco diapers to make sure they started to get used. “There. That’s more like it. Where are your wipes and stuff?”

“Uh… bathroom,” Francesca answered, gesturing. Annie retrieved them and put the wipes and powder in with the diapers.

“There,” she said when it was all said and done and the girls had reviewed their handiwork. “Much better.” Francesca didn’t disagree. Now I can use that drawer for clothes, she thought to herself, forgetting at that moment that she was only here temporarily.

“So, in the kitchen I have some food that I need to eat before it goes bad,” Francesca said as she headed that way on a whim. “I spend so much time hanging out with you and working that I don’t eat much of what I have,” she admitted, being mostly truthful.

Annie giggled. “Well, let’s see what you have and I’ll see about making a little dent in it,” she said cheerfully as she followed after Francesca. They settled on sandwiches of differing contents and sat at the small kitchen table to eat. Francesca wanted badly to talk about the previous night’s events, especially those that dealt with poor Jenny, but she couldn’t bring herself to open that door, just yet. Rather, she let Annie guide the conversation, and its cheerful banality helped Francesca stay on an even keel. However, after the dishes from lunch had been dealt with, Annie turned to Francesca and said, “time for a diaper change.”

Francesca was momentarily flabbergasted. “What?”

“You heard me. You need to be changed really bad. Your diaper is soaking wet.”

“Oh, uh…” Francesca looked down at herself to confirm the truth. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Come on, then. Besides, I need to be changed, also, so we might as well kill two birds with one stone.” Annie went to the diaper closet and opened it up, thoughtfully considering the contents while she did so. She selected a Teddy for herself, while Francesca picked a Bianco. Since Francesca didn’t have a changing mat, they spread a towel out on the floor and changed on that. She couldn’t help but be thankful for the dry diaper when it was on, and after Annie was changed, she left her pants off so that she and Francesca were dressed alike in just shirts and diapers.

“You’d never met Jenny before last night, right?” Francesca suddenly asked.

Annie shook her head. “No, not at all. She seems nice, though.”

Francesca nodded. “Yeah, she does. I’m actually wondering just how deep she’s going to get into it.”

“Really? What makes you think that?”

“Just the way she was playing last night. I mean, she showed up wearing a little kid’s pull-up—not the end of the world, mind you—but we were talking in the nursery and she leaked.”

Annie was surprised. “Really? I was wondering why she was so weird about leaving.”

“Yeah, she leaked pretty badly. Anyway, she didn’t… deal with it herself. I mean, she didn’t go and ask Eric for a change, she just sort of… stood there.”

Annie frowned. “Why in the world did she do that?”

“Because, she wanted me to change her. I mean, it wasn’t a big deal; I took care of it, and she was thankful. I think she’s afraid of Eric, right now, because while she watched him change everyone’s diapers, I got the impression that she wanted that level of care, but not from him.” Francesca took a breath to mentally prepare herself. “I mean, I bit the bullet last night and let him change my diaper, which… was kind of a trip—”

“You let him change you?!” Annie cried. “That’s awesome! Didn’t I tell you he was cool?”

Francesca laughed a little bit. “Yeah, you did. I mean, it was scary as hell, but he was good about it.”

Annie nodded, smiling all the while, and then nudged Francesca’s shoulder. “Now you’re really one of us, Frankie,” she said. Francesca wasn’t sure how to take that, so she took it as a compliment.

“Thanks,” she said. “That means a lot. But, anyway. Back to Jenny. She really sort of… went off the deep end for a little bit. Because, when she was watching you get your…” Francesca stumbled for a moment, trying to decide which word to use, “your dirty diaper changed,” she continued, “she actually messed herself.”

Annie was shocked. “You’re kidding.”

Francesca shook her head. “I wish I was. I dealt with that, as well, since she was only at level two, and she wasn’t going to change herself.”

“You should have just let her sit in it,” Annie opined.

“I thought about it for a moment, but… she had this look on her face that told me she actually would have, and it would have eventually been one of us who changed her, and I really didn’t want to deal with having to smell a shit-filled diaper for the rest of the night.”

“Well, I can’t say I agree with your choices, but I’m glad you were able to deal with it. You think that Jenny’s trying to like…”

“Go full baby?” Francesca filled in.

“Yeah,” Annie agreed.

“Maybe. She told me she had a history of bedwetting and had to wear diapers to bed growing up and all that, which explains the attachment.”

“Hmm.” Annie was thoughtful. “We’ve all thought about going full baby, and there are ways to do it and not be a bitch about it, of course; all of us think about it at least once or twice. Maybe we get so far along and then we realize it’s more of a pain than it’s actually worth, and we find a balance, like I did. I wear panties to work, and diapers the rest of the time.” Annie shrugged. “It seems to work just fine.”

Francesca mulled that over. “That makes sense, but… I don’t know. I think Jenny wants to try going full baby, but just… isn’t ready to let go?”

Annie shrugged again. “Maybe. But, that’s for her to decide. One thing that Eric’s really cool about is he doesn’t force anything on anyone, like I’ve said before. You pick a pace and he sticks to it, like he should. Ultimately, how far we go is up to us. Jenny will have to make that same decision herself.” She looked at Francesca with more intensity. “So, don’t feel bad about whatever you did or didn’t do last night. Whether or not Jenny is all there, she’s still a big girl. She can think for herself. And… who knows. If she thinks going full baby is what’s best for her, then who are we to say anything against it? The only time it sucks is when it gets in the way of our game, but that’s just part of life, I guess. Have to make the best of it.”

Their train of thought made Francesca curious. “Annie, I’m wondering… and, please don’t take this the wrong way or think I’m nosy or something, but…” she hesitated. “Would you ever think about… going full baby? Again, I mean, like… making a real effort to do it.”

Annie shook her head no almost immediately. “It just doesn’t work. I can’t let go of my adult side, and really, I don’t want to let all the way go and let someone else have that kind of power over me. It’s scary, really, which is why I love going to Eric’s so much. I get to be taken care of, but I know that there’s lines he won’t cross, and if I’m feeling weird, I can just say the safe word or something.”

Francesca nodded. “Thanks. I mean, I’m sorry if I’m being nosy…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Annie said with a smile.

“…But I’m just so curious. Jenny’s attitude was something I’ve never seen before. Must be because I’m still pretty new to this,” Francesca pondered.

“Sometimes I forget you are; you’ve fit in really well. Also, you have a good diaper stash, and I feel comfortable like this around you, which is not small praise, mind you,” Annie teased.

Francesca smiled. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Annie smirked. “It should. Whenever I hang out with Sadie, the girl has almost nothing to change into.” Then Annie giggled a little bit.

“Have you ever leaked in public?” Francesca asked.

Annie blushed, but nodded. “I was totally careless, and it really sucked. It would have sucked worse if I had been wearing brighter-colored pants, but thankfully they were darker and I was able to cover it up until I got home.”

“Wow, that’s crazy,” Francesca said, truly amazed. She had only worn diapers in public—with nothing to cover them—but the idea of leaking, and the similar ideas of no control over her own body, linked with the completely infantile notion of filling her diaper until it could take no more sounded terrible to her.

“Yeah, not one of my best moments. The worst part about it was, I didn’t realize I was that wet until I sat down… and felt it squish out. That’s what nearly did me in, but I managed to survive. It was a near-run thing, though,” she chuckled. “That’s probably why I carry at least two spare diapers in my car, now. Just in case.”

Francesca nodded at the wisdom of that course, but silently resolved to establish a line between her regular self and her diapered self. She had walked on the wild side of the tracks, so to speak, for the weekend, and now it was time to set herself back onto the normal side, because there was work to be done. She didn’t know why things had been delayed with the investigation into the Caretaker, but she knew that sooner or later (she hoped sooner), there would be some sort of break and then it would all be over, one way or another.

“Earth to Francesca.”

She startled out of her thoughts and looked at Annie. “I’m sorry, what?”

Annie was smiling at her with great good humor. “You totally spaced out there for a minute. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d just wet your diaper, but I can see from here that you’re dry.” Her expression became mischievous. “Did you poop your diaper, instead?” She asked as she semi-tackled Francesca to find out.

“What?! No! I did not poop my diaper!” Francesca protested, even as she weakly resisted Annie checking her. She felt a couple of pats on her bottom.

“Guess not. That’s a relief, because I like you, Frankie, and while that can mean a lot, it sure doesn’t mean I want to deal with that kind of stink.”

Francesca had no effective retort to that, and the best she could come up with on short notice made Annie fall over laughing. She stuck her tongue out at Annie, in the process making herself appear her most infantile to that point.

1 Like

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-18 - Updated 6/17/13

love the story can’t wait for more. maybe she try some babying?

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-18 - Updated 6/17/13

Chapter Nineteen

Francesca and Annie spent the rest of the afternoon together hanging out and talking before Annie excused herself on the basis of chores. “I haven’t done laundry in a while, and I need to finish cleaning up after our weekend, so I better head out.”

Francesca understood Annie’s needs, and wasn’t sorry to see her friend go for once. “Yeah, I know the story. I better check into my laundry, too… it feels like I haven’t worn panties in so long that I don’t even have any to start with.”

Annie chuckled. “Yeah, be careful of that. You might get too used to diapers that you forget you aren’t wearing one. That’s happened to me before. Anyway, see you!” she finished cheerfully, disappearing down the hall and down the stairs, leaving a somewhat confused Francesca in her wake. A confused and only half-dressed Francesca. She recollected herself, realized her diaper was on display, and hastily retreated back into her apartment and the safety of a closed and locked door. She went about attending to the chores she had left, and was somewhat chagrined to realize that not much needed to be done. What little there was didn’t take long, and Francesca resigned herself to digging out her FBI materials and going to work. She had a lot of reporting to do, and the bureaucracy of the FBI was particular on the article of paperwork. Either it was done and done correctly, or there was trouble. Plus, Francesca had no idea how much longer she was going to be in town, and she decided it wouldn’t be smart to leave loose ends undone that would follow her back home. Thankfully, the paperwork wasn’t difficult, just mundane.

However, it was mundane enough that she soon became bored with it, and though Francesca made it a point to continue trudging through it, she reached stopping points frequently enough that she was able to consume a large portion of the early evening between work and reruns of favorite TV shows on Netflix and Hulu. She had been without TV for so long that she had catching up to do on favorite programs, and they helped to dull the monotony. What also dulled the monotony was a need to empty her bowels. Once the urge began to manifest, Francesca was torn between letting it happen in her diaper and going to the bathroom like a normal adult. The fact that she was torn surprised her yet again, as she had thought her curiosity more than satisfied when she had first messed an adult diaper. However, the curiosity had awoken itself, and Francesca wasted precious minutes carrying on the mental argument with herself while the pressure grew. She had been present when both Annie and Sadie messed their diapers, she had dealt with Jenny’s poopy diaper, and she had seen Sarah’s dirty diaper change at the Caretaker’s House. Apparently, as disgusting as it was, it wasn’t such a big deal that otherwise normal adults allowed themselves to soil their pants like the toddlers they only pretended to be. What was the big deal if Francesca, out of apparently unsatisfied curiosity, did the same in the privacy of her own living space? The mess would be a bitch to clean up, she thought to herself. She rationalized it away by deciding that since she had yet to shower, she would mess her diaper, deal with it, and then take a shower. With that thought in mind, she grimly set herself to the task of allowing herself to relax, rather than forcing the issue immediately. She made herself comfortable, put a TV show on Hulu to watch to pass the time, and waited for the inevitable. Besides, her diaper was already wet from casual use.

Francesca didn’t have to wait a very long time. Once her body realized she was committed to the action, it finished letting go as well, and soon after, the seat of her diaper began to fill. She only had to push a little bit to help it along, and then that was that. As soon as it was done, however, she regretted her decision to mess herself. She regretted it even more when she tried to get up off the couch in such a way as to avoid spreading the mess across her bottom and failed; she lost her grip and footing for a moment long enough to bring her bottom pressing down against the mess in her diaper, and the sudden shock of having it pushed against her skin caused her to recoil away from the couch with enough violence to send her sprawling to her living room floor. “Well, that was graceful,” she groused. Worse, now her mess was lying against her skin regardless. Carefully, she got to her feet and waddled her way to her bathroom where she undressed, took off her dirty diaper, disposed of the solid waste in the toilet, wiped herself as clean as she could so she would have less to deal with once in the shower, wrapped up the diaper, and then she stepped into the tub.

When she emerged from the shower, she decided against regular underwear and instead put on an ABU Cushie, figuring that she would need to change again before bed. As she became more and more experienced in the hobby of wearing adult diapers, she found the capacity of ABU diapers lacking by comparison to Bambino, nor were the ABUs as comfortable. However, they were adorable, and she did need to use them up. Francesca also put on her onsie that she hadn’t worn in ages, settled on a light snack to serve as a sort of dinner, and then she returned to paperwork and re-runs of TV shows on the Internet.

During an advertisement, Francesca revisited her thoughts from the previous week regarding her desire to wear diapers, and her own inability to declare with finality that she did not want to wear them, as well as her experiences over the weekend that made her want to stay in diapers. Some of them had been strange experiences, but she had already found it impossible to consider wearing diapers wrong, as well as using them for their intended purpose. Sure, she did not at all like the feeling of dirty diapers, but diapers themselves didn’t feel that much different when compared to menstrual pads; really, they was the same thing, just on a larger, less easily concealed fashion, and the served the same purpose, more or less. Francesca wondered just how difficult it would be for her to have a lifestyle like Annie; go to work dressed like a big girl, come home and become a little one. It wouldn’t be hard at all, she reflected. She could easily store diapers in her normal apartment, and it would make trips to the Laundromat easier: she could literally wash all of her undergarments at the same time. Though, it was a silly way to justify her hobby, anything positive was anything positive.

By the time it was late enough for Francesca to consider bed, she also needed to consider a dry diaper. She decided to sleep in her onesie, but what to wear under it? She looked at her collection thoughtfully, and decided on a Bianco before going to her bedroom to change. The process of opening her onesie and changing her own diaper made her feel childish, but she wished that Annie or Sadie, or even the Caretaker, was there to do it for her. But, none of them were, and she accomplished the task alone, snapping the onesie’s crotch flaps back into place over her dry diaper at last. Francesca then found herself both realizing and admitting to herself that she liked having her diapers… changed by someone else. It was a terrible thought, but also sobering. Well, that was something she would either have to come to terms with, or else use as inspiration to get away from diapers, regardless of how much she liked them. The idea of someone pawing around her privates on a routine basis did not appeal to her, but when linked with the necessity of changing a wet diaper, she found herself considering it to be okay. Agent Thompson’s admonition to her several days previously came back, then, and she wondered just how far down the rabbit hole she had gone, and if she was getting close to some sort of point of no return. That thought troubled her until sleep claimed her at last.

When she awoke the next morning to the irritating shrieking of her alarm, she wished devoutly that it was still the weekend, because—like almost everyone on a Monday morning—she did not want to go to work. The thought lasted only a few moments before she began to move and got herself into a sitting position on the edge of her bed. Francesca had to resist the temptation to fall back across her bed and catch five more minutes of sleep, so she focused on the moment by relieving herself into her diaper. When she stood to head to the bathroom to begin getting ready for the day, she felt an unfamiliar tug as her onesie fought against the soaked padding between her legs; it made her chuckle a little, and she patted her wet bottom as she walked. She wished that wearing diapers to work wasn’t so completely out of the question as to be laughable. Francesca was sure that only quietly disappearing to the farthest reaches of the Aleutian Islands of Alaska for ten years would be the only salvation for her if she were discovered.

When she finished getting ready for work, the feeling of her regular underwear—something she hadn’t worn since Friday—was almost a new experience. However, the newness went away quickly enough as the old sensations of familiarity reasserted themselves, and with them a sense of grounding. This was normal adult wear. This is what normal, working adults wore outside. Diapers were the abnormal. Francesca centered herself on that thought, gathered her briefcase and necessary hardcopy documents, and then left for the office.

She barely had time to settle at her desk before she was pulled into a briefing with a collection of other agents and headed by Agent Thompson, who wasted no time getting to the point. “Alright, people, good news. We got our warrants for the Caretaker’s House approved. We’ve got a reasonable amount of time to conduct surveillance on phone lines and Internet, as well as a search warrant for the premises itself. Agent Bowden has also worked up a very basic profile on the Caretaker himself, along with some of the people he associates with. Now. Let’s be clear on a number of things, people.” Thompson’s tone of voice changed as he shifted gears. “Firstly, the execution of these warrants is to be as subtle and quiet as possible. This isn’t just from me, this is from the judge who signed the warrants. He doesn’t want this town implicated in the case at large if it doesn’t need to be. We get in, we get what we need, and we get out. Clear?” There were affirming nods around the room. “Secondly, we are not dealing with narcotics, prostitution, illegal trafficking, black market goods, and so forth. This is a haven for an alternative lifestyle exploration.” Thompson paused to look around the room, and Francesca wondered where he was going with his speech. “As such, we must maintain the professional and personal mindset that this person, the Caretaker, and those who frequent his home are innocent until proven guilty. Our target is not those who visit his home; our endgame goal is to determine with conclusive finality whether or not the Caretaker is at all implicated in this child pornography ring. If he ends up being clean, we’re going to forget he even exists. We need to keep that in mind, and I do mean at the forefront of our minds, because if we screw this up and this guy gets some hotshot lawyer in his corner, we’re going to be in the deepest possible shit with all manner of special interests groups looking to exploit this for their own benefit, and we do not need a political clusterfuck. Do I make myself clear?” Again, affirming nods all around the room.

“The reason I’m going into all of this now, is because we’re going to be executing the search warrants while the subject is away from his home. We’re going to track his movements, establish a profile on his comings and goings, and when we’re certain we’ll have a window large enough to search when he is not at home, that’s when we’re going in. We’ll be operating out of a cable repair van for most of the electronic surveillance, while actual ground surveillance and search will be done by teams under cover as municipal employees. We’re already in touch with the appropriate departments of the city works in order to make sure this is properly facilitated.” Here Thompson paused and looked around again. “Folks, we’re close to wrapping this up, one way or another. We need this off of our plates so the big shots everywhere else can close this up. Agent Bowden,” he said, causing Francesca to startle slightly. “What can we expect to find in this place?”

Francesca quickly assembled her thoughts. “The house itself is a typical single family home. Typical living room and kitchen, and it’s likely the Caretaker’s personal bedroom is about what one would expect a bachelor’s bedroom to be.” At this there were a few stifled smiles around the room. “Down the main hallway on the first floor are a couple of rooms; one of them is a room where a great deal of the alternative lifestyle… roleplay… happens, and it is furnished accordingly. I’ve investigated the room fairly significantly, and at face value, nothing of interest appears to be there. There’s a typical bathroom, and then at the end of the hall is a room that the Caretaker uses as an office, across from what I can only assume is his bedroom. At least one personal computer is there, along with all manner of his personal and professional correspondence. He requests that his guests remain outside of that room unless he invites them into it or gives permission for them to be there. I have not had an opportunity to more thoroughly consider the contents, or to see what might or might not be in his bedroom.”

Thompson nodded. “Thank you, Agent Bowden. We’ll be getting a full floor plan from city records, and I would like you to sit with the teams that will be going in and brief them in greater detail about what is where so they have a better road map going in. Okay, people, that’s it for now. Let’s get back to it.” The meeting broke up and everyone went back to either their offices or their desks. Francesca spent most of the morning dealing with reports, files, and assorted other paperwork pertaining to her elements of the case. She also had to attend to some work from her home office, which made for enough of a diversion from her current work to actually be interesting. While she was finishing up her filing for her home office, she very nearly soaked her chair. Only by the grace of God and a hasty recovery did she avoid the colossal embarrassment of wetting herself in the middle of the office. The shock was so great that she had to take a moment to breathe while working harder than she ever had before to keep her expression neutral so as not to draw attention to herself. She could feel it, however. She could feel that several drops, if not part of a stream had escaped into her panties, and possibly also her pants. Worse, now she needed to pee even more, a fact made very prominent by the ever-so-slowly weakening throb in her pelvis. However, she was not about to get up if there was a potentially enormous wet spot on her crotch. Francesca forced herself to remain seated at her desk and working until she felt that it might be safe to at least check and see how bad the damage was. She pulled her chair up as close to her desk as she could, carefully slipped a hand to her waist and then between her legs to check for wetness. She almost lost her carefully crafted expression then as her fingers came into contact with a damp patch of her slacks. She bit back one mental curse after another at her stupidity, and then decided that it was better to have done with it now rather than later. Plus, since it was getting closer to lunch, there weren’t a lot of people around right that very moment.

As quickly as she could without looking overly hurried, she grabbed her purse, retreated to the safety of the bathroom and a locked stall and nearly burst into tears. She had to take a minute to calm herself. Francesca found it hard to even think about being calm, but she forced herself to suppress the emotions that threatened to come pouring out of her due to sheer necessity. When she was finally able to relieve herself, she was equally relieved to see that the wet spot hadn’t been that big at all. No one would even be able to see it before it dried unless they were doing their very best to look for it. Regardless, the fact that it was even present was evidence of a serious and potentially dangerous lapse in personal judgment, not to mention situational awareness. Agent Francesca Bowden had almost peed her chair. In the middle of the FBI. It had happened almost without thought, too. That’s what made it the most damning. She had felt the familiar need to void her bladder, and, owing to her weekend in diapers, she had simply let nature take its course as though absorbent undergarments now formed a routine part of her working wardrobe. She had nearly publicly disgraced herself in front of her peers, endangered her role in the undercover element of the case, and worse, now her pants would smell like urine. Thank God it was time for lunch. She decided she would use the excuse of spilling something on her clothes while out eating, and rather than come back looking like a slob, she had gone back to her apartment to change. Yes. That would do nicely.

Francesca composed herself, winced at the feeling of her wet underwear against her skin, and spent a few moments in front of the mirror making sure her hair and makeup was all right before she left the restroom and then the building. She went to her apartment first, quickly shed her pants and panties, wiped her groin and inner thighs with a wet wipe she otherwise would have used for diaper changes, entertaining the demented notion of putting on a diaper for the rest of the work day. She got as far as wondering which of her slacks would best hide the padding and crinkle before her phone rang. Still naked from the waist down, she answered it. It was someone from the office.

“This is Francesca,” she greeted the caller.

“Hey Bowden; it’s Bart. The plans for the Caretaker’s House just came in. I didn’t see you at your desk; are you out to lunch?” The familiar voice of Bart Clayton asked.

Francesca gaped for a moment. “Yes,” she answered. “Uh… do you guys need me back right this second?”

“Honestly no, because I’m about to go to lunch myself, and I bet the guys who’ll be in the briefing will be heading out soon, themselves. How about I set up a meeting for about 1:15?” Bart suggested.

Francesca closed her eyes in relief. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. I’ll be back way before then.”

“Good deal. I’ll tell the guys. See you,” he said, and the call ended.

She heaved out a sigh. Then she looked down at her bare legs. “Best to cover up,” she muttered to herself. The temptation to put on a diaper was powerful. She regretted not having any cloth-like diapers; she’d heard about a variety of brands and styles that were supposed to be very discreet…

No. Francesca selected a pair of slacks that were almost a carbon copy of the pair she had put on that morning, albeit with a slightly different color. Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to change her entire outfit to work with the new slacks, and it was simply a matter of putting on a pair of clean panties—with a maxi pad for safety—putting on the slacks, and she was able to leave barely five minutes after she had arrived, and actually go to lunch and enjoy her meal as though nothing at all was out of the ordinary. Francesca wasn’t aware of how necessary those simple actions were to re-center herself as a functional adult until she was actually undertaking them.

Terrible thoughts clouded her mind. If the morning’s partial accident was a harbinger of things to come, she was going to have to make a serious decision about her diapers much sooner than she had anticipated, because Francesca had not anticipated even considering the fact that she might end up wearing them full-time with a legitimate medical need to do so: that need being an inability to control her bladder due to her own personal self-sabotage. That thought alone nearly upset the calm she had fought hard to maintain.

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Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-19 - Updated 7/7/13

Chapter Twenty

All the rest of the work day, Francesca was petrified of wetting her pants, again. It made it difficult for her to concentrate on some of her more basic tasks, at least until she shook herself out of it long enough to focus and resume working. Soon, she told herself. Soon, this would all be over. Now that warrants were coming back from the local judge signed and approved, the FBI could really get to work on the Caretaker, and Francesca hoped the whole thing would blow over sooner rather than later. She wondered if she still had a diaper in her car, tucked under the front seat…

No! Focus! Francesca had to yell at herself internally in order to push those thoughts from her mind. It was a major distraction, and while she glared angrily at her computer screen, she realized she had made a couple of clerical and grammatical errors. Momentarily embarrassed, she took the necessary time to correct them, and then glumly went through several other documents to proof them as well. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any others. However, Francesca couldn’t help but wonder just how much she was reeling from her near-disaster of the morning. It was enough to make her prone to error in otherwise routine work. That in and of itself was a telling sign that all was not well. She stood from her desk and took a walk to clear her head and stretch her legs… as well as visit the restroom. Her paranoia was at a fevered pitch, and when it came time to meet with the team regarding the layout of the Caretaker’s House, Francesca felt nauseated. The meeting with the team had been postponed from 1:15 until closer to the end of the day, and it left her on edge. She wanted it to be done and over with so she could go home. Well, back to her apartment. The lines were blurring between calling it home and her apartment, however. She shook that thought away, irritated with herself.

When the time finally came, she went to the meeting room and found several people there, men and women both, and the table was being slowly covered with plans and diagrams: the house in question along with the street itself. Fortunately, Thompson was there to be a steadying presence. “Francesca Bowden, this is Jim Bates. He’ll be leading the team that will execute the, uh… how did you put it, Jim?”

“Soft touch,” Jim Bates said. Francesca scrutinized him for a moment. Average height, average build, average looks, all of which was a mask for the high level of competence that his eyes betrayed. Francesca was encouraged by what she saw. Hopefully, the guy was beyond prejudice, as well.

“Soft touch, yeah, that’s a good way to call it,” Thompson agreed. “Bates and his people will be searching the place while the subject is not at home. Once again, because of the delicate nature of this case, we will be making every effort to maintain this man’s innocence until or unless he is proven guilty by virtue of evidence found in his residence.” Thompson paused for effect, and appropriately, no one filled the silence. “Bowden, what can we expect?”

Francesca let out a breath as she approached the table and looked down at the plans, taking a moment to look at them and orient herself to the layout. She picked up a capped pen and began to speak. “The front door opens into a typical living room with equally typical furnishings. No TV, no stereo, no computer; it’s a sitting room, mostly. Dining room is over here, and the kitchen is here,” she said, gesturing. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Bates’ people were taking notes. “Down this hallway is where things get interesting. These two rooms are… well, the focal point of the entire place. The smaller of the two is what the Caretaker uses as an office. Here is where he conducts most of, if not all, of his personal business. At least one computer, TV, printer, and other related peripherals are all in this room. I didn’t see any cameras, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them elsewhere. This room is what I can only assume is his bedroom. I haven’t been in there, nor do I know what it might contain.” Francesca paused before she continued to gather herself. She felt as though she were about to step headlong over a cliff. “This room,” she indicated the space she knew to be the nursery, “is the focus of all the role play that goes on in this place. It is styled as a nursery, complete with all necessary furniture, including—but not limited to—a crib, a changing table, closet stocked with appropriate clothing, and… all necessary supplies related to caring for infants and toddlers.” Francesca couldn’t bring herself to say ‘diapers and wipes.’ “However, all of this furniture, all of the clothing and supplies… are not meant for children. Everything is scaled to adult sizes, the crib, changing table, clothes, everything. While there are stuffed animals in this room, they’re all big. None of them are small or apparently meant for children.” She hoped, fervently hoped, that it was all true, too. If the Caretaker was involved in this case as a guilty party rather than a victim of happenstance… she had no idea how she would handle it. Nor did she have the slightest idea how she would break it to Annie.

When it became clear that Francesca was finished, several agents looked at each other and shuffled about awkwardly. Finally, Bates broke the silence. “Um… you’ve seen all of this? Personally?”

His question made Francesca wonder how much Bates had been read into the case. “Yes, I have. I have been inside the house while accompanying participants in the Caretaker’s role play sessions. I have observed the role play sessions, and… participated in them… enough to maintain my cover and establish camaraderie with the others in order to preserve relationships should this case require more time.” Francesca couldn’t help but flush slightly with embarrassment.

“Bowden, what is your present assessment of the Caretaker?” Thompson asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

Francesca thought about her reply for a few moments. “He’s a nice guy, at face value. He’s genuinely interested in what he’s doing, and the… women who participate in the role play sessions are all very comfortable with him, as well. He doesn’t give me any… creepy vibes, for lack of a better term.”

“Do you think he’s capable of hiding something as dangerous as what we’re after?” Thompson pressed.

Francesca let out another breath. “I hope not, sir, I really do. However, it is possible that there’s a monster behind the smile. If there is… well, he’s got these people so fooled and his alternative preferences so separated from what happens during the role play that no one is the wiser.”

“What kind of people frequent his sessions?” Bates asked.

“Normal people,” Francesca answered. “They have lives and jobs. They participate as a stress relief from whatever grinds they go through Monday through Friday. Some of them are frequent participants, others are only occasional participants.”

Thompson spoke up again. “What she’s saying is only an underscore for what we’re working with here, people. Regardless of what we might feel about this after we’ve gone in and seen it for ourselves, we have to remember that there are a lot of lives on the line here that could be seriously and adversely affected by what we do… or what we fail to do. Is that clear?” No one argued the point. “Agent Bates, do you have any additional questions for Agent Bowden?”

“Yes, thank you. Agent Bowden, have you seen any indications of security beyond locking doors?” Bates asked. “Any sort of alarm panel, anything like that?”

Relieved that he was asking technical questions, Francesca shook her head. “Nothing stood out to me as being an alarm panel, and all the walls by the front door were bare of anything like that. All I saw were typical light switches and outlets. Everything about this guy’s house screamed of ‘average Joe,’ with the exception of the supersized nursery. I have no idea what sort of security might be on his computer, however.”

Bates was nodding. “That first part is good to know. Whatever we can do to avoid tipping off the subject, the sooner we can get the job done.” Bates looked around, apparently taking control of the briefing. “Alright, we’re going in with a typical public works cover. We’ll have a utility van making the rounds of this neighborhood all this week in order to establish a solid cover for the vehicle to be there. Bonus: the city is actually engaging in public works maintenance, so people will see actual public works employees doing their jobs; that means anyone who talks about it likely will not pay too much attention to it. Before we go in, we’ll execute a vehicle swap with the city; their guys will pull out, our guys will drive in. I’ll be in the van with Wilson and Powell, while Lewis and Davis will make the entrance. They’ll make a soft entry through the front unless someone’s out and about, in which case they’ll go around the back. Once they’re inside, they will be wearing covers over their shoes to guard against dirt and to help disrupt whatever foot prints might be left in the carpet. Standard search procedure will happen from there, minus dusting for finger prints and actually removing physical evidence. They will copy the subject’s hard drive from his computer without accessing anything on site, along with any materials from any portable drives found on the premises and in the open. Once they conduct a visual sweep of the residence and complete the copy of the subject’s data, they will make a soft exit, return to the van, and we’ll return to base soon after.” Having outlined his operation, Bates paused and looked around with a rueful smile. “On paper it looks good, and what I just said sounds really good, but we all know that the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, so my people will be on their toes. Agent Thompson, if you can spare anyone else who can assist us logistically, I would appreciate it.”

“Thank you, Bates. Bowden, normally I’d like you to make yourself available for Bates to use you as necessary; you have the most firsthand experience with this place, and with the Caretaker. But, in this case I’d like you to remain available to run interference if things start to go sideways,” Thompson said.

Francesca nodded, and hoped her relief wasn’t showing. “I’ll do what’s needed,” she said, trying to sound confident.

Bates seemed concerned enough by Thompson’s decision to ask a question. “Do you think there’s a possibility of things getting hairy?”

Thompson shrugged. “I’m not sure, and I honestly don’t think so. But, if we start encountering trouble, I want Bowden to be able to respond to it quickly. She can’t move quickly if she’s in the van or in the residence.”

Bates nodded thoughtfully. “Works for me.”

The briefing ended on that note, and Francesca retreated at once. She headed back to her desk to resume working, all the while unable to keep from counting the minutes until she could leave. Fortunately, no one stopped by her desk to chat, dump more work on her, or otherwise make a time-delaying nuisance of themselves, and when the work day officially came to an end, she had to restrain herself from leaving the building at a run. When she got into her car, she fumbled under her seat for a moment until her fingertips brushed up against the plastic bag into which she had put a clean diaper many days earlier. The temptation to put it on right that moment was almost overpowering, but the simple fact that the diaper was there, that if she needed it she could use it, that was comfort enough, and it gave her enough of a focus to drive to her apartment without becoming a risk to herself or to anyone else on the road.

Once back within the safety of her residence, Francesca quickly shed her pants and underwear in favor of a Bambino Teddy diaper, which she laid out on the floor. Her stress and worry disappeared with each tape she attached to the front, and when she was safely diapered, Francesca just lay there in a state of blissful relaxation, the sensation of her relief at once again being in a diaper being unbelievably powerful. It was too powerful a bliss for Francesca to realize at that moment that she was addicted to her diapers on at least one level, possibly on many others as well. Right then, she didn’t care. She had her diaper on. She couldn’t have an accident, now. Her diaper would keep her floors, furniture, and clothes safe from anything. She couldn’t embarrass herself in public, either. That’s what her diaper was for, to keep such things from being a problem. Even if she did have an accident or forget she was a big girl, that’s why she was wearing a diaper. Diapers were for people who couldn’t get to the bathroom in time. Diapers kept them safe. Francesca needed to be safe. More importantly, she needed to feel safe.

How safe did she need to be, really? That was an important question. Francesca got up off of the floor and walked to the kitchen to get a drink from the refrigerator, thinking as she moved. How safe was too safe? Well, that was an important question, she thought to herself as she filled a glass with water and ice and walked back to the bedroom. She considered her meager wardrobe of professional attire as she took off her blouse and stood before her closet in just a bra and diaper. Feeling experimental, Francesca took another pair of slacks she knew to be looser off of the hanger and tried to put them on over her diaper. The fabric of the slacks couldn’t handle the strain of trying to fit over the thick padding, now made thicker as it was folded and pushed around wrapping around her body as she moved. Well, those were out, she thought to herself with a grimace as she replaced them in the closet. Next, she took one of her skirts. Sadly, it was much the same story; the skirt was too tight around her waist and thighs to adequately hide her diaper. It made her butt look enormous and the padding bunched enough in the front that it looked like she had something to hide. That thought made her giggle as she took the skirt off and likewise put it back in the closet.

After a few more minutes of trial and error with her clothes, Francesca reached the conclusion that none of her professional attire would adequately conceal a bambino diaper. That conclusion was important, because she didn’t want to wear the ABU diapers to work. Firstly, she didn’t like them enough to wear them for an entire working day, and secondly she didn’t trust their capacity. Based on her experience to that point with Bambino diapers, she was reasonably confident that if she had to, she could go an entire working day without needing a diaper change, or at worst, only needing to change once. That was a comforting thought. She would be safe for an entire day at work.

Francesca walked to her diaper closet and considered her inventory. The Bianco diapers would be her first line of defense, she thought to herself. They didn’t have any cartoon prints on them, and while that made them boring, it also made them more professional. They would fit into her office world. The Teddy diapers, while she liked them better, just didn’t strike her as a good idea. Besides, she needed to use up her Bianco diapers, and she estimated that it would be several days before she felt safe enough to go to work without wearing a diaper. The Biancos would see a lot of use during those days. It was a perfect solution to her problem of over-abundant inventory.

The next problem was her wardrobe. Nothing she had would adequately conceal her diapers, so that meant she needed to go shopping for some new clothes. That was a happy thought, because she hadn’t gone shopping in a while, and getting out by herself would probably clear her head. Maybe she would treat herself to a pair of new shoes while she was at it. Francesca put on a simple shirt and a pair of pants that she knew would hide her diaper, grabbed her purse and keys and headed out. She didn’t know where the local mall was, or even if there was one, so she simply headed for an area she knew was home to retail shopping. Sure enough, within ten minutes of driving, she discovered a small shopping center that had several stores, but the major presence was Kohl’s. Perfect.

Once inside she headed for the section that contained clothes intended for business, and began to browse around. Francesca decided against trying to find slacks that would do the job, and instead focused on finding skirts and dresses. She had little difficulty locating several examples as a starting point, and retreated to a fitting room quickly. She suppressed a grimace at the possibility of being watched on a video camera, and determined to avoid looking up or around. For a moment, she felt embarrassment at taking off her pants in what amounted to a public place—even though she was in a fitting room with a door that filled its frame, instead of being a partial door—and she quickly stepped into the first skirt to cover up. Francesca frowned at her reflection in the mirror. The skirt was still too snug. She could clearly see the slight bulge of padding in the front, and when she turned her body to present her profile to the mirror, she could see enough of a bulge in the back that it wouldn’t look natural. With a sigh, she took off the skirt, put it back on its hanger, and tried on another one.

The second skirt produced better results. There were no unnatural bulges in front or in back, and that for Francesca was a piece of good news. She examined herself in the skirt for a while longer, turning this way and that, and wondered how its color would work with what she had. Maybe she would pick up another top or two… just to give herself some variety. Either way, it looked like the skirt she was wearing was a keeper. She put it back on its hanger and kept it separate from what she thought of as her ‘rejects’ pile. Next came another skirt, one that was pleated and very loose below the waistband. She was concerned that it might be too loose, and instead of concealing, might flap around too much and reveal her secret that much easier. She walked around the small fitting room, and even tried jumping around, bending over, kicking her knees up, and twirling to see what would happen. Well, with extreme motion, yes, the skirt would reveal her diaper. But, if she was only walking around from place to place and going about her business in a normal, unhurried fashion, it seemed more than likely that Francesca wouldn’t have a problem with the skirt betraying her. No, what Francesca instead had to worry about was her diaper betraying her. When she had been moving around, a powerful amount of crinkling was audible. She had no idea how far that crinkling would carry through the office, so she resolved to find something to go over her diaper to muffle it.

That’s when it occurred to her that she could wear her onesie. It was perfect. It would help to mask the presence of her diaper, and since it was plain white, there was no reason to worry that it would be out of place in any outfit she decided to wear. The only problem was that she had but one of them, and wondered if she could get another one of similar quality locally. That was a problem for later, however, because at the moment she needed to continue trying on the clothes she had selected so far. However, as she did so, she couldn’t help but approach the next few items with a happy smile and a sensation of relief. She was going to be okay. When the day would finally be over, when she would bid it a final goodbye as she went to sleep, she would be able to wake up with the knowledge that she could go to work and anywhere else and be safe, because she would be able to wear her diapers, and they would keep her safe, if not from physical harm, then at least from the worry that she wouldn’t be able to control herself.

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Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-20 - Updated 7/20/13

Chapter Twenty-One

Francesca returned from her shopping expedition with two bags full of clothes (and a pair of shoes), and a very wet diaper. Before she changed it, she rooted around until she found her onesie, and immediately shed her top in order to put it on. Snapping the crotch closed around the sodden mass of her diaper proved somewhat difficult at first, but after only a brief struggle, it was done. Then, she tried on one of the skirts she had bought and practiced walking around her apartment in it. As she had hoped, the onesie worked to muffle the crinkling of the Bambino. Thoroughly satisfied, Francesca retreated to her bedroom again, this time to put away all of her purchases properly. When finished, she likewise undressed completely and set about changing into a dry diaper, to which she added a t-shirt before heading to the kitchen in search of something to eat.

During her brief meal, Francesca considered the significance of going into diapers full time. How long would she need them? Would it cause more problems than it would solve? Would she be discovered? All these and more questions ran through her mind, but her response to each was an overwhelming fear of pissing herself in the middle of the office in broad daylight with half the bureau looking right at her, and the other half likely to find out about it within the next two minutes. No, she would rather wear a diaper, risk discovery and possible ridicule, and possibly earn herself a trip to a psychiatric evaluation session, than wet her pants like a child in the middle of the day. Francesca didn’t realize the irony of that thought, at all.

That night as she slept, Francesca’s dreams were filled with scenarios and images in which her diapers became a liability rather than the asset they were supposed to be. In some of her dreams, she was discovered, shamed, and made an outcast. In others, she leaked. The more intense dreams involved her co-workers gathering around her to treat her like the infant they believed her to be, which involved Agent Thompson changing her and Bart Clayton feeding her a bottle. While the rest of the Bureau staff seemed to accept this as the new normal, Francesca found herself revolted at what she was experiencing; the emotions were strong enough to wake her up in the middle of the night. Finding herself entangled in her bedding, Francesca extricated herself from the web of sheets and blankets, got out of bed to fix them, but before she could bed down again, she looked down at her diaper in the dark and ran a hand over the front. She was still dry, of course, but she felt the urge to empty her bladder. It was becoming a reflex to let go, she realized. Her use of diapers had impacted her that severely. Just to prove that she was still a big girl, she resisted the urge, and restrained herself from wetting her diaper.

To further her resistance, Francesca went to the kitchen for a drink of water, and then walked to a window to look out at the night sky. The view wasn’t very inspiring—mostly trees and light pollution from the near, but unseen, urban landscape. Really, she was only stalling herself for a few minutes to drink water and reassure herself that yes, she was still a functional adult. The precipice that looked down upon the hill of regression had its charms, though. She could free herself of adult responsibilities and let herself return to a time when she was young and innocent, when the world was only bright and beautiful rather than tainted and troubled. She could live a life without care, and spend her days lost in the blissful contemplation of existence as she needed it to be, rather than what it actually was.

Maybe then, she thought with a sardonic smile, she could stop dreaming pipe dreams and let herself live in the present reality. It sounded so boring, however, the life of a regressed adult. What was fun for them? Playing Go-Fish and coloring with crayons while chewing on crackers and drinking juice? It was one thing to live like that on a temporary vacation from reality in a place set up for the purpose, but to live like that permanently? Her life, which had meaning and significance, and could increase in both, would effectively be over. She would cease to be a factor in the future of the FBI, and her career, full of the potential for unlimited promise and advancement, would be over scarcely before it had truly begun. Was it truly worth the sacrifice? Was the pursuit of a fantasy level of happiness really worth everything she had worked for, had fought for in some cases, and everything she had thus far achieved?

Still introspective, Francesca wet herself.

The urine pooled between her legs as a flash of heat before the padding of her diaper began to distribute it to the front and back of the garment. It was a blissful level of relaxation, she thought as she dissected the experience in a way she hadn’t before. But, how relaxing was it really? She could have easily gone to her apartment’s bathroom and used the toilet like a normal adult, but instead she was wearing a waste trap that served the same purpose; the difference with her diaper was that the waste was not conveniently flushed away, but carried with her until she exchanged it for a clean one that would be used the same way. That basic function, then, served no true purpose in her life; it did not add to the value of her existence, nor did it make her life more convenient. Her wet diaper would eventually become uncomfortable, the padding would clump at some point and become harder to sit on, and in spite of the wonderful development that had gone into the diaper she now wore, the smell of the urine would eventually begin to leak out of it to announce its presence to the immediate area.

But that wasn’t all of it, of course. The basic function was simply a means to an end. The diaper itself was just that: a diaper. But, that’s not all it was to an adult baby, or a diaper lover, was it? No, the value ascribed to wearing an adult diaper—especially one with childish prints on it—operated on an emotional level. It tied the user back to a tie when his or her life was simple, uncomplicated, and free, or so they thought. Simple and uncomplicated it might be, but was it truly freedom? There were more than two sides to that coin, it seemed, and Francesca was unwilling to consider the arguments at oh-dark-thirty. In time, however, she would have to. For now, she needed to get what sleep she could, because the rest of her week was going to be busy.

The next time Francesca awoke, it was to stop the irritating bleating of her alarm. With a sigh and a groan, she levered herself out of bed, added to the wetness in her diaper with whatever had accumulated between when she had woken up in the middle of the night the morning, and shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast, grumbling to herself that philosophical mumbo jumbo in the black of night was not worth the mental angst and lost minutes of precious sleep. She had to admit to herself, however, that part of her morning irritation stemmed from the fact that she was planning to wear diapers the entire day; to work, to wherever work took her, and then back to her apartment. It was going to be her first full working day diapered, and Francesca wasn’t sure how to handle that. Did she really need to wear diapers to work? Wouldn’t it be better to wear a sanitary pad, or something far less obnoxious than a full-on diaper? Of course it would, she thought, but what if she just cut loose? There was no way that anything less than a diaper could take that sort of hit and not make a hideous—and more importantly, obvious—mess all over the place. She had to wear a diaper to the Bureau. There was no other way to be sure that she wouldn’t leak all over herself, her chair, the floor, and anyone else who happened to be passing by at the wrong moment. It was an assertion born of such a deeply rooted terror, that Francesca had to violently quell any other voice that attempted to suggest any other reasoning. At this point, Francesca only had to decide which brand of diaper she was going to wear. Would it be a Bianco, in case she was discovered? Or, would she opt for her preferred Teddy diapers? The ABU diapers were out of the question, because not only was their absorbency inferior to the Bambino, they were also louder. Francesca wanted discretion, and she wanted maximum protection.

When she had finished breakfast, it was time to start getting ready for the day. She started by selecting her outfit and laying out on her bed, followed by heading to the bathroom to shower. Her nervousness increased as she washed, and once again she debated within herself the wisdom of her course of action, her previously strong logic beginning to weaken in the face of renewed fear and indecision.

When Francesca emerged from the shower wrapped in a towel and began to comb out her hair, she found no solace or strength in the mirror; rather, all she saw was the picture of distress. She was at a pivotal juncture, or so it seemed, and she could not make up her mind with the finality that she needed. She sighed, and left the bathroom to return to the bedroom. There was no diaper waiting for her on the bed with the rest of her clothes; she would have to go to the closet to get one. The few steps to the closet seemed like walking through a tunnel with a train coming towards her, but instead of being hit by a million pounds of moving mass, the door opened to reveal her diapers. She reached in and grabbed a Bianco, figuring that if she was going to go through with it, she might as well at least spare herself the ignominy of wearing a printed diaper.

Returning to the bedroom, Francesca shed her towel and began to unfold the diaper. It crinkled and crackled much more loudly than usual, or at least that’s how it seemed to her. Finally, the diaper was spread open on the floor invitingly. She stared at it dumbly for a few moments. This was it, she thought. Once she put that on, there wasn’t any going back. Why did it seem like she was looking at a prison sentence? It was just a diaper. But, it was a diaper that she believed she needed. She wasn’t dooming herself to a lifetime of diapers, she was just wearing them to make sure she didn’t have any accidents. Also, she was wearing them to re-establish her self-control.
That was the clinching argument. It was temporary, not permanent. She would only need to wear diapers full time for a little while, and then she would be okay. Normal. Francesca relaxed, and then, as if on autopilot, she sat down on the middle of the diaper, lay back, and pulled the front of it up to lie against her stomach as she began to tape it shut. There, it was done. Francesca was going to go to work in a diaper, and that was all there was to it. Even if she peed herself uncontrollably, she would still be okay, because her diaper would protect her clothes and her workspace. Everything was going to be fine.

Francesca put on a bra after she stood up from the floor, and then returned to the bathroom to finish drying her hair. Then she put on her makeup, finished dressing, and it was out the door and on to the office. She decided against bringing spare diapers; she lived close enough that she could come back to the apartment to change at lunch. She was relieved to hear that her diaper wasn’t making a lot of noise—she wasn’t wearing her onesie, because she needed to wash it—and her skirt was loose enough below the waist that she was confident that it wouldn’t betray her. The office itself seemed to take little notice of her once she swiped her badge for entry into the building. She offered greetings to people and was greeted in turn, but once she got to her desk, she resolved not to leave it until or unless she absolutely had to. Francesca planned to plow through a lot of paperwork, and since there was plenty of it to get done, she wasted little time.

Quickly, Francesca got into the zone and practically ignored her diaper. Once, Bart Clayton came by to chat for a couple of moments, but he was between errands and didn’t linger. Francesca thought of Bart as a nice guy, and idly wondered if Annie would find him attractive. Francesca was making sure she didn’t encourage him; she was only temporary at this branch, and she didn’t want to go through the angst involving a relationship spread across hundreds of miles. She would have to think of a reliable pretext to introduce him to her, though. That would be an interesting puzzle, she thought to herself with a smile as she returned to the world of paperwork. Some more work had come her way from her home office, and she balanced that with the work she had to do for Agent Thompson’s people. Her boss, Agent North, had emailed her to touch base and see how she was doing; it was a pleasant little piece of recognition. Francesca assumed that her good work was reflecting credit on him, which could in turn mean good things for North down the road. Francesca had no trouble telling him that things were going good, that Agent Thompson seemed pleased, and that they were closer and closer to wrapping up her part of the case. Sadly, she couldn’t give a more definite time table for their success.

The clock ticked away, and Francesca made a vast inroad into her paperwork. Feeling thirsty, she stood from her desk to go to the break room for a drink, but as she stood up, something felt out of place… wetness? Her diaper, she remembered with a rude shock. She froze on the spot, her mind frantically whirling. When had she wet her diaper? She couldn’t even remember needing to!

“Francesca?”

Startled, she looked up; Bart Clayton was standing there. “You scared me,” she scolded him mildly.

“Sorry. But, you didn’t look like yourself. Are you okay?” he asked.

Her racing mind provided a quick response. “Oh,” she said, smiling a little. “Just dizzy for a moment. I’ve been sitting all morning and I think I might have stood up too fast.”

Bart’s face cleared with understanding. “Gotcha. That sucks. Hey, at least you didn’t fall over, right?” Francesca answered him with a quiet laugh and he continued onward. Francesca made her way very nonchalantly to the break room, drank a cup of water from the water cooler, and wondered just how wet she was. Now that she was paying attention to it, her diaper didn’t feel that heavy, so she must have only wet it once. If that was the case, she would be okay until lunch for sure. However, she needed to be absolutely sure, so she retreated to the women’s room, again as nonchalantly as possible. Blessedly, the restroom was empty, so she quickly stepped into a stall to check herself. Not that wet, just as she had thought; she felt herself calming down immediately. Francesca would still go home to change at lunch, but she was relieved to see that she wasn’t flooding her diaper with reckless abandon. After washing her hands—she had just been touching her wet diaper, and waterproof plastic shell or not, that was still icky—she returned to her desk and continued working.

Even though she still continued to work steadily through her paperwork, Francesca felt tense, and her nervousness from earlier had returned. She had wet her diaper without even knowing. Was that a sign of things to come, or had she just mentally associated the fact that she could do that with a diaper on? That was a hard question to answer, but one she knew she would have to try answering soon. She could not become dependent on diapers. That just was not going to fit her life or her lifestyle. Wearing them was okay, though. Needing them? That was something else.

Lunch finally arrived, and Francesca left the building with more than a little relief. She wanted a diaper change badly, even though she still wasn’t very wet. She was, however, wet enough for her to justify the change, especially since she didn’t want to run the risk of leaking during the rest of the day. As experienced as she was, Francesca was still fairly new to the absorbency of Bambino diapers, and didn’t fully understand how much they could hold. Also, when she pulled into the apartment complex, she felt a pressure in her bottom that let her know she would need to change her diaper in the next few minutes regardless. As she walked up the stairs to the apartment itself, she was debating whether or not to just go in her diaper. After all, that’s what it was for… but did she really want to go through that much clean-up? Francesca headed for the diaper closet first to get out a fresh one, but she stood there for a few moments, again frozen in indecision. Her bowel muscles knocked on the window of her central nervous system, as if to ask, “now can I?” However, Francesca wavered, lost in thought, but her bowels seemed to decide to take matters into their own hands.

She gasped when she felt herself start to mess her diaper, and quickly tried to arrest the flow of solid waste. She rushed to the bathroom, her bowel muscles protesting all the while, which caused her gait to become irregular as she tried to do three things at once. Francesca fumbled with her skirt, the clean diaper in her hands got in her way, and that distraction was her undoing. She felt the warm mass exit her body and drop into the seat of her diaper. With a sigh, Francesca leaned against the wall and let nature finish what it had started. What was this, her third dirty diaper? Not only that, but it was her second dirty diaper in just a handful of days. Dejected, Francesca blinked away tears and went into damage control mode. She took off her skirt and left it on her bed, as well as her shoes, and went to the bathroom to change. Her third dirty diaper had the distinction of being the first time that she went directly from dirty diaper to clean diaper. The previous two instances she had gone into the shower; this time, she settled her much-wiped bottom onto a clean Bambino Bianco. Once she was re-diapered, she dealt with her wet and messy diaper and made a mental note to empty her garbage cans when she got back from work.

Lunch itself was subdued, as Francesca felt morose after her accident. She wasn’t even sure if she could think of it as an accident, because the sequence of events leading up to it seemed to be more deliberate than accidental. She cheered herself up as much as she could as she drove back to the Bureau, because she couldn’t let herself telegraph her private misery to the office at large. Francesca needed questions as much as she needed wet diapers; which is to say, she didn’t need any questions at all.

The remainder of the day was smooth, at least up until a point. About half an hour before the end of the working day, Bart Clayton stopped by her desk. “Hey, Francesca, how’s it going?” he asked.

“Hi, Bart, it’s going well. How’re things for you?”

He shrugged affably. “Can’t complain,” he answered. “Hey, a bunch of us are getting together tonight for drinks. I was wondering if you’d like to join us.”

Francesca blanked for a moment. “Oh, um…” she wanted to say no, to give some excuse, to let him down politely, but firmly. Before she could get the words to her mouth, however, a more logical part of her mind shouted it down. This was a chance to be normal. Maybe she could undo the damage of her diaper-wearing habits by associating with people who don’t wear diapers. It was worth a shot. “You know, that sounds like fun. Thanks for inviting me; I’d love to join you guys.”

Bart’s smile was as broad as it was genuine. “Great! Um, we’re meeting up at this place called Havana’s at seven. Great little bar and grill just outside downtown.”

“Oh, I think I know where that is!” Francesca piped, unable to hide her genuine excitement. “I’ll be there,” she promised.

“Sounds great, Francesca. I’ll see you there,” he said, and politely took his leave. Francesca wondered how much of a complication this would be, but decided that she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

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Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-21 - Updated 8/23/13

Amazing. This story is on a whole 'nother level. Hope to see more soon!

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-21 - Updated 8/23/13

Chapter Twenty-Two

By the time Francesca returned to her apartment, she was torn between going out with her colleagues and staying in on some lame pretext that she could use in the morning. The reason for her indecision was her diaper. Once again, she had wet herself without really being aware of the fact, or so it had felt. One moment she was debating pausing her work to use the restroom—or at least wet her diaper in a controlled fashion—and while she thought about it, her bladder seemed to just let go. That all but told Francesca what she feared most: that if she didn’t wear a diaper to the bar, she would wet herself. Her hopes of being a normal young woman at Havana’s, the bar, were dashed. Maybe her hopes of being a normal young woman ever again were dashed, and she just hadn’t yet accepted the fact. The more she thought about it, the more she felt that she had unwittingly become dependent on diapers, especially after wearing them for over the weekend without pause, and a great deal of the time when she wasn’t working. Was it even possible to do that to yourself, she wondered.

Francesca decided that she would have to do some research, but in the interim, she took off her skirt and her blouse, decided against changing into a dry diaper, and instead set about fixing herself a snack. If she was going out to a bar, she knew that she would be plied with drinks, either by well-meaning colleagues, other men looking to pick her up, or both. She wanted to have something in her stomach to absorb any alcohol she consumed.

While Francesca snacked, she tried to come to terms with the grim facts of the reality she occupied. The reality was, that because of her carelessness, or perhaps because of her assimilation into the adult baby/diaper lover lifestyle, she had rendered herself dependent upon diapers for her personal need. She heaved a sigh and leaned back in her chair while she thought about it, and couldn’t avoid the fact that her immediate future looked bleak. How long would she have to stay in diapers? No, that wasn’t the right question to ask, she scolded herself. The right question was, how quickly could she get out of them? Would it be days? Weeks, perhaps? She hoped it wouldn’t be weeks. She’d have to order more diapers, then, if that was the case. That was something Francesca truly did not want to have to do; not only did she feel that it would be a waste of money, but she also felt that it would be a form of surrender to a lifestyle that she wasn’t prepared to accept for herself for the rest of her life, or even after her involvement in the Caretaker’s House was finished, as it was likely to be in the near future. But, the question remained. Did she need more diapers? She didn’t need more ABUs, and she rationalized that if she ran through those as fast as possible by wearing them in the evening and overnight, she could clear up closet space and then feel as though she had gotten her money’s worth out of the play diapers, even though she didn’t care for them all that much. They lacked the comfortable bulk of the Bambino diapers, and regardless of how cute they were, they just didn’t compare. However, she did have to give ABU one nod, if nothing else; their single tape to each side was much easier to work with than the two-tape build of the Bambino diaper. It just seemed… more appropriate, somehow, for a diaper, regardless of its intended user, to be fastened with one tape. It brought home the point that the wearer was dependent upon something, or someone, for their personal care, and Francesca felt that if she was to be consigned to diapers for the foreseeable future, that she should endure treatment like a toddler.

That thought brought her up short. Had she really just considered that? She had. That was a scary thought. “Do I really want to punish myself for becoming dependent on diapers by… being babysat?” She asked the empty air, and grimaced almost immediately after. “Oh my Lord, that is terrible!”

But she was tempted.

Why? Why was she tempted? Francesca had no immediate rationale, but the thoughts were so consuming that her stomach was closed to any more food; she put away her snacks and crinkled to her bedroom; on the way, she stopped at the closet where she kept her diapers. She opened the door and considered the remaining assortment housed within and sighed. If Francesca could get her control back by the weekend, she would probably have enough diapers to get by with some Bambinos leftover. But if it took longer, Francesca knew she would be looking at a shortage, especially if she used at least two a day. She took a few moments to run the numbers. If she started with one in the morning after her shower, she would then change again at lunch, and then again after work, followed by a third diaper change before bed, unless she messed herself or flooded her diaper before then. That meant that Francesca would go through three diapers a day at least, perhaps as many as five. That might not have been the most efficient rate, especially when one considered how absorbent Bambino products were, but Francesca remembered a little thing called diaper rash, and she had no desire to risk that by staying in a wet or dirty diaper for too long. The concept of suffering from diaper rash (not to mention the humiliation of experiencing it in the first place) was not something she wanted to experiment with.

She poked her wet diaper. It squished a little, but she decided against changing herself right on the spot. She wanted to wait until the last possible moment before she needed to leave in order to be as empty as possible.

Francesca’s phone beeped with a received text message; she went to read it and saw that it was Annie asking if Francesca was free to meet up that night. Francesca was sorely tempted to ditch her colleagues and go hang out with Annie—who at least would most likely be wearing a diaper as well, even if she might not be even partially dependent on them—but she decided against it, and responded with a negative to Annie, instead suggesting that they get together the following evening if at all possible. Annie agreed, and they were set.

That left Francesca wondering what to do with her time up until she needed to leave. Well… she did need an outfit. She decided to simply change her top rather than something completely different, even though she knew that subconsciously she might be turning away some of her male colleagues. Upon reflection, that actually wasn’t a bad idea, especially since she was only on loan to this branch of the Bureau, not joining it permanently. She decided to dress ‘down’ in order to dissuade unwanted attention, but not so ‘down’ as to be unapproachable. Some of these inter-branch trades were routine, after all, and they all carried the same badge as federal agents. Good camaraderie was good for business, especially when some of that business could turn deadly. It was easy for Francesca to forget the sometimes lethal aspects to her profession, since she so rarely had to deal with the grisly aspects of it.

After dawdling over her clothes for a little while, Francesca finally settled on an outfit she thought would accomplish her goals and then went about trying to force herself to wet her diaper. She even went so far as to sit on the toilet for several minutes—with her diaper still on—until she felt a few drops escape. She grumbled about it for a moment, but decided that would have to do, and fetched a dry diaper from her closet and went to her bedroom to change. Just as she was about to pop the tapes, she felt a little pressure in her bladder, and with a small sigh of relief, she released more into her diaper. Finally satisfied, she changed into a dry diaper and dressed. While she dressed, she revisited her earlier thoughts of being babysat, and debated upgrading her ‘play’ to Level Three the next time she was at the Caretaker’s House. She’d already been changed by him once, another few times couldn’t hurt… could it?

Francesca shook those thoughts away. She needed to focus on getting out of diapers, not contriving reasons to stay in them. With her focus re-established, Francesca grabbed her purse and headed out the door to make the relatively short drive to Havana’s.

When Francesca arrived, she looked around to see if anyone else from the office was already there; she had deliberately planned her departure to arrive at least five minutes late, so she wouldn’t be left standing by herself in the middle of a bar. Fortunately, she wasn’t left standing by herself for long. A waving hand caught her eye and she recognized Bart, waved back, and headed his way. “Hey, glad you could make it,” Bart greeted her in a friendly way.

“Yeah, thanks for the invite,” Francesca replied. Some other agents were there, and Francesca recognized a couple; she shook hands all around regardless, and exchanged introductions with those she didn’t know. Almost immediately Francesca was swept up in a wave of delightful and banal small talk; the men dropped into sports almost immediately, but what surprised Francesca was that a couple of the women joined them, and soon the entire conversation revolved around sports; all of the major sports were on the table, and that made it even more surprising. Francesca found herself learning about trivial minutiae about different teams and their offensive or defensive highlights, and when she could, she contributed a meaningful tidbit or agreement, just to feel part of the conversation. drinks began to flow freely, and with the ice thoroughly broken and the most important sports topics exhausted, the general conversation began to ramble in different directions; soon, Francesca found herself one-on-one with an analyst for Narcotics. “So, how do you like working here?” the analyst, whose name was Eve, asked.

“I like it a lot,” Francesca answered honestly. “I mean, it’s not my home, but I’ve really enjoyed my time here.”

“That’s cool. A colleague who was in my division transferred to your branch about a year ago,” Eve went on. “I was out there myself about six months ago and we did lunch; he said the same thing about there that you said about here.”

“Misses this place, does he?” Francesca commiserated. Even though inter-branch transfers happened with routine frequency as promotions and opportunities opened pathways, that didn’t mean that those who moved didn’t miss their roots.

Eve nodded. “Yeah, we were pretty good friends. Almost made the mistake of getting involved, but thankfully we kept our heads out of the clouds.”

“Good thing,” Francesca agreed, sipping her beer. “I’ve heard some nasty stories about folks who, um, didn’t, and it made for some awkward times, or so I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, those stories get around, and they’re probably true. I think the brass likes them to get around so it discourages those kinds of things from happening,” Eve said. Francesca couldn’t help but note a slight wistfulness to Eve’s tone as she spoke; she must have been good friends with whoever it was she was talking about. Privately, she hoped they found a way to make it work. “But enough about that; spill,” Eve demanded, leaning close to Francesca. “What’s the skinny on your undercover operation? A lot of us have been speculating, and I’m just dying to know what it’s like.”

“Huh? What what’s like?” Francesca asked dumbly, caught by surprise. “Oh, you mean being undercover?”

Eve nodded. “Well, duh! None of us are working those kinds of cases, and we’re all freaking jealous!”

Francesca laughed nervously, relieved that Eve wasn’t trying to get her to reveal anything sensitive or compartmentalized. “Well, it’s actually not terrible; I mean, keeping my cover straight can be a bit of a nuisance sometimes, but the good thing is, that my C.I. doesn’t really care all that much about what I do; I don’t have to worry about them trying to come to my office or something like that. Really, it’s… like we’re just friends. It just so happens that this person is a link to the real target of the investigation.”

Eve seemed deflated. “That’s it? Really? Wow… that sucks. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it’s going well,” she added, hastily back-peddling. “It’s just… I expected it to be more than that.”

Francesca laughed again. “I know, right? I was expecting it to be tooth and nail, gritty cop work… but it’s just maintaining connections until they close it out. I’m actually really relieved that’s all it is; if it was anything more than that, I’m not sure I could take it.”

“Really?” Eve seemed surprised by that admission. “What’s your background?”

“General Criminal Justice,” Francesca answered. “Before this came up, I was primarily working as an analyst for cases being run at my field office, and attached to support teams for a couple of different investigations. Nothing super exciting, but nothing really boring, either.”

Eve nodded acceptance of that answer; she knew as well as the next agent that unless you were involved in the investigation you were asking about, you only gave noncommittal answers and vague details to protect the integrity of the investigation as a whole. “Still, it must have been pretty awesome to be offered the case; were you the first one they came to?”

Francesca shook her head. “Number three, actually.”

“No way!”

“I know,” Francesca agreed. “Who would pass up the opportunity, right? I guess one of the other girls was pregnant or about to get married; I mean, they were legitimate reasons to pass up the assignment, and I hope for their sakes that they don’t get left in the dust because of it, but… I wasn’t about to.”

Eve nodded approvingly. “Smart choice. These kinds of hand-outs don’t come your way every day, and who knows how many of us will go our entire careers without getting this kind of shot. It really sucks that you took it, but I’m rooting for you, Bowden.”

“Thanks, Eve.” They touched bottles and then the tide of conversation returned to draw them back into a group discussion that Bart was serving as a sort of ringmaster in; against all reason, the discussion was all about The Hunger Games and whether or not it was actually plausible fiction. The two sides of the debate were fiercely entrenched, as Mike, another analyst, and Patty, a White Collar agent, held the extreme views to either side. Patty was arguing that yes, The Hunger Games were plausible fiction, provided certain socioeconomic criteria eventually materialized, and democratic authority collapsed. Mike argued that no, they were not plausible because in order for such a socioeconomic collapse to happen, it would require global upheaval on the order of all-out nuclear war; humanity wouldn’t be able to organize into that sort of society for decades, possibly centuries, because the level of destruction would be too severe to allow for even that level of cohesive government and society, especially not with the level of technology possessed in The Hunger Games. “We’d be lucky to have horses and carts, man,” Mike was saying. Francesca, who had not read The Hunger Games (but had seen the movie, and thought it was okay), simply watched the theatrics. It was a fun debate, and it gave way to other conversations revolving around the world of entertainment that served to further the atmosphere of good camaraderie, and completely distance all of them from their work day. Francesca felt at ease among them, and found herself thankful to Bart for inviting her to join them for their outing.

As the night began to wind down, the conversation began to trend to the future, and what it might hold. Eve asked Bart, “do you have any plans for holiday vacationing?”

Bart shrugged. “Not sure, yet. I was thinking somewhere tropical, where bikinis and beer are the law, rather than the perk,” he joked, getting knowing smiles from the other male agents, and good-humored eye-rolls from the women. “Maybe Florida, maybe the Bahamas, maybe California. I haven’t really decided which way I want to jump, yet, but I know I want to get away. How about you, Eve?”

“Probably gonna go to Cleveland for Thanksgiving at my grandparents; I know, it’s lame, but my Dad and my Grandpa are such rabid Browns fans, that if there’s even a hint of them doing well this year and I’m not there to watch that Sunday’s game, I will be disowned.” That comment drew laughter all around. “How about you, Francesca?”

“Home for Thanksgiving for sure; my Mom makes amazing pies,” she answered. “I’ve toyed with the idea of going to Europe for a while; maybe I’ll treat myself to Ireland or England for a few days when all is said and done.”

“England! Now there’s a good idea,” Mike chimed in suddenly. “I was over there once with an ex-girlfriend a few years ago—well, she wasn’t my ex then, but anyway—and there’s this really neat little pub not too far from Buckingham Palace that serves like… the most amazing shepherd’s pie I’ve ever had. I mean, it is so delicious. The beer is top-notch, too, so you definitely can’t go wrong. I think it’s called the Red Coat or the Red Cart… something red, that’s all I can say for certain. Anyway, if you go there, check it out. You won’t regret it.”

Francesca smiled. “Thanks for the tip, Mike.”

He tipped her a salute. “Any time.”

Not long after, the informal gathering began to break up. Once Francesca saw the signs of the night coming to an end, she made it a point not to linger, and as soon as she felt she could, she politely said goodnight and excused herself.

When she was safely away from Havana’s and in her car, she almost broke down on the spot. She hadn’t had that much to drink, and she definitely wasn’t inebriated in the slightest, but the squelch of a wet diaper that she felt more than heard told her that her battle for bladder control wasn’t yet over, and possibly was only just beginning. She didn’t know when she had wet herself, but if the temperature of her diaper was any indication, it had probably happened about halfway through. Was that during the most-funny part of Mike and Patty’s Hunger Games debate? It might have been; it made sense, anyway. What Francesca didn’t trust herself to do on the spot was check to see just how wet she actually was. When she got back to the apartment, however, and the door was safely closed and locked, she dropped her skirt almost immediately to check. While it felt worse than it looked, and probably amounted to the regular amount of liquid evacuated by the average person in one go, the simple fact that she hadn’t permitted it to happen was the most troubling part. “Well, at least I know these diapers won’t betray me,” she muttered grimly, and headed to her bedroom to start getting ready for bed. She held off on a diaper change until she had finished her evening routine, and even then she waited a little longer so she could be sure she was as empty as possible before she bedded down; if possible, she wanted to eliminate the possibility of an overnight accident, and try to start her morning with a dry diaper. Whether or not she went into the shower after a dry diaper was a different story, but at least if she wet herself in a controlled fashion, she could claim that as her victory, and use that as a stepping stone to normalcy.

The problem was getting to that stepping stone, she thought to herself as she finally set about changing into a dry diaper. She needed something, even the smallest glimmer of hope. The idea of going home in diapers, even for faraway Thanksgiving dinner, was almost a nightmare unto itself.

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-22 - Updated 9/15/13

I’m always happy to see another chapter of this story! Thank you! :slight_smile:

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-22 - Updated 9/15/13

love the story. please continue the good work. :-* :stuck_out_tongue: 8) ;D :smiley: :wink:

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-22 - Updated 9/15/13

Chapter Twenty-Three

The following day, Francesca managed to get through her morning routine and her workday without fretting herself to pieces over her need for diapers. She had woken up dry (which had been a relief), but had still ended up wet by lunch, though she consoled herself with the knowledge that she had at least felt it coming before it was all the way too late—while she had been unable to stop the flow, she had at least managed to clamp down on it and hold herself back for a few moments, just to reassure herself that she could indeed manage at least some level of control. It was that instance during the morning that made Francesca wonder if that was what toilet-training was like for toddlers and pre-school children. Had it really been a series of hit-and-miss instances? Francesca almost wished she could remember what it had been like, if only to help herself out of her present circumstance. However, when she considered the thought for a little longer, she realized she was probably better off not remembering; no doubt there had been an obnoxious amount of baby talk from her parents when she had either succeeded or failed.

The rest of her working day was spent in meetings, briefings, and planning sessions for the next phase of the case. The team was set to enter the Caretaker’s House no earlier than Thursday of that week, and that left a full working day of time to continue alternative and parallel methods of investigation. So far, a background check on Eric the Caretaker had yielded nothing out of the ordinary; a financials check indicated stable cash flow, both in and out, and other methods had turned up nothing interesting, either. So far, Eric the Caretaker was a nearly picturesque ‘regular guy’, aside from his secret kink, and those who enjoyed it with him. Even that was in keeping with the ‘regular guy’ lifestyle. Everyone had secrets, after all. The only difference was that some secrets were dangerous, while others, if not most, were generally harmless. Francesca looked over the copies of information that she had been given and frowned in thought while she scrutinized it. Nothing stood out about this guy; nothing at all. Why was that such a problem for the FBI? Why was it such a problem at all? Considering how thoroughly they had gone through this guy’s life, it was a miracle he didn’t have some sort of itching sensation from being watched.

“Something standing out to you, Bowden?” Agent Bates suddenly asked.

Francesca jerked out of her study and looked blankly at Bates for a moment. “Uh—no, sorry. Um… I was just thinking about how… normal this guy is. I mean, sure, he’s got this kink, but who doesn’t have some sort of… y’know, secret?” Francesca managed to ignore the reactions of everyone else in the room. “Yeah, he’s wrapped up in this whole thing in a bad way, but everything we’ve seen so far suggests that he’s clean. Doesn’t mean we won’t see something different on his computer, of course, but even some of the other guys wrapped up in this who are pretty much completely guilty have something a little… ‘off’ about them.”

Thompson spoke up. “That’s a valid observation, Bowden, but I’m glad you finished it the way you did; we just can’t be sure until we follow this thing all the way through. Anything else jumping out at you about the information we’ve gathered so far?”

Francesca shook her head. “No, sir.”

Bates took a turn, next. “How about in personal interaction with him? Has he behaved in any way that would give you that… ‘off’ feeling?”

Francesca thought back, but again had to shake her head. “No, sir, nothing jumped out at me as being ‘off.’ He’s actually pretty boring. I don’t know if that’s a carefully crafted front to hide his ‘evil’ side, or if that’s just how he is, or if he’s just displaying a bland exterior to conceal a past that was a little more reckless than he would care to admit.” Her last comment caused confused looks to blossom around the table. Francesca blushed and then forced herself to explain. “I… dated a couple of guys who had been really heavy into the party scene and made some pretty big mistakes; the stories they told about their past did not at all match up with who they were when I was with them, even when corroborated by their friends. It was almost like they had undergone some sort of strange self-inflicted lobotomy.”

Amusement flickered around the room, but Thompson looked thoughtful. “That’s interesting. Let’s see if we can dig up any old dirt on this guy, see if he was up to no good of some sort before he turned his stripes. Look at social media, anything and everything you can into. We know he doesn’t have a criminal record, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t some sort of colorful history he’s left behind that we can get at. Maybe it’ll help us profile him a little better.” There was agreement all around the table, and the meeting broke up shortly after. Francesca was able to wrap up and head back to the apartment. Annie texted her almost as soon as she walked through her door, inviting her to come over in roughly an hour. Francesca agreed, and then asked if anyone else would be joining, and whether or not she should bring any diapers, to which Annie replied that Sadie had declined and Annie hadn’t been able to reach any of the other girls in time, and that of course she shouldn’t bring diapers, because Annie had a ton. Annie followed up with a message saying that Francesca should come over expecting to be changed right away. Francesca sent back an LOL, and that was the end of it. She went to her bedroom to change her clothes, but decided against a diaper change. If Annie expected her to change when she got there, Francesca didn’t need to burn through any of her dwindling supply. The thought reminded Francesca that she needed to think about a new order of diapers soon, but she decided to put that off for later. Instead, she focused on putting together a small but hasty meal for herself while she relaxed in her diaper and a t-shirt. As she crinkled around her apartment, Francesca decided that she needed to get more diaper shirts and/or onesies to act as lounge wear. Francesca’s diaper wasn’t soaked, but even for as wet as it was, it still sagged enough that she wished she had something under it to hold the bulky padding in place.

When enough time had passed, Francesca put on a pair of lounge pants and headed out of her apartment. She felt a momentary pang of embarrassment at how loud her diaper was, or so it seemed to her, but she pushed it aside and soldiered on. After all, right now she needed them; being ashamed of them wasn’t going to make her diapers go away.

The trip to Annie’s apartment was quick, and Francesca was buzzed in almost the moment she pressed the button. A couple of flights of stairs later, and she was at Annie’s door; Annie greeted her immediately and with great good cheer; it had only been a few days since they had last seen each other, but Annie’s reaction made it seem as though the time had actually been much, much longer. “It’s so good to see you!” she gushed as they embraced.

“It’s good to see you too, but it hasn’t been more than a few days,” Francesca pointed out.

“I know,” Annie said, somewhat sheepishly. “But I like hanging out with you, and you might be the only other ‘normal’ person in our group that I know so far. Some of the new girls from Saturday might be cool, but I haven’t really gotten a chance to feel them out, yet.”

“Gotcha,” Francesca said. “So, how’s your week been so far?” she asked as they moved into the kitchen for drinks.

“Oh man, Monday was a bitch and a half! Thankfully, that was only Monday, and Mondays usually suck.” Francesca smiled. “Huge stacks of projects, communiques to be written and approved and sent out, mass-mailings… ugh! It was the pits. But, we slogged through it, and now that’s done with, and the rest of the week is looking rosy. How about for you?”

“Well, my Monday wasn’t great, either, but like you said; it was Monday. It’s been a reasonable week so far, but unlike your week, mine might get more troublesome as we get closer and closer to the weekend; big project on the burner. Some dweebs in another office didn’t get some data properly filed on one of the reviews we’re doing at this office, so we have to sort through a whole pile of files and numbers, statistics, data, possibly even social media feeds to get it sorted out before we can actually get down to the thing we’re actually supposed to be working on,” Francesca explained, bending the truth as far as she could as often as she could without actually lying, but lying all the same.

“Ouch,” Annie winced. “Don’t you hate it when someone else screws the whole thing up?”

“Totally, but at least it isn’t my fault!” Both women shared a laugh, and then Annie led the way to her living room.

“So, I got my new order of Bellissimos in yesterday,” she announced. “I love those diapers so much, it’s actually really funny.”

“I was surprised at how… thick they were,” Francesca said, thinking back to the weekend.

“Yeah, they’re huge. That’s why I love them so much. I was hoping you could have come over last night so we could break into 'em, but when you couldn’t, I decided I didn’t want to wait.” Annie patted her crotch for emphasis, which crinkled in response.

“I’ve been in the habit of wearing after work and overnight myself,” Francesca spontaneously admitted. “I’ve really been enjoying it, but I’m almost out of Bambino diapers, and I’ve been debating…” Francesca had to pause in order to prevent herself from saying ‘whether’ and covered her pause with a shrug, “what to order. I was going to get some more Teddys and Biancos, but are the Bellissimos really that good?”

“Oh Lord yes!” Annie cried. “If you really want to pretend like you’re an overgrown toddler, this is the diaper. It makes me waddle so much that I feel like a three-year old. It’s great!”

Francesca couldn’t suppress her amusement at Annie’s enthusiasm. “That good, huh?”

Annie nodded. “Totally worth it. In fact, if I had to wear diapers 24/7, I would probably wear these if I could get away with it. They’re a little on the thick side for wearing to work, though… then again, I haven’t tried.”

“If you think you can get away with it, why not give it a shot?” Francesca suggested. “I mean, don’t do anything crazy, of course, but if you thought you could… would you?”

Annie thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know… I mean, maybe. I would definitely think about it, but I don’t know if I would take the plunge and just… jump right in, you know?” Francesca nodded, feeling somewhat ashamed of herself for wearing a diaper that she had actually worn to work while Annie had the luxury of avoiding that requirement. “But hey, like you said. If the situation was right, I think I would probably go for it.” Annie looked pointedly at Francesca before she continued. “And speaking of going for it, I think I remember telling you that you should come over expecting to be changed right away, and unless you’ve been lying to me, I know you aren’t wearing a Bellissimo, and you totally should be. Are you?” Francesca shook her head no. “Well, that settles it, then. You need a diaper change,” Annie stated bluntly, and went to get the changing supplies. Francesca couldn’t help a laugh, and Annie was smiling as she came back with a Bellissimo diaper, wipes, and a changing mat, which she spread over the floor. “Come on over and lie down.”

Francesca complied, but she left her lounge pants on, because she wanted to get the full download of a diaper change rather than assisting with it in any way. Secretly, she had been looking forward to this moment since Annie had texted her, though she wouldn’t have cared what sort of diaper she was being changed into. For her part, Annie wasted no time, and quickly pulled down Francesca’s pants to reveal her wet diaper. “Good thing I’m changing you,” she remarked as she saw how wet Francesca’s diaper was. “Not that you would have been in any danger of leaking, of course,” she went on as she began to rip open the tapes, “but a dry diaper is always more comfortable than a wet diaper,” she finished as she pulled the front of Francesca’s diaper down and grabbed a wipe. Francesca was able to avoid shivering at the cold feel of the wipe, but fortunately Annie was quick about it. Francesca lifted up when asked so Annie could get rid of her wet diaper, and then Francesca was able to watch with quiet amusement as Annie unfolded the flag that was the Bellissimo. She lifted her bottom up again when Annie asked, and moments later Annie was taping the huge diaper closed. “There! Isn’t that better?” Annie asked cheerfully.

“Yes, thank you,” Francesca said as she sat up. “How about you? Do you need to be changed?”

Annie decided to play dumb and shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. Francesca knew at once that they had settled into a sort of role play routine, and she started to pull Annie’s pants down. Annie shrieked a laugh and tipped backwards as Francesca pulled her pants completely off and probed her diaper.

“I think you’re okay for now,” Francesca pronounced after she had checked; indeed, while Annie was a little damp, she was nowhere near wet enough to need a change, not with a Bellissimo on. Annie giggled, but she got back to her feet and disposed of Francesca’s wet diaper. Francesca remained seated on the floor for a few moments while Annie took care of that, basking in the euphoria of what she had experienced. She liked getting her diaper changed. She liked that she didn’t have to feel burdened when it happened; it was something that someone else did for her, and it was a simple act of kindness. It wasn’t anything more or less, it simply was.

The rest of the night wound its merry course, and when Francesca felt it was safe enough to drive home after having a few drinks, she very carefully made her way back to her apartment. Once safely inside, this time without making the dash across the parking lot with her padded bottom on full display, she flopped down onto her bed and almost fell asleep on the spot. Only a mental reminder to go through a few nightly routines that would make her morning far less stressful kept her from passing out on the spot, but even so, it was a near-run thing. As she crinkled noisily through her apartment, Francesca was reminded of another detail; her supply of diapers. The closet, while hardly more bare than it had been before she had left for work that morning, looked somewhat empty regardless, especially after comparing it against the enormous stock that Annie had. Annie had been nice enough to give Francesca a Bellissimo to take home, it was just one diaper. Francesca wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of wearing that particular style to work, anyway. She needed more Biancos, really. Those seemed to do the job very nicely.

However, right on the heels of that thought came another: wasn’t there an adult diaper of similar size and quality that came in a cloth-like backing instead of plastic? Spurred by the notion, Francesca went to her laptop to investigate. She had seen something about that somewhere… ah. Abena? Well, they certainly fit the bill, Francesca thought, and they were expensive enough to match Bambino prices, so they had best be good. Rather than putting it off, Francesca went ahead and ordered a bag of Abenas with a cloth-like shell and on an impulse, a bag of Bellissimos. If Abena could become her work diapers, then she could truly have high quality after-hours diapers without having to worry about running out in case she didn’t get her bladder control all the way back before she actually did run out. Once that was taken care of, she went to bed.

The morning came sooner than she wanted it to, and with it the unpleasant realization that she had probably wet her diaper again overnight at some point. She sighed at that, and then went about fixing a light breakfast before heading to the bathroom. Before she could get to the bathroom, however, she spontaneously plopped down onto the floor and crawled around for a moment, embarrassing herself hugely but also causing a fit of giggles to erupt. Francesca laid flat and rolled onto her back before gently flailing around like a toddler would, a happy smile on her lips. She listened to the stillness of her apartment, the loud crinkling coming from her bottom, and the total lack of condemnation she felt for behaving in such a fashion. She almost started to suck her thumb, but managed to avoid going quite that far only by considering that to be a little too weird.

What she did want, however, was someone to come from another room, look down at her with a face full of love, and then pick her up with great tenderness, carry her to her bedroom, tell her that everything was all right, and change her diaper. Lying there on her apartment’s living room floor, she wanted nothing more than to be taken care of. She wished for it with all her might for a handful of moments, lying as still as possible and not even breathing, but nothing happened. All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat; no footfalls indicating that someone was coming to check on her, no voice calling her name, no atmosphere of love and attention. The silence overwhelmed her at last and she released the breath she had been holding as an explosive sigh while tears rolling down her face. Feeling more alone than ever, she wiped them away and got to her feet to go take a shower. While she washed, she thought to herself that what good was wearing diapers—even needing them—if you had no one to take care of you? What was the big deal? Without that, they were just a really puffy sort of underwear. They had no context or meaning beyond that. It was the element of care, and most importantly, the element of love that was implied or expressed through the giving of that care through changing a diaper that gave them meaning. Without that… they were nothing.
Francesca leaned against the tile wall of the shower while she contemplated that mournful thought as the water ran hot over her skin. Until she could be certain she would be able to get through her normal working day without wetting herself, she needed them. Well, the more accurate statement was that she felt better wearing them than anything else.

After she finished with her shower, she put on a Bianco diaper, dressed for the day, and left for work. Along the way, she wondered what it would be like to let it all go. Could she really bring herself to do that? After the Caretaker case was done, could she really hand in her resignation and just… walk away from her life as she knew it? Would it be worth it? Could she afford it? Where would she go? Certainly she couldn’t stay in this city; she would have to move back home, most likely, maybe even back into her parents’ house. What would she do to keep herself supplied?

An angry car horn from behind startled Francesca out of her wild train of thought; she refocused and realized she had been sitting at a stoplight that had turned green and was now holding up traffic. Quickly, she got moving again, but had to stomach a few angry gestures from other commuters as they made haste to get past her. Francesca decided to avoid such thoughts for the remainder of her drive into work; she just hoped she could get through the day without wanting to go looking for a life that probably did not exist in the fashion she needed it to.

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Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-23 - Updated 11/28/13

Chapter Twenty-Four

“So, we’ve had some bad luck, team,” Bates was saying during a morning briefing, his frustration evident. “A water main burst across town, and it’s an ‘all hands on deck’ situation for the city. They can’t spare us any vehicles for our cover.”

“Do you think we’ll lose more than a day?” someone asked, referencing the crucial issue of time.

Bates huffed out a breath. “I hope not. But, we have to prepare for the worst,” he acknowledged. “Bowden,” he called down the table. She looked up at him expectantly. “What are the chances that there will be an opportunity to get into his place this weekend if we can’t get in tomorrow?”

Francesca took a moment to think about it. “Probably not good,” she acknowledged. “The last two weekends were apparently out of the ordinary; I think he likes one of the… players… a lot, so he made an exception, and this past weekend felt like it was more of the structured, routine occurrence I was expecting.”

Bates made a face, but Thompson chose that moment to speak up. “If the opportunity were to present itself, do you think you could get access to his computer the next time you’re in his house?”

Francesca thought about it for a moment. “It’s possible, but I’d need either one hell of an opening or a really good reason to get at it, like, as if he wasn’t even worried about what I was doing in there. He keeps a pretty tight lid on his office.”

“That really paints a suspicious picture,” Bates pointed out.

“Agreed, but there are a number of reasons he could be doing that, some of which could be criminal in the way we’re looking at him, criminal in some other way, or just a guy who doesn’t want a bunch of random women loading his computer up with spyware by going coupon-hunting online.” Francesca’s comment got a few smiles and a choked-off snicker from around the table, and even Bates unbent enough to see the humor.

“All right, so it’s a long shot,” he said, still unhappy.

“It is. But… it’s not outside the realm of possibility. If we need some sort of backup plan, I can try to think something up on the fly that’ll let me get a USB drive plugged into his system,” Francesca suggested.

Powell, one of the tech guys, spoke up then. “We can configure a small USB drive that Agent Bowden could smuggle in on her person and can self-start once plugged into the system and run in the background without bringing any notices or windows to the front. Ideally, we would let this drive copy most of the data on his system, but the best we can hope for in this situation is for this drive to open a backdoor for us to look at his system directory and all files and documents on the computer remotely, and also conduct data dumps during periods of non-use.”

Bates looked encouraged. “It’s not what we hoped to do, but I think it’s worth it to set it up.”

Thompson was nodding. “Agreed. Powell, get on that drive. Bowden, think up some excuses.” He looked around the room briefly. “This was some nice planning, people. I know today wasn’t the way we wanted to go about this, but not everything goes our way. This is a good backup, but let’s hope tomorrow we can get in and get this done. Let’s get back to it.”

The meeting broke up, and aside from a few moments of brief chatter between a couple of agents and Powell briefly talking to Francesca about the size of the drive she thought she could get in unnoticed—to which she responded the smaller the better—the individual agents returned to their departments and desks. Aside from a call from Powell to come by his desk later that afternoon to look at the drive and go over some details, Francesca’s workday returned to a more routine flow. She tidied up paperwork, organized her notes on the Caretaker Case and added details to them where pertinent, and had a very pleasant lunch at a nearby salad bar before dropping by her apartment for a diaper change. When she returned to the office, the afternoon passed by with a great deal of mundane work, and against all reason it made Francesca happy. She felt her stress and angst over the case bleed away for a little bit, and she even worried less about her own situation and found it to be a refreshing change of pace. Even stopping by Powell’s desk later that afternoon was a pleasant experience.
Powell had that same sort of professional gravity that Bates carried, and Francesca was glad that he didn’t ask any questions that might have been hard for her to answer. He walked her through the extremely simple procedure for getting the drive to do its thing (“you just plug it into an open USB port and it does the rest. No muss, no fuss. All it needs is about ten seconds.”) and told her he’d have a smaller one ready for her the next day, one small enough to be easily concealed in a small space. Francesca thanked him and returned to her desk to finish her work for the day.

Closer to the end of the work day, Bart Clayton dropped by Francesca’s desk for a chat. “Keeping busy?” he asked congenially.

Francesca nodded and gave him a small smile. “Busy is as busy does. Good thing, too; some of this… inactivity on this case is enough to drive me crazy, so I guess it’s good to have other work on my plate.”

Bart nodded. “Yeah, sometimes the big ticket item is going nowhere and people are just twiddling their thumbs and practicing their paper wad three-pointers.”

Francesca snickered. “I wish I had that kind of time.”

“I wish I could hit the basket,” Bart joked, and both of them laughed.

“Well, take comfort in the fact that you aren’t the only one,” Francesca admitted. “I can hardly drop a paper wad into the basket walking right past it, sometimes.”

“Ah well, nobody’s perfect, right?”

“Very true,” Francesca agreed, wondering where Bart was going with the conversation.

“So, a few of us were thinking about getting together tonight to watch the football game downtown. You interested?” Bart asked, finally getting to the point.

“That does sound like fun, but I’m going to pass,” Francesca said after a moment of thought. “I mean, thank you for inviting me, but I was going to connect with my C.I. and find out whether or not there’s a chance of getting into the Caretaker’s House this weekend in case tomorrow doesn’t pan out.”

If Bart was dismayed by Francesca’s choice he covered it well. “Well, that sucks that you’re not free tonight, but hey, we all have to take one or two for the team sometimes, right? There’s always another game, too,” he said, and then he bade Francesca a good afternoon and walked away, though Francesca couldn’t help but feel a little awkwardness from Bart in the abrupt end to their conversation. For her part, Francesca felt a pang of guilt over letting him down, but she reminded herself that she was a temporary agent in this office, and that inter-office fraternization wasn’t exactly a good idea. Besides, she really did need to connect with Annie and see if there was a chance of getting into the Caretaker’s House in case they couldn’t get in before the weekend.

As luck would have it, the next time Francesca looked at her phone, she saw she had a text from Annie inviting her out that evening. Francesca agreed, and then later got a follow-up text telling her that a few others would be joining them; Jane and Jenny, both of whom had been at the Caretaker’s House that Saturday. Francesca found herself looking forward to the evening. She had a fond memory of Jane as being level-headed and easy to talk to and get along with. Jenny she remembered as a delicate, almost fragile person, who seemed to need care for real instead of for play, but in spite of that, Francesca was looking forward to seeing them both.

They were meeting that evening at a small restaurant. Francesca had plenty of time to go back to her apartment, change her diaper and her outfit, and then head out to meet her friends. When she got there, she found Jane waiting and she greeted her warmly. Jenny arrived a few minutes later, and Annie brought up the rear. The four women amiably chatted outside for another minute before going inside to get a table and order drinks. Francesca was relieved to see that outside of the Caretaker’s House, Jenny was almost a completely different person. She seemed sure of herself and collected, not the damaged, flighty little thing that she had met over the weekend. Jane just seemed like she was always cool.

“I’m so glad you guys could come out tonight,” Annie gushed. “I haven’t had this much fun so often in a long time.”

“Yeah, this is really cool,” Jane agreed. “It’s such a great bonus that we can be friends outside the play.”

“I’m just glad to have friends,” Jenny said suddenly, earning surprised glances from the others around the table. Embarrassed, she explained. “I mean, I haven’t been in the city that long, so I haven’t made a lot of friends, yet, so… I’m really glad you guys have accepted me.”

Jane embraced Jenny around her shoulders. “Aww, aren’t you just the cutest thing! Of course we accept you, because you’re just as crazy as the rest of us!” Jenny blushed, but smiled. Jane released her and straightened herself out in her seat.

“I know how you feel, Jenny,” Francesca put in. “I’ve only been here a few weeks, and already I feel like Annie’s my sister.”

“Thanks, Frankie!” Annie responded. The waiter came by with their drink orders, they put in an appetizer order, and the conversation wandered from topic to topic. Francesca learned that Jenny had come to the city hoping for a brighter future with better work opportunities, but was very surprised to find out that Jane worked in child care.

“Oh yeah, it’s great. I’m working towards my certification as a pre-school teacher, and aside from the personal benefit I get while behaving like a child is learning how I would want to be treated if I was that age again. So, when I get changed or fed or I pick up a coloring book, I want that experience to be exactly what it needs to be, and I try to give that same thing back to the kids I take care of,” she explained.

“Wow,” Jenny breathed. “That’s… actually really amazing.”

Jane looked embarrassed, but said, “thank you.”

Annie agreed. “Yeah, that’s really, really cool. If I had kids, I’d want them to be in your class.”

“Stop it, I’m going to cry,” Jane demanded, now thoroughly flustered with the praise she was receiving.

“Are there… any job openings where you work?” Jenny asked tentatively.

Jane snapped out of her embarrassment after a moment to answer. “Well… actually, yes, there are. Can I have your number? I’ll text you some info on the place and see if I can set you up for an interview. You’ll have to do some training if you get hired, but I think you’d have a shot.”

Francesca found that to be interesting, but as she scrutinized Jenny’s attitude towards the opportunity as she exchanged numbers with Jane, she figured it could only be a help instead of a hindrance to the girl. Besides, she might have a real Midas touch for the position, Francesca thought, just like Jane probably did. She hoped that Jenny was able to get the position and that she excelled at it. Giving back to children might just be a way for her to finish recovering from her own abusive ordeal at the hands of that mommy character who had so traumatized Annie. Francesca hoped that she could put that person away one day.

“So, what are you guys’ plans for the weekend?” Annie suddenly asked. Francesca had to snap out of her train of thought at the question, but felt a surge of hope when it was asked. Francesca was hoping that the Caretaker was going to be hosting another event, and if anyone would have the inside track on that scoop, it would be Annie.

“Um, nothing definitive yet,” Jane answered. “Do you have something up?”

“Yeah, I was thinking about having another sleep-over,” Annie said, dashing Francesca’s hopes. “Last week, I had Frankie and Sadie over and we had a blast! I actually… sort of want to do that more often.”

“What did you guys do?” Jenny asked.

Annie giggled. “Well, we gave each other manicures and tried to mix drinks with wet nails, and eventually got pretty drunk.”

Jane giggled as well. “That sounds like it was fun. I’m up for it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jenny piped up.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Francesca added. “Will Sadie be there?”

“I hope so, but she might have to work, which sucks,” Annie explained, making a face.

“Well, here’s hoping that she can make it,” Francesca said as their appetizer order arrived. Plans were floated for that Friday evening, and Francesca turned her mind away from the Caretaker’s House with force. She couldn’t let a minor setback to the case get her down. She needed to get back into the Caretaker’s House, yes, but she had to remember that it wasn’t all on her shoulders to get the case solved. She was playing a role, and she had to stick to it. Losing her perspective now would only make things worse, and could have catastrophic repercussions.

As they talked about the plans for the sleepover at Annie’s, the round robin rules were explained to Jane and Jenny, who agreed even though Jenny looked a little nervous at the prospect. Francesca decided she would make it a point to be the one to take care of Jenny if her nervousness really began to increase, or to at least talk to her about it before the party got started. She hoped that Jenny would enjoy herself, and it really seemed that Jane was excited about the whole thing as well. Francesca was also looking forward to it, because she was glad that someone else would be changing her diapers again. Whatever previously existent objections in her mind could barely push through to the forefront of her thoughts. Unbeknownst to Francesca, she was slipping deeper and deeper into a lifestyle of diapers that had the potential to unravel the foundations of her life if she wasn’t careful. Deep within herself, Francesca knew this, but at that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She wanted the attention. She wanted the care. She wanted to be something she wasn’t, and could never be again. Francesca also knew, in that same deep part within her, that one day she would have to make a very hard decision about whether or not she was going to stay in diapers, or leave them behind for the second, and probably final, time in her life.

For the moment, however, she couldn’t worry about that decision: first she had to worry about whether or not she was actually going to medically need diapers. Thinking about being changed prompted Francesca to surreptitiously check to see whether or not she was due for a change. Satisfied that she was okay for the moment, Francesca returned her attention to the conversation, just as Jenny was asking a question. “So, do we… like, need to bring anything?”

Annie shrugged. “Not unless you want to. I mean, bringing drinks or snacks is always a win, but I was thinking about ordering a pizza or two and just going with whatever else I have, which actually is quite a bit. I’m also pretty stocked on booze, so unless there’s something you really like to drink, we should be okay on that, too.”

Jenny looked down at the table, thoroughly embarrassed. “No, I mean… um… diapers.”

“Oh, is there a kind you like the best?” Annie asked.

“Well,” Jenny began, looking flustered. “I mean, I like baby diapers…”

Annie waved dismissively. “Don’t sweat it. I have all kinds. You can wear whatever you want. I’m just glad to have people over to have fun with, so I don’t mind providing the changing supplies.”

“Yeah, Annie’s stash is pretty epic,” Francesca added. “You don’t have to worry about bringing any if you don’t want to.”

“Well, that’s a relief, because I’m basically out,” Jane admitted.

Annie smiled. “I’ve got you covered.”

“Literally and figuratively!” Francesca put in, unable to pass up the weak but open pun. All four women shared a brief laugh over it anyway, and a little while later, the party broke up.

When Francesca returned to her apartment, she shrugged out of most of her clothes and started going through her nightly ritual, but instead of waiting until she was ready for bed to change into her overnight diaper (one of her dwindling stock of Bambino Teddys), she changed into an ABU Cushie and crawled around her apartment for a little while, similar to how she had behaved that morning. She pretended that someone was there to take care of her and pay attention to her, and she let her mind wander through various fantasies while she lay on the carpet. In one of her fantasies, a loving but faceless giant came to pick her up and carry her to her bedroom. However, instead of it being the bland, featureless bedroom she normally slept in, it was set up as a nursery. The bed was a crib and the dresser had a changing surface on top. Francesca realized that her diaper was wet and she needed to be changed anyway, but she simply ignored that fact and let the fantasy run its course… except that it ended there, and her imaginary world swam away to be replaced by what she now considered to be a drab reality. The one constant, however, was her wet diaper. With a sigh, Francesca crinkled her way to her bedroom, pausing long enough to get a fresh diaper.

While she changed, she imagined herself being taken care of by the Caretaker, again; even though she had been terrified at the time, she wanted someone to do this for her. However, that was not to be, and so she taped herself up with a sigh and finished preparing for bed, glad that the day was done with so that tomorrow, and it’s many possible promises, would come that much sooner. More to the point, she just wanted to get through the day as quickly as possible so she could go have fun with Annie and the girls that night, and be able to realize at least some of her desires. She just hoped that there wouldn’t be any surprises at the office that would derail her plans for the evening, and she drifted off to sleep with that unhappy thought lurking in the back of her mind.

1 Like

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-24 - Updated 12/29/13

I’ve been lurking and not commenting on this story for a little while now, so I think I’m long overdue to say; Incredible story!

I’ll admit, I wasn’t hooked by the first couple chapters when you first started the story, but I’ve since given it another shot and now I’m sold. Each chapter just gets better and better. The pacing of the story, the vocabulary, and the content are all fantastic. I’m sure I’ll be on the edge of my seat as we get closer and closer to the end and learn if the Caretaker is innocent or guilty, as well as what Francesca will do with the lifestyle.

Thanks for continuing this story for the community! As always, I’ll be looking forward to the next chapter!

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-24 - Updated 12/29/13

This is a fantastic story and I’m eagerly hoping you’ll find the time and inspiration to continue it soon :slight_smile:

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-24 - Updated 12/29/13

This is one of my favorite stories. When I first started reading it, I was interested in finding out about whether the Caretaker was innocent or not and about the ins and outs of the investigation, but as the story continued, I started to enjoy Francesca’s interaction with the other diaper girls, and the development of their friendship, and of Fran’s growing enjoyment of the diapers.

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-24 - Updated 12/29/13

Chapter Twenty-Five

“We have a green light to go in,” The voice of Agent Jim Bates said over the conference phone line with ill-concealed excitement. Francesca hadn’t even woken up that morning before Bart Clayton was calling her to tell her that things were moving quickly. Francesca had rushed through her morning preparations in order to get to the office as quickly as possible to be part of the big move.

Thompson was there as well, acting as the quarterback for the entire effort. “Do we have a handle on the Caretaker’s movements?” he asked.

“On-scene crew reports that the Caretaker has not yet left his residence, but if he holds to his pattern, he should be leaving within the next half-hour,” Powell reported over the line.

Thompson nodded. “Okay. Bates, do you have your guys doing their walk-throughs up and down the street?”

“They’re gearing up, now. They should be on the way in less than five minutes.”

Thompson nodded again, slowly. “Alright. This is the big show, people. Let’s get this done, but let’s get this done right. If we mess this up, we may not get another chance.”

“Copy that; we’re going to get it done,” Bates answered confidently. Thompson looked troubled for a moment, but he said nothing.

Francesca’s nervousness had been slowly increasing all morning; now it was reaching a fever pitch. She had knots in her stomach and ice in her veins, but she worked hard to keep her outward cool. She had to. If Bates needed a last-minute question answered, she had to be on the ball. To calm herself and maintain her focus, Francesca reviewed her notes from the case so far, just to remind herself of what the Caretaker’s House was like, what furniture was where, and any other salient details that she could pull to the front of her consciousness just in case they were needed. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they waited, but then suddenly everything kicked into high gear.

“Elvis has left the building,” Powell said suddenly. In spite of herself, Francesca laughed, and then quickly smothered it as almost everyone else in the room turned surprised looks her way.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “That was just… really funny,” she whispered. Thompson grunted and shook his head, and the rest of the room went back to their tasks, but less tense; surprise or not, the laugh attack had served one necessary, though unacknowledged purpose. Francesca remained smiling for several moments after, even though the obnoxious phrase that Bates had used really signified that the Caretaker had left his House, and now Lewis and Davis could make their soft entry.

“We’re on a casual ten-minute countdown to entry,” Bates reported.

“According to our information, there is no active alarm on-site,” Powell added. “We should have no trouble getting past the door lock, either.”

As the humor of the moment wore off, the nervousness returned. For better or for worse, one way or another, at some point in the next several hours Francesca would know if the Caretaker, Eric, was going to end up in prison. She would also find out that her friends Annie, Sadie, Jane, and Jenny were going to be dealt horrific personal blows when the arrest inevitably became public knowledge. There was no way that part could be kept quiet. Those things became public record as soon as they happened, essentially, first when the neighbors commented on it and told the story, and then when the police blotter in the local papers was released. Francesca hoped against hope that she wouldn’t have to be part of breaking their hearts. Francesca hoped against hope that the Caretaker was clean. Not only would it make her life so much easier, but so many people wouldn’t have to be hurt.

“We’re going in,” Davis reported, speaking in a whisper, snapping Francesca out of her reverie. Now it was real. This was it. Her heart pounded in her ears as she stared down the phone, waiting for the next report to come through. “Successful entry. No alarms. House is quiet.” And then there was silence for moments that felt like minutes as the two men worked their way through the Caretaker’s House quickly and quietly. They went straight for his office and started their work. “We have computer access… simple password protection. We’re avoiding log-in and executing a drive copy.”

“Estimate ten minutes for copy completion,” another voice whispered; Francesca assumed it was Lewis. There was another period of protracted silence, and the minutes dragged by. Francesca went back to her notes, very studiously ignoring the conference room’s phone.

And then suddenly, that was the moment that everything changed.

“We hear movement,” Davis reported. Surprise radiated around the conference room.

Bates made a choking noise as shocked looks appeared on everyone’s faces. “Movement? Can you confirm?”

A single pop came over the line, and then nothing. “Davis and Lewis, report status.”

Another pop, followed after a few moments by second one. Now, the surprise was giving way to puzzlement and concern.

“Are… you communicating by tapping your microphones?” Bates asked.

Pop.

“Are you in immediate danger?”

Pop-pop.

“One pop means affirmative, two pops means negative?” Thompson asked, which earned him a pop. “Have you been spotted?” Two pops. Thompson heaved out a breath. “Okay, guys, be ready for a mad dash. If you have to, pull the drive and go. We’ll sift whatever you get and work up a second plan.” Thompson glared around the room. “I need options, people. Let’s work up a plan to get our people out of there, unnoticed if possible.”

It was a hopeless effort, of course; everyone knew it. There was no possible way that those two agents could get out of the house without being seen… or could they?

Francesca’s mind was racing. Who could it be? Who could still be at the Caretaker’s House?! What did this mean? Who… Sadie. It had to be Sadie! Francesca’s suspicions of a romantic relationship with Eric the Caretaker were now confirmed. She looked around the room, and seeing that no one else had any immediate input, she spoke up. “Do you guys hear… crinkling or crackling, like a plastic bag, or rustling of sheets?”

There was a long period of silence, followed by a sudden pop. Thompson was looking at Francesca intently. “Bowden, what have you got?”

“I think it’s Sadie, sir,” Francesca responded. “I was wondering if she was… romantically involved with the Caretaker. She’s one of the women who participates in his role play sessions. It’s possible she could be in his bedroom, and if she’s just waking up she’s… um…” Francesca flushed pink. “She’s probably going to go to the nursery. That might give the men the opening they need to make their exit.”

“Bowden, are you certain of that?” Bates asked over the line. Francesca could appreciate Bates’ concern; he had two men in the house with an unknown presence, and things were going to get very awkward very fast if they were discovered. Right that very moment, they were looking at a huge lead being completely denied to them, not to mention potentially crucial evidence.

“Bates, if I’m completely honest, no, I am not certain of that. However, I think that is what’s most likely to happen,” she responded.

Thompson grimaced. “Lewis, Davis, do you guys still hear movement?” A single pop came back. “Did you hear what Agent Bowden said was the most likely scenario?” Another pop. “Alright, then. When this person moves, be ready to cut and run as quickly and quietly as you can.” Thompson looked sharply at Bowden. “How close is the nursery to the front door?”

“Fairly close, but I think Sadie, if it is Sadie, will be occupied in the nursery long enough for the men to exit, and I also believe that she will be facing away from them.”

Thompson just stared at her, but Bates was the one who asked the important question. “How in the world can you be sure of that?” he demanded.

Francesca breathed out to calm herself. This was it. “Because I believe she’ll be in the middle of a diaper change,” she answered.

Silence reigned.

“Are you kidding me?” Bates finally asked.

“No,” Francesca said. “If it is Sadie, she’s probably engaged in some sort of special role play with the Caretaker, and that means that she’s likely going to be wearing a diaper, and that also means that… she will likely have used that diaper as well. The process of changing with those diapers is extremely loud; it should cover the noise of Davis and Lewis exiting.”

Three pops came over the line suddenly, and everyone turned their attention back to the phone line, instantly cutting the conversation.

“I am receiving text messages from the men inside,” Powell reported. “They report they hear movement consistent with someone getting out of bed. Now they hear footsteps. A door opening… and someone walking down the hall. They heard a lot of crinkling and crackling that resembled the sound of a plastic bag.” Thompson looked at Francesca and gave her a nod, and Francesca knew she was the subject of a lot of scrutiny in the room. She smiled back at him, but everyone knew they weren’t out of the woods yet. “They remain unobserved, and they’re making their exit.”

Francesca could swear that she heard the familiar sounds of a diaper being opened, and surmised that the two men were just now walking past the nursery. They were almost there. Silence again, and then background noise increased. Francesca thought she heard… a car engine?

“We have successful exit,” Davis reported. “Agent Bowden called it perfectly. One female, crazy hair job, and she was in the nursery with her back to us.”

“How the hell did you know that would happen just like that, Bowden?” Bates asked, incredulous.

“Because that’s how the Caretaker changes her,” Francesca answered. “I’ve… seen him do it.” She felt embarrassment again, but she fought through it.

“We also managed a successful drive copy. We’re about to hand the drive over to Powell for tagging,” Lewis reported.

Thompson raised a fist slightly in a gesture of victory. “Damn fine work. Everyone. This was damn fine work. Bowden, that was a hell of a call. Bates, get you and your men back here and let’s get cracking on putting this thing to bed.”

Francesca sat back in her chair and relaxed for a moment. The conference line was closed and one by one the different people in the room began to return to their desks. Francesca was among the first to leave, and she sat down at her desk with visible relief. The first part was over. It had been so close, but now it was over. Why hadn’t anyone known that Sadie was there? Francesca pondered over that question for several moments. Could she have been picked up and brought back by Eric himself? It was the most probable scenario. Either way, right that moment it didn’t matter, because she hadn’t seen the two FBI agents, and everything had worked out, at least as far as they had copied the Caretaker’s computer drive. That didn’t mean anything in and of itself, however. The contents of the drive still had to be investigated and searched. They weren’t out of the woods, yet.

By the time the field team returned to the office, it was nearly lunch time, and Francesca was looking forward to a diaper change of her own. The team went straight to the lab to begin sifting through the drive contents, and Francesca decided at that moment she couldn’t stand it; she had to get away for a little while. She stood up with her purse and started walking towards the elevator when Bates caught up with her. “Hey, Bowden,” he called to forestall her. She turned to look at him. “I just wanted to say… that was amazing. You probably saved my guys right there. I wanted to thank you in person, because that…” he blew out a breath. “That was huge. I mean, you called it right down the middle, as if you were there.” Bates suddenly realized he was being overly effusive, and Francesca wasn’t able to do anything other than look at her feet and smile in complete embarrassment. “Anyway, thank you. You probably just saved this whole case.”

“I… I don’t know what to say, but, um… you’re welcome,” she replied. Bates gave her a nod and his own smile, and turned away to get back to work. Francesca relaxed and completed her exit of the building.

When she got back to her apartment complex, she was happy to see that her new order of diapers had come in, and she collected the large and somewhat heavy package and brought it into her apartment immediately. When she opened the box, she pulled out the previously-unfamiliar bag of Abenas and hastily opened it to reveal a neat row of folded white diapers with striping in the middle and a cloth-like outer shell that Francesca was looking forward to experiencing. She took one out and and unfolded it to examine it in greater detail, and then with a smile she went to her bedroom to change.

Francesca’s first experience with the Abena was to realize the similarities between it and a Bambino, but that first impression was quickly replaced as the stronger differences manifested. The first thing she noticed was how quiet it was by comparison; certainly it rustled and crinkled, but not nearly to the same extent as the plastic-shelled Bambino. The cloth-like shell was softer against her skin, and the two-stage tape was a new experience, but its function simple enough. When she had finished changing and stood up in her first Abena diaper, Francesca felt almost completely different. When she went to the bathroom to look at her reflection in the mirror, Francesca couldn’t help but smile. That was more like it, she thought to herself. This was a diaper meant for adults, people who wanted to control a problem instead of indulging in it. It was amazing what a difference the structure of the garment made. To Francesca, the Bambino diapers would always be associated with her age play indulgence, regardless of their outside style, but the Abenas… those she would associate with adulthood, practicality, and forward thinking. These were not diapers for the age player, no; these were diapers for people who had lives to lead and goals to accomplish. Francesca felt far less impeded wearing it than she had while wearing Bambinos or Cushies, and she was surprised to realize that she had felt restrained, perhaps even trapped, by the more infantile diapers. Yes, these would do nicely, she thought to herself. They looked sharp and professional. They were just the sort of thing Francesca needed, at least until she could be sure of her bladder control once again, she reminded herself.

When Francesca got back to the office after lunch, she found an email waiting for her from Thompson asking her to come to his office when she got back from lunch. Not wasting any time, she went to see him immediately. “You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked, knocking on his door.

“Yeah, Bowden, come in,” he invited from his desk, and he pulled away from his computer monitor to face her as Francesca seated herself in one of the chairs opposite him. “I wanted to congratulate you on making that call during the raid, if we can even call it that. Your intel was spot on, and everything looks like it went off without a hitch. That’s damn fine work. That’s also the sort of quick judgment based on credible information and observation that takes people places.” He paused for a moment while Francesca tried her best not to be embarrassed at the praise, and in that moment Thompson’s demeanor changed. “Now, you and I both know that this could get real ugly if we find what we hope not to find in his computer files. Agent Bowden, I have to ask you seriously: are you prepared for the worst case?” he asked, in a much more gentle tone than Francesca was used to hearing him speak in.

Sensing the gravity of the situation, Francesca waited a moment before she responded. “Well… if I’m honest, sir, no, I’m not. It’s going to be… hard to have to deal with those women if we have to arrest him. I’m going to feel like I betrayed them all.”

Thompson nodded. “I know how you feel, and it’s not going to be easy. The flipside of all this is that we also have to talk to each of these women, interview them, because we will need to get their feedback on the Caretaker to build a complete profile. There won’t be any way to hide you during that, because you’ll be needed to bridge gaps, judge their reactions to questions, parse their statements for inaccuracies, all that jazz. It could be really tough, Bowden, and I mean drink-yourself-to-sleep tough, and I’m telling you all this not because I want to scare you, but because I want you to be ready for it, and I also want you to be get help if you start going off the deep end. Okay?”

Francesca had steadily shrunk into her chair as Thompson had spoken, and she suddenly felt very small, as if her work clothes were just a costume and her real existence was just an overgrown child. “Yes, sir. Thank you for giving me that… head’s up. Um… I really hope I don’t have to go through any of that.” Francesca felt haunted. “I’ve gotten really close with my primary contact, Annie. She’s a friend. I love her to death, and I really don’t want to see her hurt.”

Thompson nodded slowly. “In the end, as terrible as it sounds, it will be better for them to break it to them now, rather than letting it fester. If this guy is dirty, and he suddenly decides that what he’s doing isn’t good enough, then that means he could put real lives in real danger. But, I will say this, Bowden. I want your guy to be innocent. I want all of them to be. But we have a duty.”

Francesca nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand you perfectly.”

Thompson studied Francesca for a moment, and then he nodded. “I’m glad you do. Thanks for coming by,” he said, and Francesca picked up on the dismissal and quietly left. On the way back to her desk and while she was trying to order her thoughts, she saw Bates, Lewis, Powell, and Davis walking the other way through another row of cubicles. Their expressions were dark and troubled, and Francesca immediately began to fear the worst. They were headed to Thompson’s office, and she knew that one way or another, the day was about to take a seriously bad turn.

Re: The Caretaker’s House -Chapters 1-25 - Updated 1/19/14

Great chapter. I’m breathless with anticipation waiting for the next installment.