Chapter 10 - Impulses

The last of the bottle’s contents dribbled past Elara’s lips, warm and faintly sweet, leaving behind a coating of false comfort on her tongue. Her fingers, which had once resisted every inch of its rubber nipple, now rested against the bottle’s side, cradled by Selena’s guiding hands. The magic still hummed quietly in her chest, a subtle pulse that didn’t erase the sting of her shame, but made it feel more like background noise—something she could ignore if she didn’t think too hard about it. With her dampened emotions, Elara barely resisted when her bladder ached, letting it soak into the sodden material of her diaper.

There was a moment of resistance—a flicker of the old Elara—before the enchantment smoothed it away. The act itself, the wetting, was both mundane and somehow monumental at the same time. A gentle warmth that spread between her thighs, pooling in the absorbent layers of her diaper. Each trickling sensation was a reminder of her ensnared autonomy, yet the magic dulled the worst of the humiliation, transforming it into a muted acceptance. She could feel the dampness soaking through, a creeping warmth that have made her grimace.

Her eyelids fluttered as the diaper swelled, expanding between her thighs. Selena's magic brushed against her mind, coaxing submission from the shame, enveloping her in a spellbound cocoon where her emotions floated adrift. The heat in her cheeks faded to a gentle pink, easily overlooked, easily forgotten. Her skin prickled with the magic's comfort, slicked with its impossible promise that everything was all right. The transformation from girl to baby, wrapped in her padded prison, felt almost complete.

Yet inside, past layers of imposed tranquility, the core of Elara simmered. It was dimmed but not extinguished, flickering with an unyielding spark of her essence that neither magic nor shame could wholly quench.

Selena gently withdrew the bottle from Elara’s lips and wiped a thumb across Elara’s chin. “Good girl,” she said, kissing the top of Elara’s head.

Selena stood, lifting her with the same calm grace as before, and Elara settled into her arms without resistance. The warmth of her body pressed against the fabric of Selena’s robe, her head resting lightly on the older woman’s shoulder as the noise of the common room faded behind them. The laughter, the knowing smiles, the murmurs of amusement—they all remained, but they no longer pierced her like they once had, the magic had blurred the edges of her reality.

Selena didn’t speak as she carried Elara down the hall, past the hearth, and into one of the deeper corridors that branched off the central common area. The walls grew warmer here, fogging slightly with enchanted steam. The sound of splashing water drifted gently through the stone archway ahead, mingling with the echoes of soft conversation and soap bubbles popping in the air.

The Ruby House bathing chamber was large, tiled in deep crimson and pearl, with claw-footed tubs spaced in crescent-shaped alcoves for semi-privacy. Magic hung in the air, perfuming the room with lavender and rosemary.

Quinn was already there, seated in one of the tubs, her arms resting along the rim while Darian gently poured warm water over her back. Quinn’s expression hovered somewhere between awkward and relaxed. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her mouth pulled into a reluctant smile, as though her body had decided to enjoy itself despite her brain’s protests.

Selena approached with a smile. “Great minds think alike,” she said, her tone light and practiced. “Do you mind if we join you?”

Darian looked up, grinning. “Of course not. There’s plenty of room. She looks like she could use it,” he said, looking to Elara, her cheeks flushing as his eyes took in her soaked diaper.

Selena nodded, her tone fond as she shifted Elara slightly in her arms. “She’s had a very big day.”

Elara didn’t argue, she didn’t flinch or squirm, though the rising steam and soft light made her hyperaware of how vulnerable she must look. She glanced briefly at Quinn, whose eyes met hers with an understanding that was painful in its familiarity, a shared moment of vulnerability.

Selena guided them toward an empty tub, stripping Elara, disposing of her soiled diaper, before she lowered Elara into the water with slow, practiced care. The warmth wrapped around her, soothing the soreness in her limbs and chasing away the tension from her shoulders. Elara exhaled softly as her body sank into the bath.

The liquid heat unraveled the knots within her, tendrils of warmth reaching into the tired sinew of her muscles. The magic woven into the water was gentle, akin to a lullaby sung beneath the breath, its lyrics felt rather than heard. Elara’s eyes closed, an instinctive act of privacy against the world, though it offered little barrier to the sensations that flooded her.

Selena’s hands moved with soft deliberation, sculpting soap into a fine lather that tingled against Elara’s skin. Each touch was an echo of authority and care, a tactile lull insisting upon serene submission. Fingers brushed over her shoulders, sweeping away the grime of the day with the precision of a craftsman, yet the specter of humility lingered with each pass, clinging like a shadow. It was not the touch of a lover, but of a mother with her child; it reminded Elara of her place, her dependency, and the price of forfeited independence.

When Selena’s hands moved lower, tracing paths over tender curves, the shame rose unbidden within Elara. Her chest tightened as water sluiced down her body, rinsing away the soap and her composure with it. The touch lingered—first a mere grazing, then more deliberate, washing over her like warm rain. Between her legs, the sensation sharpened her awareness, tingling with a shame that was muffled by the pervasive magic, an intrusion softened by resignation but ever palpable.

Elara’s breath caught as Selena continued with practiced ease, fingers sliding over hip and thigh with a caretaking efficiency that felt intimate yet detached. Selena’s touch was thorough, a complete erasure of autonomy under the guise of care. Her humiliation was a muted throb beneath the spell’s embrace, a reminder of all she no longer controlled. Her cheeks flushed anew, though the warmth in the room masked it well.

The attention moved to her back, her skin electrified by the persistent touch. The sensation of being handled with such intent was a paradox of comfort and humiliation. Her body was not her own; it belonged to the hands that washed, toweled, and dressed it in soft garments of acceptance. Each swipe of the cloth, each rinsing cascade, pulled Elara deeper into the lull of surrender and the tease of rebellion.

Across the tiled expanse, Darian mirrored Selena’s actions with Quinn, their motions fluid, a symphony of practiced grace and unspoken understanding. Each gesture, every shared glance between him and Selena, was charged with a history that simmered beneath the surface, like embers waiting to ignite. Darian’s hands moved with a tenderness that suggested an intimacy honed over years, a familiarity with Selena's rhythms, her expectations, her silent requests. There was a moment—a fleeting second where their eyes met over the heads of the girls—that crackled with silent communication, a testament to what had once been.

The charged air between them was a tapestry woven with strands of past whispers and shared nights, stitched together with the thread of old desires and faded regrets. It was the way Darian’s fingers lingered a breath longer than necessary while tucking a stray curl behind Quinn's ear, the way Selena’s lips quirked with an almost imperceptible knowing smile as she caught the motion.

The unspoken thread tugged at the edges of the moment, binding Elara’s awareness inextricably to the undercurrents between the caretakers. The air was thick with possibility, unarticulated and complex, a silent acknowledgment of past passions subdued by duty and circumstance. And yet, the weight of that past wove itself into the present, coloring their actions with an intimacy that neither acknowledged but both understood implicitly.

Selena lifted Elara from the water, wrapping her in a towel that enveloped her like a cocoon spun from clouds. The steam swirled around them, whispering promises of rest and the release of thought. Elara was heavier now with the weight of fresh burdens, yet Selena bore her easily, carrying her from the haze of the bath.

Back in their dorm room, Selena lowered Elara with reverence, easing her onto the changing table with a rustle of towel and a pat on her thigh. The towel was pulled away gently, replaced by a whispered spell that warmed the air around them. Elara blinked slowly, her eyes finding Quinn across the room. Darian had done the same with her—laid her on her back, speaking softly, his motions smooth and practiced.

The diapers that were produced were not like the plain ones from the train. These were thicker, snugger, rimmed in soft red trim with subtle rune patterns across the landing zone. She should have panicked. Should have turned away or whimpered or said something. But the moment was like a lull in a storm. The worst of her protest had already passed, and she was too tired to fight a battle she’d already lost.

Selena rubbed lotion over Elara’s thighs with firm, slow strokes, wiping away the last trace of bathwater. Her fingers were cool, efficient, but never rough. Every motion was deliberate—one hand lifting Elara’s ankles, the other sliding the padding beneath her, then pulling it forward and taping it securely. With each tug of the tabs, Elara felt something settle in her chest, a finality.

Darian worked in tandem, his deep voice murmuring to Quinn about how proud he was of her and how brave she’d been. The girl whimpered once, then nodded into the mat, eyes fluttering closed as the tapes on her diaper were sealed.

Selena didn’t speak until the last tape was fastened. She leaned down, brushing a damp strand of hair from Elara’s temple, her fingers lingering just long enough to draw a shiver. “There,” she whispered. “My little spark, all clean and cozy.” Her voice was gentler than before.

Elara expected the crib to come next, the soft surrender into plush bedding and hushed lullabies. Instead, she was lifted again—not into sleep, but into motion. Her diaper crinkled as Selena adjusted her grip, carrying her like a sleepy toddler, one arm under her thighs, the other braced around her back. The chill of the air kissed her bare skin, now dressed only in the thick bulk between her legs and the faint blush that never left her cheeks. She blinked, startled but not resisting, as Selena strode out into the softly lit corridor beyond the dorms, her senses still dulled by exhaustion and the lingering effects of Selena’s spell.

Quinn was already in Darian’s arms, similarly dressed—if one could call it that—her diaper printed in soft ruby patterns, her expression groggy with confusion. “Um,” she mumbled, her voice still drowsy but catching up to the moment, “where are we going?”

Elara turned her head weakly toward Selena. “Yeah, I thought it was bedtime.”

Selena’s smile curved, wry, and close-lipped. “It is, for most. But Ruby House has… traditions.” She adjusted her grip on Elara as they turned the corner, entering the wide common room with its fire-glow ambiance and soft cushions scattered like leaves across the floor. The room had quieted. A few older students lounged in corners or whispered in pairs, their eyes flicking up as the caregivers entered with their precious charges.

Elara’s stomach turned as she looked across the corridor, catching a glimpse of Quinn in Darian’s arms. Quinn looked just as confused, her brows furrowed above her flushed cheeks. “Is this some kind of test?” she murmured.

Darian just smiled. “Let’s call it a measurement,” he said. “A chance to see how you’ve settled in, that’s all. Selection for the House Cup is a complicated thing. It sees everything, even the things you think no one noticed.”

Quinn furrowed her brow. “A measurement? But we just got here.”

“Exactly,” Selena murmured, lowering herself onto one of the couches with Elara in her lap now, cradling her close, one hand idly rubbing circles against her bare back. “The Houses, especially Ruby, don’t waste time.”

The other students filtered in gradually, some already dressed in footed pajamas, others in robes or oversized shirts, all wore thick diapers. The minutes ticked by slowly, dragging the weight of anticipation behind them. Elara shifted in Selena’s arms, the padding between her legs a maddening reminder of her vulnerability.

Then, precisely at 8:00, as the last candle’s flame dimmed and the lanterns seemed to snap to attention, the chalkboard on the wall twitched..

A screeching whisper filled the air as the quill—an inkless sliver of white light—descended from the rafters and began to write.

Ruby House: Cup Standing

The words formed crisp and bright, glowing slightly before they dimmed into chalky permanence. A list unfolded beneath them. Names: every student in Ruby House, along with a number beside each. Elara squinted, studying the numbers. Most had small values: Marcus Blain: 1, Farrah Tess: 2, Anwen Lovel: -1, and so on. A few were zeroed. The numbers pulsed briefly as they were written, like heat spots on paper.

Then:

Quinn Hart: -3

Darian Wren: -1

Elara saw Quinn shift beside her, not with pride but unease. Darian merely frowned, arms folded.

Then:

Selena Virelle: -3

Elara Myles: -5

A silence rolled through the room like fog from a broken seal. Elara could feel it settle in her chest, thick and awful. Her heart beat once—hard—and then everything went still.

She stared at her name. At the number. Minus five. Five. The lowest on the board.

The warmth of the fire did nothing now as her skin prickled. She didn’t dare look at Selena, she didn’t dare look at anyone, she just stared at that number.

Selena exhaled slowly, it wasn’t a sigh, it was something darker. A predator’s growl beneath the surface, just shy of a snarl. Every member of House Ruby felt the air tighten, like a thread being pulled taut.

“Wonderful,” Selena said, her voice dipped in venomous honey. “Just wonderful.”

Selena didn’t say a word as she carried Elara out of the common room, her steps sharp against the stone floor.

She was lowered onto her crib’s mattress with clinical grace, tucked in beneath the quilted blanket. Selena didn’t linger, she didn’t offer a kiss. She didn’t murmur a lullaby; she only stood, hands on her hips, watching her, little spark, with eyes like smoldering coals.

“We’ll work on this,” she said at last. “You may have started behind, Elara—but don’t think for a moment I’ll let you stay there.”

The door opened again with a soft creak, and Darian’s silhouette filled the doorway, broad shoulders framed by the firelight spilling in from the common room. His expression was unreadable. Elara lay still, the blanket rising and falling over her chest, pretending—without much effort—that she was already halfway to sleep. But her eyes tracked him, watching as he carried Quinn into the room.

Quinn, clad in nothing but her diaper like Elara, nestled sleepily against his chest. Her head lolled on his shoulder, damp hair curling slightly at the edges, the heat of the common room still clinging to her skin. But Elara noticed the flicker of alertness in her eyes—she wasn’t as far gone as she pretended to be, neither of them were.

Darian crossed the room in measured steps and lowered Quinn gently into her crib, opposite Elara’s. He adjusted her blankets with slow, deliberate care, as if each motion was its own kind of ritual. Then, smoothing a hand over Quinn’s hair, he whispered something that Elara couldn’t hear—but whatever it was, it made Quinn’s face twitch into a half-smile. She didn’t speak, only nodded faintly, her arms curling around the plush bunny that waited for her.

Selena stood just behind him in the doorway, arms folded, watching the whole scene unfold with that familiar air of poised impatience. She caught Elara’s gaze and held it for a breath too long. Then she turned, her robe whispering as she walked, with Darian following, the two disappearing into the hall, the door easing shut behind them with a quiet click. The lights dimmed to a warm, dreamlike glow, then extinguished entirely. Only the soft moonlight from the narrow dorm windows remained, casting faint silver slashes across the floorboards.

For a long moment, there was silence—the kind that draped over the room like velvet. There were no sounds apart from their breathing, no movement apart from the occasional shifting of a limb against sheets and blankets.

Then Quinn sighed, loud enough to break the spell. “Well,” she whispered, voice dry as old paper, “that wasn’t mortifying or anything.”

Elara turned her head slightly on the pillow. “You mean the part where we were paraded half-naked in front of the entire House and assigned numerical value like misbehaving toddlers?”

“Hmm,” Quinn murmured, turning onto her side, her diaper crinkling. “I was going to say the part where we were compared like toddlers, I half expected them to hand out stickers.”

Elara couldn’t help it—she laughed. Quiet, exhausted, and sharp-edged. “You lost three points. I lost five. Pretty sure I’m the reigning queen of failure right now.”

“Oh please,” Quinn replied, smirking into the dark. “You’ll be lucky if they let you eat with the rest of us tomorrow. They might make you nurse from Selena.”

Another laugh, bitter and honest. Elara felt it vibrate in her chest, like something shaken loose. “Gods. We’re supposed to be adults.”

“Right?” Quinn’s tone turned theatrical. “I mean, just look at us. Rational, mature women, lying in cribs, wearing nothing but glorified pillows around our asses. I feel like such a grown-up.”

Elara rolled her eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“Helping with what, exactly?” Quinn asked. “You think being outraged is going to give us back our underwear and autonomy magically? Because I tried that already. Spoiler: all it got me was a red ass.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Quinn arched a brow, a teasing glint in her eyes. "If you want them to start treating you like an adult, Elara," she whispered ironically. "Why not start by acting like one? Give yourself a little fun; you know, play with yourself."

The suggestion hung between them, thick with implication. Elara swallowed hard, feeling a warmth coil in her gut that she hadn’t acknowledged in what felt like ages. The audacity of Quinn’s words sent a shiver down her spine, yet there was something liberating in it, too. A smirk danced on Quinn’s lips, daring her.

Elara hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of her blanket. To indulge or not, to break the benign chains of numbness—there was a temptation in that that almost felt like defiance. She let out a soft sigh, surrendering to the craving that had taken root and grown restless from neglect.

Beneath the covers, her hand slid, soft and deliberate, until her fingertips brushed against the edge of her diaper. The sensation was foreign, yet thrilling, and she bit back a gasp as her fingers slipped beyond the barrier, seeking out the familiar, intimate warmth nestled between her thighs. She found her clit, tenderness tinged with expectation, and started to stroke, gently at first. She built a rhythm, slow, steady, feeling a spark of heat flare and spread, tendrils of desire snaking through her.

Elara melted back into the mattress, each breath coming a little sharper, a little faster. Her mind dimmed, narrowing down to the simple, exquisite pleasure she was dancing on. It was heady, almost forgotten—this feeling of control, however small, over her body, her desire.

But just as she began to lose herself in the rising swell, the door crashed open with a thunderous slam, ripping through the still air and scattering her thoughts like leaves in a gale. Her hand stilled, a sharp intake of breath caught in her throat, eyes wide and wild with sudden fear.