The air was thick with the scent of chlorine and sweat; the silence was broken only by the exhausted gaps and quiet groans of the contestants sprawled across the finish mat. Ivy’s limbs ached as though they were weighted down by iron, her muscles spent and trembling. Her breath came in shallow, ragged pulls, her chest heaving with the effort. She felt the clammy press of her sodden swimsuit clinging to her skin, the bloated mass of her swollen diaper squishing uncomfortably beneath her. It seemed impossible that she’d made it — that she was here, on the other side of that grueling, humiliating trial.

She closed her eyes, her head resting against the padded mat. The room swam around her in a haze of exhaustion. Dimly, she heard Finn coughing somewhere nearby — a hacking, waterlogged sound that made her wince. The others were still sprawled out as well, their breaths thin and ragged, yet no one moved.

And then, with a cold mechanical CLANG, a set of double doors at the far end of the room lurched open.

Ivy’s eyes flickered open, her breath catching. The sound seemed distant, yet sharp — like a bell tolling in a distant hall. Slowly, her head turned, and she saw the faint gleam of metal. The doors had parted just enough to reveal the small anti-chamber beyond — dim, quiet, and utterly unwelcoming. It looked no more inviting than a prison cell.

For a moment, no one moved. Ivy half-hoped they’d be allowed to just... stay here. Maybe if they didn’t crawl forward, they wouldn’t have to face whatever fresh horror lay ahead. But she knew better. They couldn’t stay here — not with Mistress watching.

Ivy shifted her arm, her muscles quivering with the effort. She tried to push herself up, but her arms barely obeyed. Her body felt like lead, and her limbs were unwilling to respond. Even her fingers, freed from the mittens, curled weakly against the mat.

She tried again. A grunt escaped her lips as she managed to turn onto her side, her bloated diaper squishing against her as she forced her arm beneath her chest and pushed upward. Her trembling muscles strained against her weight. 

With a strangled breath, she dragged her body forward, her fingers slipping against the wet surface of the mat. She barely managed a few inches before collapsing back onto her belly, breathless and shaking.

The sound of movement reached her ears — a low rustling of limbs scraping across the mat. Another contestant, someone she didn’t recognize, had started crawling — slowly dragging themselves toward the open doors. His diaper bulged like an overfilled sack, the sodden padding forcing his legs apart and making every movement awkward and sluggish. He barely moved faster than a snail, yet he was moving.

Ivy gritted her teeth and tried again, her fingers digging into the mat as she pulled herself forward. Her legs were useless behind her, splayed out by the sheer bulk of her swollen diaper. Every motion squeezed the padding uncomfortably between her thighs, the weight dragging heavily beneath her. The bloated diaper pressed against her stomach, her mess squishing unpleasantly with each awkward lurch forward.

Finn grunted beside her, dragging his bulk with a determined grimace. His soaked diaper sagged beneath his swimsuit, the cartoonish frills of his inner tube making him look utterly ridiculous. Still, he pressed on, his gaze locked on the doorway ahead.

Ivy clenched her teeth and forced herself to move again, dragging her damp, aching body a few more feet The others crawled too — slow, miserable progress from every exhausted body. They moved like a pitiful herd of wounded animals, dragging their bloated diapers and inflatable tubes behind them. 

The air in the anti-chamber was stale when Ivy finally crossed the threshold — warm and dry compared to the humid haze of the trial room. The floor was cold and hard beneath her fingers, but at least it wasn’t slick. She flopped onto her side, gasping for breath, her chest heaving like a bellows. Finn flopped down beside her, coughing into his hand.

The remaining contestants trickled in one by one, each collapsing in their pitiful heap. The room grew quiet again — no cheering crowd, no mocking commentary from Mistress. Just the shallow breathing of exhausted contestants. The last of the contestants made their way in as the door shut behind them, sealing them in.

Ivy’s legs still refused to obey her. The bloated mass between her thighs felt like a swollen sponge, waterlogged and swollen far beyond what any diaper should have endured. The bulk seemed to have taken on a life of its own — an oppressive weight dragging against her like an anchor.

Finn broke the silence with a breathless chuckle. “I can’t believe... we actually made it,” he muttered between gasps.

Ivy didn’t have the strength to answer — she only closed her eyes, willing her body to stop trembling.

The mechanical arms whirred overhead without warning, their cold, lifeless movements filling the air with a low, metallic grind. Ivy barely had the strength to lift her head; her body still slumped against the cold floor of the anti-chamber. But then she felt the cold pinch of metal against her arm — fingers tightening just below her shoulder — and before she could react, the mechanical limb hoisted her upward.

Her feet dangled for a moment, her legs like lead beneath her. Her swollen diaper sagged heavily between her thighs, the sodden padding clinging to her, heavily bloated and drooping, helped up only by the swimsuit, it seemed. Water seeped from the swollen material, trickling down her legs in cold, unpleasant rivulets. She winced as the arms twisted her upright, locking her in place as they began their work.

The buckle at her chest clicked loose first — her life jacket peeling away in one swift motion, the jacket and the inter tube flopping uselessly to the floor, leaving her upper body bare save for the tight, waterlogged swimsuit still clinging to her frame. She barely had time to process that before she felt the mechanical fingers at her shoulders, gripping the straps of her swimsuite.

Please... not here…

The swimsuit was peeled away, the cool air rushing across her shoulders and chest. Her arms twitched, instinctively trying to cover herself, but the mechanical grips on her wrists kept her held tight. The arms stripped the swimsuit from her hips, tugging it down her legs and peeling it free like someone wringing water from a towel. Ivy's face burned with shame, but the mechanical arms showed no care for modesty — they tossed the sodden garment to the floor with an unceremonious splat.

For the first time since the trial ended, Ivy got a good look at the bloated mass strapped to her waist. Her swollen diaper was grotesquely engorged, its surface bulging outward in misshapen lumps like some overfilled balloon on the verge of bursting. The once-smooth plastic was now wrinkled and distorted, pressing heavily against her thighs and waist. The color had shifted, too—the once-pale blue of the swim diaper had deepened to a dark, almost navy hue, bloated and saturated well beyond its intended limits.

And yet, despite its sheer size, Ivy knew the swollen bulk wasn’t just water. Her mess clung inside, warm and sticky, squished deeply against her skin. She shuddered at the thought, the shame tightening like a coil inside her chest.

The arms weren’t finished.

The first tab peeled back with a RIP, and the tearing sound was far louder in the quiet room than it should have been. The second tab followed, and with that final pop, the diaper surrendered its hold on her. Ivy barely had time to react before the arms yanked the swollen mass away, dropping it with a wet, sickening splat on the floor beneath her.

Cold air kissed her bare skin, and Ivy gasped—both in surprise and mortification. Her body trembled violently, and despite the exhaustion still dragging at her limbs, her hands shot instinctively to her chest and between her legs. Her fingers clamped tightly over herself as her face ignited with burning heat. Her breath hitched, and tears stung her eyes.

But she wasn’t alone.

All around her, the other contestants hung in the same state of miserable vulnerability. The mechanical arms worked their way down the line, stripping each of them bare with mechanical efficiency. Contestants squirmed and shivered as their swollen diapers hit the floor one by one, each slapping against the tiles with an unmistakable plop. Red faces turned away, hands fumbling in weak attempts to hide themselves, but the mechanical arms gave them no opportunity for dignity.

Ivy’s eyes flickered to Finn. He stood a few feet away, his face red and miserable, his hands clamped tightly to himself as he shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. The space between them seemed to stretch for miles — every stolen glance a reminder of their helplessness.

The arms weren’t finished. Cold, damp wipes dragged across her bare skin, scrubbing her without tenderness or care. Ivy winced, shifting instinctively to pull away, but the arms held her firm, methodically cleaning her from front to back. Her face burned as she stared at the wall, her body stiff with humiliation. The rough wipes dragged across her most sensitive places with mechanical precision, indifferent to her discomfort. Each stroke felt invasive — cold fingers stripping her of what little dignity she had left.

And then, mercifully, it was over.

The arms released her, and Ivy stumbled, nearly collapsing as her trembling legs struggled to support her. She staggered back against the wall, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself, her breath coming in uneven gasps. She felt cold, exposed, and utterly powerless.

Around her, the other contestants mirrored her misery — silent, defeated figures hunched over themselves, their arms clinging to what little modesty they could manage. No one spoke. No one moved.

The air was thick with shared humiliation broken only by the faint sound of mechanical arms retracting into the ceiling, carrying with them the swim gear, soiled diapers, and any other chance of modesty the contestants could have clung to.

The silence lingered — oppressive and suffocating. Ivy felt it was pressing down on her like a physical weight; her arms clamped tightly to her body, fingers curled over her chest and crotch in a feeble attempt to shield herself. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse hammering in her ears. Around her, the other contestants stood frozen, their own hands gripping themselves in mirrored desperation.

And then, Mistress’s voice slithered in from the speakers, a cruel purr that seeped into every corner of the room.

“Babies do not have modesty,” she cooed, her tone syrupy sweet yet dripping with malice. “And so... neither shall you.”

Ivy’s breath hitched, her stomach twisting into knots.

“Drop your hands.” Mistress’s voice hardened, cold and sharp as steel. “Babies don’t care if they’re seen — naked or not.”

Ivy’s eyes darted around the room, searching the faces of her fellow contestants. Some stared wide-eyed, and others squeezed their eyes shut like they could themselves invisible. But no one moved. No one dared. The shame was too thick, too heavy.

Then, movement—subtle at first. Jamie, one of the boys, had a face flushed crimson, and the tension in his body coiled like a spring. He exhaled shakily and slowly, reluctantly, let his hands fall to his sides. His fingers twitched weakly before curling into fists, his gaze locked firmly on the floor.

“It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been naked in front of everyone here,” Jamie mumbled, his voice low and bitter. The words seemed to sting more than he intended, but there was no hiding the truth in them. He’d been humiliated before — they all had — but somehow this... this was worse.

A few others followed his example, lowering their hands with stiff, jerking motions. Their faces glowed red. Some turned away, and others stared down at their bare feet, too ashamed to meet anyone's gaze. 

Ivy swallowed hard, her arms trembling against her chest. Slowly — painfully — she let her arm fall from her chest. Her stomach twisted violently as though the very act of exposing herself was forcing bile into her throat. But still... her other hand remained firmly between her legs.

Not yet... Not that…

Two of the girls hadn’t moved at all—frozen statues of stubborn defiance. One had her back pressed tightly against the wall, her fingers digging into her skin as if she could somehow disappear inside herself. The other had tears streaking down her face, and her gaze locked forward with a distant, glassy emptiness—a desperate refusal to acknowledge her reality.

Mistress’s voice returned — this time quieter, yet colder, slicing through the room with pointed precision.

“You will not be permitted to leave until every one of you does as you’re told.”

Ivy’s fingers tucked more protectively over herself.

“Drop your hands,” Mistress purred, “or we’ll stay here all night.”

The room’s oppressive silence returned, each second dragging out painfully, filling the air with unspoken dread. Ivy glanced around again, noting the looks of panic and helpless frustration spreading among the other contestants. No one dared speak, no one dared move.

And then... one of the girls — the one with the tear-streaked face — finally surrendered. Her arms shook violently as her fingers unfurled from her chest, falling limply to her sides. Her breath hitched — a quiet, shuddering gasp — before her shoulders slumped in defeat.

The last girl followed a moment later, her lips quivering as her fingers uncurled and drifted to her sides. Her face twisted in open misery, tears streaking down her cheeks as she clamped her eyes shut, trembling from head to toe.

Mistress’s voice returned — softer this time, almost smug.

“All of you.”

The words struck like a whip-sharp and deliberate. Ivy’s gut twisted painfully. The weight of those words felt aimed directly at her.

She clenched her teeth. Her fingers trembled violently. The thought of what she was about to do left her lightheaded, her skin crawling beneath the sweat that clung to her. Every fiber of her being screamed to resist — to hold on to whatever shred of dignity she had left.

With a choked breath, Ivy let her arm drop — slowly, reluctantly — her fingers curling helplessly at her sides. The air felt colder against her exposed skin, her nakedness no longer guarded by even the pitiful shield of her own hands.

Her face burned. Her breath trembled. Tears blurred her vision, but she kept her eyes locked on the floor, unwilling to meet the faces of those around her.

The silence seemed to stretch on forever — a deafening void of shame and humiliation.

And then, finally…

“Good babies...” Mistress cooed.

The door at the far end of the room hissed open, the mechanical locks disengaging with a heavy clunk.

The door creaked open, the stale air of the previous room giving way to a warm, humid breeze that carried the sharp scent of soap and faintly floral bath oils. Ivy’s eyes widened as she took in the sight before her — a massive, oversized infant tub, its glossy white porcelain gleaming beneath the overhead lights. It was impossibly large, clearly designed to fit them all at once. The sides were padded with soft, pastel-colored cushions, and the water inside shimmered faintly, bubbling slightly as if the tub had its built-in jets. A faint mist rose from the surface, curling lazily through the air like the steam from a boiling kettle.

And then... Mistress’s voice.

"My poor babies..." she cooed, the saccharine warmth in her voice laced with something colder. "You’ve had a long day. And what better way to end it than with a nice, warm bath?"

Ivy’s stomach twisted. She didn’t trust this — not for a second. Whatever awaited them in that tub, it wouldn’t just be to "relax."

"Relax... enjoy the waters," Mistress added sweetly. "They won’t last for long..."

The metallic click of the door locking behind them turned that promise into a threat.

The remaining contestants stood frozen, exchanging uneasy glances. No one wanted to be the first to move. Ivy swallowed hard, her throat dry, her skin still burning from the humiliation of the previous room. Her gaze flicked between the other contestants and the tub’s gently rippling surface. It’s just water, she told herself. It’s just a bath…

Jamie shifted uncomfortably before giving an exaggerated sigh. “Screw it,” he muttered and strode toward the tub. Without hesitation, he climbed over the padded edge, lowering himself into the water with a grunt. His shoulders visibly relaxed as the warmth enveloped him, and for a moment — just a moment — Ivy believed that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what Mistress had promised.

A girl followed next, slipping in beside Jamie, her face twisted in discomfort but clearly unwilling to show hesitation. The warm water seemed to cradle her as she sank deeper into it, her eyes closing as if she were trying to will the day’s humiliation away.

Ivy bit her lip and stepped forward. The tiled floor was cold beneath her bare feet, and her steps felt sluggish — like walking through mud. She caught Finn’s gaze as he moved alongside her. He gave her a faint, weary smile — one that barely masked the tension in his eyes.

“We’ve come this far,” he muttered. “Might as well see it through.”

Ivy nodded weakly. Together, they crossed to the tub. The warm steam clung to her skin, and when she climbed over the padded edge and slid her foot into the water, her muscles shuddered from the sudden contrast in temperature. The heat enveloped her like a heavy blanket, seeping into her aching limbs, washing away the soreness of the trial.

For a fleeting moment, it actually felt... good.

Ivy sank deeper, submerging herself to her shoulders. The water was soft, silky almost, and faintly scented — a blend of lavender and something vaguely sweet. It relaxed her in a way that felt unnatural — like her muscles weren’t just unwinding but surrendering.

The tub filled quickly as the rest of the contestants followed suit, each one easing reluctantly into the water. The tub was large enough to fit them comfortably, but that didn’t stop Ivy from feeling vulnerable — too close to too many people, all of them bare, exposed. She tried to focus on the warmth, on the way the jets churned the water gently around her. For just a moment, her eyes closed, her head resting against the padded rim.

And then... something shifted.

The warmth seemed to deepen, growing almost too hot, like sitting too close to a fire. The silky feeling of the water seemed thicker now, clinging to her skin with an uncomfortable slickness. Ivy’s eyes shot open. The ripples on the water’s surface were moving unnaturally — slower, denser — like syrup swirling down a drain.

“What... what is this?” one of the girls muttered, her voice thin with worry.

Ivy rubbed her arm, and her fingers slid too easily over her skin. Whatever was in the water felt... off. Greasy, almost. A faint tingling sensation spread along her limbs.

“Get out,” Ivy muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Get out.”

But the water shifted again, bubbling more fiercely as mechanical arms extended from the ceiling — a dozen of them, each tipped with oversized sponges and bottles of pastel soap. Before anyone could react, the arms plunged into the water, scrubbing, lathering, forcing their way over skin, hair, and faces. Ivy flinched as one found her, a sponge pressing roughly to her scalp, working soap into her hair with humiliating precision.

“Stop!” Finn shouted, batting one of the arms away — only for another to descend on him, scrubbing his chest and shoulders like he was some oversized toddler.

Ivy thrashed as the sponge roughly scrubbed her arms, back, and face. Bubbles swarmed around her like foam in a storm, and the air grew thick with the sharp scent of soap and something... chemical. Her skin tingled more intensely now, and her muscles felt weak and limp like her body was turning against her.

The water churned violently, sloshing over the edge as more mechanical arms danced through the chaos. Each one dutifully scrubbed and rinsed the squirming contestants like unruly infants. Ivy gasped for breath as her hair was rinsed clean, her face dripping with suds.

Finally — mercifully — the arms retreated, curling back into the ceiling like spiders scurrying to their nest. The padded edge of the tub pressed into her ribs as she forced herself upright, her arms shaking, her muscles weak.

“Such clean little babies...” Mistress’s voice cooed sweetly. “Don’t you feel so much better now? Soak and relax, I’ll be back.” she teases before the speakers cut out.

The air was heavy with the scent of soap and chemicals, and the greasy residue clung to Ivy. She pressed her back against the padded wall of the tub, her muscles weak and trembling from the violent scrubbing. The water churned lazily, and the suds slowly dissipated, revealing the contestants sprawled around the tub’s edge—exhausted, shivering, and humiliated.

Ivy’s breath slowed, her heartbeat still hammering against her ribs. She wanted out — needed to be out. But glancing around the room, she realized there was nowhere to go. No towels. No clothing. No privacy. Nothing but cold tile floors and bare walls. If she climbed out now, she’d be left standing there, exposed and vulnerable, and she had endured enough of that already.

The others came to the same conclusion. No one moved to leave. Instead, they lingered in the tub, backs pressed to the walls, bodies low beneath the surface — especially the girls, who desperately tried to conceal themselves in the remaining bubbles. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with exhaustion and silent dread.

Finn was closest to Ivy, his chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. He’d drawn his knees up to his chest, his arms resting loosely over them, a quiet tension set in his face. Jamie now sat slumped in the corner, his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling with a hollow expression. Mason muttered something under his breath, his voice too soft for Ivy to catch and his face tight with frustration.

The water had settled now, the last of the bubbles dissolving into a faint, oily sheen. Ivy shifted uncomfortably, feeling the slickness coating her skin. Her fingers twitched in agitation, and she rubbed her arm absently, trying to wipe away the uncomfortable film. Her hand glided too easily over her skin, fingers slipping over unnaturally smooth flesh.

Her brow furrowed.

Something felt... wrong.

Curious, Ivy reached beneath the water, her fingers tracing along her leg. Her skin was smooth — far too soft. The fine hairs that should have been there were... gone.

Her breath hitched. Ivy’s fingers darted to her arm, tracing along the skin from her elbow to her wrist. Nothing. Just slick, bare skin.

She sat up straighter, panic surging in her chest as her hands moved frantically, feeling her calves, her thighs, her stomach — all of it... completely hairless. Even the thin patch of hair that should have been below her navel was gone. Her hand shot to her face, running over her cheeks, her upper lip, her chin — smooth and bare.

“No... no, no...” Ivy whispered, her voice barely audible.

“What?” Finn’s voice was low, edged with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Ivy swallowed hard. “I... I think... I think the water...” Her voice faltered. She held her arm out to Finn, her palm up. “Look.”

Finn’s gaze flicked to her arm. His brow furrowed, and his hand shot to his forearm. She watched his face tighten as he realized it, too. “Son of a...” His voice trailed off.

The others were catching on as well. Murmurs filled the air as contestants whispered to one another, hands running over their arms, legs, and faces. One of the girls let out a strangled gasp, her eyes wide as she clutched her bare chest, realizing just how vulnerable she now was.

“No way...” Jamie muttered, fingers running through his hair — the one patch of hair they all seemed to have left.

Ivy’s stomach twisted. Mistress’s syrupy words echoed in her mind — “Such clean little babies...”

Her breath turned shallow, her body curling closer to itself, her arms folding tightly over her chest as though she could somehow will herself back to normal. Mistress hadn’t just humiliated them — she had stripped away their very dignity, their humanity. Like children... like infants... reduced to smooth, soft, helpless babies.