Most of the students of Chesterton High considered it a fluke that the three most popular girls in school-- Veronica Marshal, Amanda Wilson and Rebecca Barns-- were born in tandem over three consecutive nights in June 18 years before. Their parents often joked that the girls had been friends since the maternity ward, and it was only a slight exaggeration.
Only a small minority of students attributed this coincidence to the work of Satan, and of that minority, only a few discussed the possibility openly.
Spending any extended periods of time with Veronica, Amanda, and Rebecca, and it was easy to see how they could come to this conclusion…
The party was going even better than they’d predicted.
It was a warm afternoon near the beginning of summer, and the garden of the Wilson’s palatial home was bustling with activity. The girls watched smugly; absolutely everyone in town worth knowing was here to bow and scrape to them on their birthdays. Their families had spared no expense, the caterer had lain out a truly magnificent spread and at the far side of the yard, a large table had been piled high with presents.
“Did you see Marcie Benet?” Veronica began casually.
“I know; that dress looks like a garbage bag with spaghetti straps,” said Amanda, making her friends laugh.
“Veronica, do you think I could open my presents first this year?” Rebecca asked sweetly.
“God, Rebecca,” Veronica growled, “did someone slip an extra chromosome into your cappuccino this morning? I was born first, today is my birthday, so I get to open presents first. It’s only fair.”
“Well,” Amanda began, “It’s my house, so technically I think I should be allowed to go first.”
Veronica shot her a withering glare. “But it’s my birthday!”
“So? It’ll be my birthday tomorrow!”
“Maybe we could take turns?” Rebecca suggested meekly.
“SHUT UP!” Veronica and Amanda roared in unison, making Rebecca cringe.
They locked eyes, neither one wanting to back down. The air went still, and Rebecca was sure that it was only a matter of time before someone got slapped.
“Amanda!” Mrs. Wilson called across the garden, “would you come in here, please?”
“Moth-ER!” the girl huffed back, “can’t you see I’m talking with my friends?!”
“Oh, I’m sorry honey,” her mother apologized, “it’s just that I’ve got something special for your birthday, and I wanted to give it to you before the party gets into full swing.”
Amanda rolled her eyes to her friends. “This had better be good,” she grumbled, stomping her way over to the back-door after her mother. Veronica and Rebecca watched Amanda disappear inside and close the door behind her.
Nearly half an hour passed. “Where is she?” Veronica huffed impatiently, checking her watch. “Think maybe she stopped by the bathroom to purge before she came back?”
Rebecca giggled. “The way she was pigging out on that cake, it wouldn’t surprise me. “
They chatted amongst themselves, occasionally accepting a “happy birthday,” and some complements on their appearance from the other guests, which they accepted with their usual self-satisfied, self-important attitude. Nearly 45 minutes had passed before they realized Amanda hadn’t come back yet.
“What’s taking her so long?” Veronica huffed. “I wanna open presents already!”
Veronica and Rebecca spun to face the back door. Their mothers stood on either side of the frame. “Come inside for a minute, girls,” Mrs. Barns beckoned, “we want to give you our presents first.”
“About time,” Rebecca huffed. “I thought we were never going to get to the good stuff.”
They followed their mothers into the kitchen. On the table sat two glasses of champagne. Veronica crossed her arms and huffed. “God, mom, I thought you said there’d be presents! Where are the presents? And what happened to Amanda, anyway?”
Her mother smiled. “Never mind that right now, dear,” said Mrs. Marshal. “Here; have a drink before you open your presents. You’re only 18 once.”
Rebecca took the glass from her mother. “Down the hatch, honey,” she said sweetly.
Watching their daughters swig down the liquid, the older women exchanged a pair of knowing smiles. “Now,” said Mrs. Barns, setting the glasses aside. “Let’s go get those presents.”
The girls followed their mothers down a long hallway, each imagining what extravagant gift their wealthy families would lavish on them this year. When they got to the end of the hall, Mrs. Marshal opened a door. “Go on inside, girls; Amanda is waiting for you.” Veronica and Rebecca went inside, followed by their moms, who closed the door behind them.
Everything was pink.
The entire room had been decorated in the color of strawberry cotton-candy. The floor was strewn with stuffed animals, building blocks, baby rattles and other assorted toys. On the far side of the room stood a crib, far too large for any normal baby. Across from that, a trio of massage tables lined the far wall.
But that wasn’t what caught Veronica and Rebecca’s attention.
In the center of the room, Amanda Wilson, their best friend since childhood, one of the most popular girls in school, cheerleader and treasurer of the fashion club, sat strapped into an oversized highchair. The 18 year old girl chortled and squealed like a happy baby as her mother fed her oatmeal from a steaming bowl. Much of the mush overfilled her mouth, smeared her face, and dripped down her front. The girl was nude, her tight, athletic body almost entirely exposed in the warm afternoon air, except a tiny bib which left most of her firm breasts exposed, and a massive, bulky cloth diaper covered by plastic pants that crinkled loudly with her every move.
Veronica and Rebecca could only stare in stunned silence as Mrs. Wilson brought another heaping spoonful of oatmeal to Amanda’s mouth. “Open wide sweetie. That’s it—we’re almost done—good girl!” she sang as Amanda opened her mouth widely to let the spoon in. She smacked her lips as she chewed, grinning widely as her mother praised her. Mrs. Wilson scooped the remaining oatmeal into one final, heaping spoonful. “C’mon, baby; one more. Open up for nummy-nums.” Amanda took the warm mush into her mouth, oatmeal filling her cheeks like a chipmunk and overflowing her lips, dripping off her chin and plopping against her breasts or bare tummy. “Good girl! All gones!” Mrs. Wilson praised her daughter, beaming proudly and holding up the empty bowl for Amanda to see. “Did you like your din-din, precious?”
Amanda responded with a loud, uninhibited belch. The mothers laughed.
“That sounds like a hearty yes!” Mrs. Barns giggled.
Mrs. Wilson removed the tray from the high-chair and helped her daughter down. The girl seemed unsteady, and her legs wobbled as though unused to her own weight, but soon she stood in front of her two best friends and their mothers, resplendent in her big, bulky diaper. Rebecca regarded the scene before her in silent horror, unable to believe what she was seeing. She could sense that something was very wrong.
Veronica, however, did not share her intuition. The sight of her friend in diapers was too much for her. That she and Amanda were supposed to be best friends wouldn’t stop her from recounting this embarrassing incident to the whole school.
“Oh my God!” she howled. “This is just too much! Where’s the camera? I’ve gotta get this up on my Facebook page. Chic diaper, Mandy,” she cooed mockingly. “You keep ’em clean for your mommy like a good girl, ok, sweetie?” Grinning, she reached out and patted Amanda’s bulky, padded butt, plastic pants crinkling.
Suddenly, Amanda ripped a loud, bubbling fart that echoed in the nursery. “EEWW!” Veronica cried, pulling her hand away from Amanda’s butt as quickly as she could. “Amanda!” she scolded, unable to believe her best friend just passed gas in front of her. “That’s disgusting!”
Amanda wasn’t listening. Her belly was full, and she would be warm and content except for this rumbling presure down below her. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew what the gassy cramping in her stomach meant, but the more she tried to define the feeling, the dimmer her memories became.
She knew, somewhere deep inside, that she was suppose to hold in her gas in company. She tried to tighten her sphincter, but found that the more she tried, the harder it became, as though she was literally forgetting how to control herself. Her efforts to restrain her gas were rewarded by another loud fart, only barley muffled by her diaper. The mothers gathered around her, murmuring and chuckling to each other.
“Oh oh,” Mrs. Wilson chuckled, patting Amanda’s padded rump, “Sounds like the poopy express is about to pull into the diaper depot!”
The women burst out laughing. Amanda turned to face her mother. “Ma-ma?” she asked innocently, “what’s the poopy express?”
Suddenly, she felt a bubbling mass moving through her bowels. Instinctively, she bent her knees and stuck out her butt behind her, and the adults chuckled at the sight of an 18 year old girl adopting the posture of a two year old about to make a messy in her pamper.
Without warning, she felt her sphincter open. A sustained, involuntary contraction rocked her bowels, squeezing out another juicy fart. Amanda’s lips contracted into a tight, surprised ‘o’ as she uncontrollably voided her bowels into the seat of her diapers. The audience crinkled their noses collectively as the first poopy smells emerged from the seat of the teen-toddler’s diapers. The back of her pampers inflated as Amanda tooted noisily; her cheeks grew red as she felt the back of her diaper growing heavier and warmer every second. Another contraction, another involuntary surge of poop into her diapers, making the seat bulge and sag behind her.
Passing gas with a gurgle, Amanda straightened. She glanced over her shoulder; behind her, her diaper bulged and sagged, the waistband of her pampers and plastic pants drooping below the top of her butt-crack.
A potent aroma blanketed the room. “Phew! Baby Mandy certainly made a stinky!” Mrs. Barns cried.
“She really loaded this diape up,” Mrs. Marshal concurred, patting the loaded seat. Looking over, she noticed Rebecca looking on with an expression of morbid fascination—as though unable to process what happened to her friend. “Why don’t you go ahead and give baby Amanda’s poopy diapers a pat, Rebecca?”
The girl shot her mother a doe-eyed expression. “Go ahead, sweetie,” Mrs. Barns encouraged, and though she didn’t want to do it, Rebecca reached out and patted the seat of Amanda’s poopy pampers. Feeling the warm, squishy softness beneath her palm, her stomach rolled. Amanda looked back at her, her vacant smile chilling Rebecca. With her face smeared with food and a warm, poopy load in her pants, she looked just like and over-grown toddler. Rebecca shivered when she saw the blank look in Amanda’s eyes. Something was terribly wrong here.
“Amanda,” Rebecca began nervously, “are—are you okay?”
“Done a poo-poo in my pants,” Amanda announced matter-of-factly with a certain amount of pride.
“God, she smells worse than anything!” Veronica announced, fanning her face.
“Veronica,” Mrs. Marshal smiled at her daughter, “maybe you’d like to pat Amanda’s poopy pants, too?”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “No thanks, mom; I think I’ll pass.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Marshal, “I guess you’ll be dealing with your own poopy pampers soon enough…”
Veronica stared, incredulous. “What? What are you talking about? I’d never do a thing like that!”
“You won’t have a choice, sweetheart.” Reaching into her purse, she removed a vile containing a clear liquid. “When the formula kicks in, you’ll be just as sweet and innocent as little Mandy.”
Amanda’s mother led her over to the nearest changing table. After bending her daughter over the padding, she tugged off her plastic pants, revealing the loaded, bulging diaper beneath. Unpinning it, she dropped it into a nearby diaper pail with a heavy thud. Amanda’s messy backside was revealed to the watching audience. Her mother began cleaning her 18 year old daughter’s butt with wet wipes.
“Great plan mom. Like I’m really going to take that after watching stinky-pants get her butt wiped by her mom over there,” Veronica scoffed, watching Amanda’s mom tend to her messy state.
Rebecca just stood by quietly, taking everything in. She was beginning to feel funny.
“You already took it honey… remember? The champagne?”
Veronica’s blood turned cold. She shot her mother a panicked look, then started giggling. “Oh, mommy,” she said dismissively, “that’s a bunch of doo-doo.”
The smile disappeared from her face. Looking slightly embarrassed, she tried to correct herself. “Er… Doody.” With the women looking on, cackling like hens, Veronica touched her throat. She visualized the word SHIT in her mind. “Poo-poo!” she declared firmly. Her embarrassment was obvious now. She tried to visualize each letter in her mind, but the more she tried, the faster it slipped away. “Poopy! Ca-ca! Dookie!”
“That’s how it starts, honey,” her mother told her with a smile. “Adult words vanish off the tip of your tongue, vocabulary restructures itself, and before you know it…”
She was disrupted by a loud, hissing noise.
Rebecca looked around for the source of the sound. The afternoon was getting weirder and weirder, and unlike Veronica, Rebecca didn’t think there was anything funny about Amanda’s predicament. Looking at the gorgeous, fully grown brunette giggling and cooing her way through a messy diaper change from her mommy, she couldn’t shake the awful thought: what if that was me? She shivered, imagining the horror of being unable to control her body, of being rendered a helpless infant like Amanda.
The hissing grew louder. Rebecca was suddenly aware that everyone was looking at her.
Fidgeting nervously, she felt a warm wetness down her front.
By the time she realized she was wetting herself, her bladder was nearly empty. Squeaking, she tried to clamp down to no avail. Her mother and Mrs. Marshal chuckled to each other as they watched the stream trickle to a stop.
“Becky!” her mother mock-scolded with a grin, “you weren’t supposed to do that until we had a diaper on you!” Reddening, Rebecca shifted from foot to foot in the puddle beneath her. Her mother chuckled. “Then again, I seem to recall we DID have quite a hard time getting you potty trained the first time around, didn’t we sweetheart?”
Rebecca shot her mother a glance, as though she were about to plead with her not to tell anyone about her embarrassingly extended potty training.
When she was unable to find the right words, she sought comfort by sticking her thumb in her mouth.
“C’mon, precious,” said Mrs. Barns, leading her over to the second changing table. In moments, she had her vivacious daughter undressed and laying on the table’s padded surface. Beside her, Amanda’s mother had slid a fresh diaper beneath her and was powdering her daughter’s bottom.
“There you go, you little stinker,” she cooed affectionately. On the table, Amanda giggled and squirmed as her mother heaped praise on her for being such a good girl during her change. Helping her to her feet, she began dressing her.
Rebecca writhed helplessly on the table’s padded surface, her mother raining powder down on her privates. She wanted to stand up and run away, or at least put up a fight, but her arms and legs were heavy and numb. Her skin tingled all over, particularly her fingers and toes, and she found herself hypersensitive to every sensation: the tickle of the powder on her privates, the breeze on her soft skin, the softness of the table beneath her, the texture of the open diaper against her squirming buns— each feeling was dialed up to 11. Taking her ankles, Rebecca’s mother lifted her legs, exposing her cute bottom to the room. The pretty blond could only blush as Mrs. Barns powdered her backside, taking her time to pat the talc firmly into each cheek. “Good girl!” her mother praised, lowering her tushy back onto the diaper. “What a good girl you’re being for your diaper change!”
She tickled her daughter’s sensitive bare skin, raking her nails lightly over her tummy, ribs and armpits. Rebecca writhed and chortled helplessly.
Across the room, Veronica stuck her thumb in her mouth and began sucking nervously. She watched one of her best friends wriggle on her back, giggling like a baby as her mother changed her diaper, while standing two feet away, her other best friend was being dressed in a ridiculous, over-sized little girl party dress. Amanda cooed and gurgled as her mother tugged a frilly pair of pink baby panties up her legs and over her bulky diaper. The scene horrified Veronica. Her knees wobbled as she realized she’d be next.
In moments, Rebecca’s mom had her diaper pulled up and pinned in place. Dazed, her mind floating through a haze, Rebecca’s body attempted to obey her commands to stand up and run, but the most she could muster was some weak flailing of her hands and feet. She could still remember the broad outlines, the foundations of her identity— her name, age, friends and family…
But the details—her vocabulary, the years of facts and information learned at school, how to walk and talk— hell, even her toilet training— all of it was swirling down the drain, and the tighter she tried to hold on, the more she felt her intellect slipping away.
Her mother pulled her up and sat her on the edge of the table. A tight, white t-shirt was tugged over her head, her hair was banded into pig-tails, and a pacifier was popped into her mouth. Before she knew it, Rebecca was sitting in front of everyone, dressed like an overgrown infant. Beside her, Amanda’s mom finished tying a bonnet under her chin, completing her outfit.
The gorgeous, fashionable young ladies who had arrived at the party smug in their standing as the most popular, lusted-after women in town had vanished. In their place, two adorable, oversized 18 month old girls had appeared, helpless and innocent. They sucked their soothers and gazed about in doe-eyed wonder, their reduced IQ’s unable to process the strange and sudden turns their lives had made.
Across the room, Veronica sucked her thumb vigorously. Watching the women put the finishing touches on their daughter’s party outfits, her stomach rolled sickly; in just a few moments, they’d been utterly infantilized: In her matching pink bonnet and little party dress, her ruffled pink diapers prominently displayed beneath, Amanda looked like a two year old on her way to grandmother’s house for a visit. Which left her in better shape than Rebecca; with nothing but a skimpy t-shirt and crinkly plastic pants over an enormous cloth diaper, her golden hair banded up in pigtails, she looked like little more than a great big baby.
Mrs. Marshal placed her hands on Veronica’s shoulders, making her jump. “It’s your turn now, honey,” she crooned, softly running her fingers through her black hair. “Come on—time to join your friends.”
Finally tearing her gaze away from the scene in front of her, she looked at her mother with big, wet eyes. “Mommy,” she pleaded, “please don’t make me like—“ She nodded toward her friends. “Like them!”
Mrs. Marshal smiled. “Ok, honey, I’ll make you a deal.” She opened the closed. Veronica’s heart withered when she saw what her mother was pulling out. A large, plastic potty that was just her size.
“Show mommy you can use the potty like a big girl,” said Mrs. Marshal, pulling a nearby dresser drawer open, “And I’ll let you wear these to the party instead of diapers.”
She then held up a giant pair of padded training panties—the kind little girls wore. Veronica moaned. Her bladder was feeling full. Pressing her palms against her crotch, she bounced in place and looked frantically from her diapered friends to the training panties her mother held, and then back to the potty.
“Well?” Mrs. Marshal asked, “What’s it going to be, honey?”
Veronica shot her mother a desperate look. “Mommy—I gotta go potty!” she blurted.
“Ok, sweetheart,” Mrs. Marshal said calmly, taking her daughter’s hand and leading her over to the potty. “Let’s get these panties down,” she said, calmly reaching under her daughter’s skirt, drawing her underwear down her legs, and removing them.
Veronica rushed over and hiked her dress up above her waist, revealing her neatly trimmed pussy and jiggling backside to the room. She was too desperate to care, however, and quickly slammed her dainty backside onto the cool plastic seat. A loud hiss emerged immediately, accompanied by the sound of her steady stream striking plastic. “AAAAAHHHHHH!” she gushed enthusiastically, her relief nearing orgasmic levels.
Soon she was done. Pulling her to her feet, Mrs. Marshal bent veronica over and used a baby wipe to clean between her legs. Mortified, Veronica was allowed to straighten. In moments, her mom had her stripped to her birthday suit, and was holding open the large purple trainers for her to step into. “Mommy, please… no,” Veronica begged.
“We had a deal sweetheart. C’mon,” she scolded, reaching behind and giving the girl’s bare bottom a smack. “Let’s go.” Reluctantly, the girl stepped into the bulky training panties, and could only stand by as her mom pulled them up her legs until they fit snugly against her bottom. A pair of translucent white tights was next, and Veronica nearly died of shame when she noticed the ruffles across the backside. A pretty, red and white party dress was next, followed by a bright red ribbon for her hair.
“There! All done!” Mrs. Marshal pulled her wayward daughter over to the mirror for a look.
Veronica nearly fainted. The dress looked like something out of a second-graders closet. The hem was high, and Veronica burned with shame as she realized her ruffled tights and baby pants would be on prominent display. She looked like a five year old—which, she reflected, still left her in better shape than Rebecca and Amanda.
She turned away from the mirror, cheeks burning with shame. Grinning, her mom kissed her on the forehead. “OK, girls,” she gushed, “time to go see the guests!”