The speakers crackled again, and Mistress’s voice slithered through the air, cutting like a knife through the humid haze.

“Now then,” she purred, “let’s get our babies all dressed for their next little adventure...”

Ivy’s skin prickled at the words, her breath catching in her throat. Finn’s hands tightened on the stroller handles, but — like the rest of the caregivers — he had no choice but to obey. He pushed her forward, wheeling Ivy closer to one of the changing tables.

The table itself looked unremarkable — padded, sterile, with crisp white fabric stretched across its surface — but Ivy knew better than to trust appearances. As Finn unbuckled her from the stroller and scooped her up, Ivy instinctively stiffened. He moved with care, almost apologetically, but there was no escaping the inevitable. The moment her back touched the changing table, mechanical restraints shot out — padded cuffs snapping over her wrists and ankles, holding her firmly in place. Ivy squirmed, but the straps held fast.

Her stomach twisted into a knot. She knew this routine — she’d been strapped down for changes before — but something about this felt different. Wrong.

The hiss of zippers filled the air as the machine began to peel her sleeper away, methodically undoing every seam. The fabric split open, cool air rushing over her damp, clammy body. Ivy clenched her jaw, heat burning in her face as her arms and shoulders were bared, her pale skin exposed to the room. The sleeper peeled further down past her chest, and Ivy let out an involuntary squeak of surprise.

Her arms instinctively tried to curl across her chest, but the restraints held firm. She lay there, exposed save for her swollen diaper, her face burning with humiliation. She tried to focus on the ceiling — anywhere but Finn, who stood grim-faced beside her, his expression awkward and forced.

And then, to Ivy’s surprise — blessed relief — her pacifier gag hissed as it deflated, retreating from her mouth. A breath of cool air rushed in, and she gasped, savoring the simple freedom of movement in her jaw. Her mittens followed a moment later, peeling back to reveal her fingers. Ivy wiggled her stiff, sweaty digits, relishing the sensation.

“...That’s new,” Finn muttered.

Ivy’s eyes flicked to the pile of garments set out beside her — neatly folded one-piece swimsuits in bright pastel colors and, beside them… thick, unfamiliar blue diapers. She frowned, her mind catching up to what she was seeing.

“Are those…?” she began.

Finn picked one up and turned it over in his hands. The material was thicker than a normal diaper, but the texture was rubbery—less like fabric and more like reinforced plastic.

“A swim diaper,” Ivy realized aloud, staring at it. “Why...?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Finn muttered, placing it down. “But… seems like we may be swimming.” His tone was uneasy, laced with doubt. He moved back to her, pausing only briefly before reaching for the tapes of her diaper. “I’ll be quick,” he promised.

Ivy felt her face burn again, her heart hammering as she turned her face away. She hated this—hated being laid bare like this—but there was nothing to do but endure. She closed her eyes tightly as she felt the cool air hit her skin when the used diaper was peeled away. Finn worked fast, wiping her down with brisk efficiency. His movements were awkward but careful, and he avoided her gaze.

The cold wipes made her shiver, the sensation somehow worse against her sweaty skin. The lingering dampness clung to her like a reminder of her helplessness, of the utter lack of control she’d been forced to endure. Ivy fought the sob building in her throat, biting her lip hard enough to sting. Don’t cry… not now… not in front of him…

At last, Finn slid the thick, blue swim diaper under her, unfolding it carefully. The material crinkled less than a regular diaper, feeling strangely slick as it was drawn snugly around her waist. The tapes locked in place with a faint click — no adhesive this time, just sturdy plastic tabs that refused to budge. Ivy shifted slightly, testing its feel — thick and spongy, less absorbent than a regular diaper but still just as bulky.

“Almost done,” Finn muttered. The table’s restraints shifted, releasing her. Finn reached for the swimsuit, a deep navy blue one-piece with broad straps and a modest cut. He held it out to her. “I think you can manage this one,” he said softly.

Ivy reached for it gratefully, her fingers fumbling against the smooth, stretchy fabric. The table’s cuffs finally released her wrists, and she wasted no time pulling the swimsuit on, grateful to cover herself again. The material clung uncomfortably to her damp skin, sticking awkwardly against her shoulders and chest, but it was still far better than feeling exposed.

The swim diaper bulked out awkwardly beneath the suit, creating a telltale bulge at her hips and crotch. The thick plastic waistband peeked out above the curve of her waist, impossible to hide.

Ivy ran a hand over the fabric, smoothing it awkwardly.

Ivy stood for what felt like the first time in days, her legs wobbling slightly beneath her. The floor felt strange — almost foreign — after so much time spent trapped in cribs, bouncers, and strollers. Her knees threatened to buckle, her muscles weak and sluggish from disuse, but she braced herself, forcing her legs to straighten. The thickness of the swim diaper forced her to stand with her legs splayed awkwardly wide, each step reduced to a waddling shuffle. The bulk pressed against her thighs with every movement, an unrelenting reminder of her humiliating condition.

Still… it was better than being trapped. Better than being strapped down, bound, and helpless. Ivy clenched her fists, savoring the simple freedom of moving under her power, however clumsy it may have felt.

Behind her, Finn was already working on Contestant 86. Ivy stole a glance — the boy lay rigid on the changing table, his face burning red as Finn unzipped his sleeper. Ivy couldn’t help but wince on his behalf. He seemed resigned to it, though — staring at the ceiling with dead, glassy eyes. His face twitched slightly as the sleeper peeled away, leaving him in nothing but his swollen diaper.

Ivy’s gaze drifted to the pile of swimsuits on the table beside Finn. They were all identical — simple one-piece swimsuits in varying shades of blue and pink. No trunks. No options. The boys are getting stuck in them too… Ivy thought grimly.

Turning away, she made her way back to the massive glass windows lining the far wall. Each step made her wince — the bulky swim diaper refused to let her forget it was there, its tight plastic waistband pinching at her waist, the stiff padding rubbing uncomfortably between her legs. Even so, she pressed forward, eager to clear her mind — to see something beyond these sterile, suffocating walls.

The windows loomed before her, stretching floor to ceiling and thick enough to feel like they belonged in an aquarium. The glass was fogged with condensation, and the room’s humid air clung to the surface in thin beads of moisture. Ivy pressed her hand to the cool glass, wiping a small patch clean with her palm.

And then — THUNK.

The sound struck like a hammer blow, rattling the walls. Lights burst to life beyond the glass, flickering in sequence as they illuminated the vast expanse outside. Another THUNK and another row of lights flared on — then another, and another.

Ivy’s breath caught.

The scene beyond stretched farther than she had imagined — an enormous indoor water park sprawled out before her. But this wasn’t just any water park — no, this place was designed for infants. Shallow wading pools stretched across the floor, scattered with oversized floating toys shaped like rubber ducks and dolphins. Brightly colored tubes crisscrossed the ceiling like serpents, twisting and curling before dumping into padded splash pools. She spotted lazy rivers lined with plastic bumpers and inflatable animals, their currents spinning slowly beneath dim blue lighting. Water slides spiraled downward like coiled springs, wide enough for multiple bodies to glide down at once.

And then there were the climbing structures — massive plastic jungle gyms coated in soft foam, with fountains spraying from every surface. Oversized buckets teetered dangerously above the play structures, primed to dump torrents of water over anyone foolish enough to linger beneath them. Rope bridges crisscrossed the air, swaying gently over shallow pools, while padded crawl tunnels wound their way through the artificial landscape.

It was — unmistakably — a water park designed for toddlers.

Ivy stared in disbelief, her fingers still pressed against the glass. Her mind reeled, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It looked fun, at least at first glance — the kind of place she might have begged to visit as a kid. But now… now all she could see was the horror lurking beneath the bright colors and cheerful designs.

We’re going to be paraded through that, she realized. All of us. Trapped in swim diapers, waddling like toddlers through this nightmare playground. She swallowed hard, imagining herself sliding helplessly down one of those tubes — or worse, stuck beneath one of those enormous tipping buckets, drenched and humiliated as the audience laughed at her from whatever unseen vantage point Mistress had prepared.

Her stomach twisted painfully, her mind flashing back to the whispers she had overheard — the masked figures discussing her, the mention of a price. Was this trial just another game to entertain the bidders watching from the shadows?

Contestant 86 joined Ivy at the window not long after, stretching his jaw and rolling his shoulders as though he’d just emerged from a week in a straightjacket. His hair was damp with sweat, stray strands clinging to his forehead, and his one-piece swimsuit clung to his frame in a way that left little to the imagination. The thick, crinkling bulk of his blue swim diaper peeked out around the edges of the suit’s leg holes, forcing him to stand with his legs slightly apart — a constant, degrading reminder that despite their momentary freedom, they were still very much under Mistress’s control.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, exhaling in relief. “It feels good to have that damn thing out of my mouth.”

Ivy let out a small chuckle — more breath than laugh — but nodded in agreement. “And to be able to walk again,” she added, though her voice held less triumph than she wanted. She didn’t feel free — not really. The squish of the swim diaper against her thighs, the way the snug fabric of her suit clung to her skin like a second layer of humiliation — it was hard to feel victorious when her dignity was still so far out of reach.

The boy scoffed, adjusting the neckline of his suit. “I swear, if they stick one of those pacifiers back in…” He trailed off, shaking his head. His gaze drifted to the sprawling water park beyond the glass, his face tightening with unease. “What the hell do you think they’ve got in store for us today?”

Ivy followed his eyes back to the maze of water slides, fountains, and splash pools. The whole setup looked far too inviting — the kind of manufactured fun designed to lure children in with bright colors and harmless shapes. But Mistress didn’t do “harmless.” No, this was something else — something carefully crafted to make them squirm.

“I have no idea,” Ivy admitted, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “But whatever it is... it’s not going to be good.”

The boy gave a quiet grunt of agreement, his hand rising to rub absently at his bare jaw — no doubt savoring the absence of the pacifier that had been locked in his mouth for far too long. His fingers slowed as he caught Ivy watching him.

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual despite the unease still twisting in her gut, “what’s your name, by the way? I feel like I’ve been calling you ‘Contestant 86’ in my head for days.”

The boy snorted — a dry, humorless sound. “It’s Mason,” he said, offering her a crooked grin. “And you’re Ivy, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mason said, holding out a hand like this was some awkward networking event rather than a twisted game show where their dignity was measured in soiled diapers and humiliating punishments. Still, Ivy took his hand and shook it, both of them chuckling at the absurdity of the moment.

“Well,” Mason muttered, stuffing his hands into the sides of his suit, “guess we’re in this together.”

“Yeah,” Ivy murmured, her gaze drifting back to the water park. The splash of falling water echoed faintly through the glass, distorted and distant. “Together…”

The word tasted hollow in her mouth. What good would ‘together’ do when the game had only one winner?

More contestants filed over, one by one, each clad in the same humiliatingly snug one-piece swimsuits and the unmistakable bulk of their thick blue swim diapers. The air was thick with tension, the murmurs of the group punctuated by the faint sound of running water from the park beyond. Contestants gathered in clusters, each sizing up the watery maze that stretched before them — a chaotic tangle of winding slides, shallow splash pools, and twisting obstacle courses designed with mocking childish glee.

Then Finn stepped up beside Ivy, shifting uncomfortably in his suit. He tugged at the neckline, fingers curling beneath the tight fabric as he grimaced. "How do girls wear these things?" he muttered, grumbling like a man whose pride had been stuffed inside a shoebox and left to gather dust.

Ivy couldn’t help but chuckle — not just because of Finn’s expression, but because of the sheer absurdity of it all. Here they were, grown adults, outfitted in oversized swim diapers and humiliating outfits, forced to endure game after game of degradation — and yet, somehow, they still found ways to make jokes.

“Normally?” Ivy quipped dryly, “Without diapers.” She smirked at him.

Finn barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well…” He tugged at his suit again, the fabric snapping back against his chest. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to have permanent grooves in my shoulders after this.”

His smile faltered as his gaze returned to the glass. The playful facade faded, replaced by something quieter — something anxious. Ivy followed his eyes, watching the winding tubes of the water park stretch across the room like a coiled serpent. The glossy plastic surfaces shimmered beneath the bright overhead lights, their cheerful colors doing little to mask the sinister purpose Ivy knew was waiting beneath.

“I don’t like this,” Finn muttered, his voice lower now, almost lost beneath the murmurs of the other contestants. “This feels... different.”

“Yeah,” Ivy agreed softly, folding her arms. “It’s never just a game.”

More contestants finished changing, joining the group gathered by the glass. Clara shuffled closer, her face pale and uncertain. She looked small in her swimsuit, the thick outline of her diaper bulging against the spandex, her legs forced into an awkward stance that only heightened her vulnerability. Ivy gave her a brief smile, and Clara tried to return it, but the effort barely reached her eyes.

Mason stood on Ivy’s other side, arms crossed tightly as he stared at the twisted network of watery obstacles. He hadn’t spoken since their brief exchange earlier, but his silence spoke volumes — his jaw clenched, his fingers twitching absently against his arm. Whatever was waiting for them inside that water park, none of them were prepared for it.

“Bet they think this is funny,” Mason muttered bitterly. “Probably taking bets on which of us screws up first.”

Ivy swallowed hard. She knew Mason was right — the unseen audience that funded this twisted circus was no doubt salivating over the humiliation to come. Every stumble, every slip, every soaked diaper — they would eat it up like bloodthirsty spectators at some demented coliseum.

Finn exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” he said with forced cheer, “maybe they’ll throw us some water wings and floaties, and we can all pretend we’re having a grand old time.”

“Yeah,” Mason muttered dryly. “And maybe they’ll hand us all towels and let us go home.”

Ivy snorted at the sarcasm, but the humor evaporated the moment she turned back to the glass. The course stretched before them, deceptively bright and colorful. There were no clear rules, no obvious starting point — just an ominous maze of twisting slides, winding canals, and shallow wading pools designed to look like playgrounds. It was too chaotic, too staged — like they were meant to stumble through it blindly.

The water gleamed beneath the overhead lights, its surface oddly still — like a glass eye waiting to blink.

The last contestant shuffled over to the glass windows, their face tight with discomfort as they tugged at the snug fit of their one-piece swimsuit. Ivy barely recognized them — the layers of stress and exhaustion had stripped away their usual expressions, leaving only wide eyes and tight lips. The contestant rubbed their arm awkwardly before joining the rest of the group, their gaze locked on the twisted maze of the water park beyond.

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Contestants exchanged glances, shifting their weight in their thick swim diapers. The air hung heavy, warm, and humid from whatever system was pumping moisture into it. Ivy felt beads of sweat form along her hairline, trailing down her neck and soaking into the tight fabric of her swimsuit.

And then Mistress’s voice slithered in, sharp and oily.

“My darling babies...” her voice cooed with mock affection, curling in Ivy’s ears like smoke. “I do hope you’re feeling rested — because it’s time for your next trial!”

A metallic clunk sounded somewhere nearby, and a new door groaned open to their right. A narrow hallway stretched before them — dark, windowless, the damp walls painted a sterile gray. The air that spilled out was dense and stale as if it hadn’t been disturbed in ages.

“Head inside, my Little ones,” Mistress purred. “It’s time for some fun...”

The contestants hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances, but no one dared to linger long. The memory of the Naughty Room lingered fresh in everyone’s mind — Mistress’s punishments had become far too real. One by one, they walked toward the newly opened door, filing into the shadowy passage.

Ivy’s heart pounded harder with each step, her gaze flicking back toward her stroller — toward the stuffed bear lounging lazily in the seat. A fierce urge to rush over and snatch it overtook her. She wanted to squeeze it, whisper for guidance, beg for some hint of what was coming.

But she couldn’t risk it — not with so many eyes watching. If anyone realized the bear had spoken to her, there would be no telling what Mistress might have done. So she swallowed hard and fell in line, following Finn and Mason as they wheeled their charges forward.

The hallway swallowed them whole. The lights overhead flickered cold and sterile, casting thin shadows across the damp concrete walls. Ivy’s stomach twisted as they reached the next room — a small, windowless chamber barely large enough to hold all fifteen of them. The walls were bare except for a faint seam in the metal where the entrance door had locked shut behind them.

No windows. No vents. Just cold walls closing in.

“What is this?” Mason muttered, his voice low and tight.

“I don’t like this…” Clara whispered.

Ivy felt the tension in the air coil tighter, like a rope drawn to its breaking point. The contestants shifted uneasily The heat clung to them now, thick and heavy, amplifying the growing sense of claustrophobia.

The silence stretched — too long, too deliberate.

And then —

Click.

“Welcome to your sixth trial,” Mistress’s voice cooed again, syrupy and warm. Her tone dripped with false affection, like honey laced with poison. “Today’s challenge will be simple, my sweet Little ones... The last contestants to finish the course will be eliminated.”

Ivy’s heart lurched in her chest, the weight of those words settling like ice in her stomach. Eliminated. No warning about what that meant — but after what she’d seen of the Naughty Room, she didn’t dare imagine what Mistress might have in store for those who failed.

“But first...” Mistress purred, her voice turning playful, teasing. “We need to make sure all my precious babies are properly dressed. After all...” Her words paused, the silence stretching unbearably before she delivered the final blow. “...we wouldn’t want anyone leaking in the pool, now would we?”

The speakers cut out with a harsh click, and for a breathless moment, the room stood still. Then—

CLANK.

Metal arms shot down from the ceiling like iron vipers. They uncoiled in a blur of movement, hissing hydraulics filling the air. Ivy jerked back instinctively, but there was nowhere to run — the mechanical appendages were everywhere, descending on the group in a flurry of cold metal fingers.

Clara let out a sharp yelp as one of the arms latched onto her shoulder, spinning her roughly to face forward. Another contestant cursed, flinching as an arm hooked beneath his armpit, tugging him upright like a misbehaving child. The arms moved with unsettling precision, grabbing, gripping, and adjusting.

Ivy barely had time to register the cool steel fingers curling around her wrist before her inspection began. The metal limbs turned her roughly, forcing her to face forward. Her swimsuit stretched tightly across her chest as unseen pincers pinched the fabric, tugging it this way and that.

“Stop!” Ivy barked, squirming against the grip. “Get off me!”

The arms ignored her. Cold fingers pinched at her thighs, pulling at the elastic leg bands of her swimsuit. Ivy winced as the material dug into her skin. The arm released her for a moment — and then her heart stopped as she felt fingers slipping inside her diaper.

Ivy’s breath hitched, her face burning. The sensation was quick — fast, efficient, yet deeply humiliating. The fingers seemed to probe the inner lining, checking the fit and thickness. She felt something press against the padding, and some mechanical tool adjusted or tested it. Her skin crawled. She clenched her legs together, trying to resist — but the arms merely forced her thighs apart, cold steel prying her legs open as the invasive fingers finished their task.

Then, she yelped in surprise as she felt it pressing against her back passage before entering her. A groan escaped her lips as she tried to pull away, but just as quickly, it retreated. What the hell was that?!

They pulled back at last, leaving Ivy trembling and ashamed. Her heart thundered in her ears. The cold, dampness clinging to her skin inside the diaper made her want to shrink away, to curl up and disappear.

Humiliated cries and muffled yelps echoed around her. The other contestants were enduring the same nightmare — each forced to endure that awful inspection. Finn’s face was beet red as one of the arms prodded at his blue swim diaper, his fingers twitching uselessly at his sides. Mason had his eyes squeezed shut; his teeth gritted as the metallic fingers finished their work.

Then — as quickly as they had appeared — the arms snapped back into the ceiling, vanishing as if they’d never been there.

For a moment, there was only silence — thick, mortifying silence.

“All clean and ready...” Mistress’s voice purred almost sweetly. “Such obedient Little swimmers...” Her laugh followed — low and cruel. “Now then... Let’s see who’s quick enough to survive.”

The door at the far end of the room groaned open with a loud buzz. Beyond it, Ivy could see the twisted maze of slides, shallow pools, and padded climbing structures—the enormous water park glowing brightly under the harsh overhead lights.

“On your marks...” Mistress’s voice slithered through the speakers. “Get set... GO!”