Chapter 45 — House Standings

Elara’s stiff fingers fumbled with the crayon, the waxy stick slipping awkwardly against her palm as the professor’s voice droned on in the background. She’d been at it all class, trying to grip it properly, but her dexterity was shot—courtesy of Mommy and Daddy’s latest “correction.” With a frustrated huff, she finally gave up, wrapping her hand around it in a clumsy fist-like grip and scrawling her notes that way.

The jagged lines and uneven letters looked more like a child’s doodles than anything academic, and the muffled snickers from her classmates burned her ears. She kept her head down, cheeks hot, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

A desk over, Mommy sat with a faint smirk curling her lips, her foot tapping idly in the air as she watched Elara struggle. Her amusement was palpable, a silent taunt that only deepened Elara’s embarrassment. After finding her and Quinn tangled together in the same crib, clearly having freed themselves, both girls had been deemed to have “too much dexterity” for their own good. The solution was swift and humiliating—some kind of magical rune, Elara wasn’t sure which, that left their hands clumsy and weak, barely able to manage basic tasks. It was just another layer of control, another way to strip them down.

Elara shifted in her seat, the squishy bulk of her diaper pressing against the tight straps encircling her hips and running between her legs. The so-called “booster” seat was anything but helpful—a thin, flimsy chair that added no height, only restraint. The safety straps pinned her in place, digging into her skin through the padding, ensuring she couldn’t wiggle free even if she had the coordination to try. And that was the worst part: not just that she felt like she needed the stupid thing after being conditioned into helplessness, but that she couldn’t undo the buckles even if she wanted to. Her fingers were too fumbling, the mechanisms too intricate for her current state.

She was trapped, physically and mentally, under everyone’s watchful eyes.

“Having trouble over there, sweetheart?” Mommy’s voice cut through her thoughts, low and teasing, just loud enough for nearby students to hear. A few more stifled laughs rippled through the room.

Elara gritted her teeth, gripping the crayon tighter in her fist. “I’m fine,” she muttered, though the words came out more petulant than defiant. Her handwriting—if you could call it that—wobbled across the page as she tried to focus on the lecture.

“Doesn’t look fine,” Mommy mused, leaning back in her chair. “But don’t worry, we’ll keep working on those little hands of yours until they’re just right. Can’t have you getting into trouble again, can we?”

Elara glanced away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she tried to focus on anything but the amused stares around her. The nursing session from that morning had left her diaper soggy, the heavy padding pressing uncomfortably against her skin beneath the tight straps of the booster seat. Her stomach churned uneasily, a familiar pressure building that told her it wouldn’t be long before she added even more to her predicament. The rune Mommy had placed on her seemed to strip away all coordination and control—every bit of it. From her clumsy fingers to her body’s basic functions, nothing was spared.

She felt utterly betrayed by herself, trapped in a cycle of helplessness she couldn’t escape.

Her eyes flicked down to the page before her, where her intricate notes on advanced spell casting and rune manipulation should have been. Instead, she was met with a mess of colorful squiggles—jagged lines and uneven loops that looked more like a toddler’s artistic take on a flower garden than anything remotely academic. Frustration boiled inside her, mingling with the ever-present shame.

She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening around the crayon as she tried, yet again, to write a single coherent line. Her hand trembled, the waxy tip skidding across the paper in another useless scribble. She was so focused on the task that she didn’t even notice the thin line of drool slipping down her chin until a shadow loomed closer. Mommy leaned over and wiped the trail away with a soft cloth. Before Elara could react, a pacifier was slipped into her mouth with a teasing grin.

“There we go, sweetie,” Mommy cooed softly, just loud enough for nearby ears to catch. “Can’t have you making a mess now, can we?”

Elara’s face burned a deep crimson, the heat spreading down her neck as she automatically began nursing the stupid thing. The rhythmic motion came without thought, a conditioned response she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. Her lips worked around it while her other hand kept fumbling with the crayon, dragging out more nonsensical marks on the page. Every suckle felt like another layer of dignity stripped away, especially under the weight of snickers rippling through the classroom.

“Aw, look at you trying so hard,” Mommy murmured, still hovering close as she adjusted Elara’s position in the booster seat. The straps tugged tighter for a moment, pressing the soggy padding against her skin and amplifying the discomfort. “Don’t worry if it’s not perfect. You’re doing just fine for someone in your… situation.”

The words stung, laced with mock encouragement that only deepened Elara’s humiliation. She wanted to spit out the pacifier, snap back with something sharp, but her mouth kept working it instinctively, and her fingers refused to cooperate enough to even drop the crayon properly. Her stomach gave another ominous gurgle. She hunched over further, trying to hide behind the desk as much as possible, though there was no escaping the reality of her position—or the eyes watching every awkward move she made.

Elara kept her gaze locked on the scribbled mess of her paper, forcing herself to ignore the gawking stares boring into her from every corner of the classroom. The weight of their eyes was suffocating, and she knew if she looked up, she’d snap—say something or do something she’d regret in an instant.

There was no doubt in her mind that Mommy would have no qualms about spanking her right here in front of everyone. Hell, the professor would probably join in without hesitation. She could already picture the smug satisfaction on both their faces as they dragged her up for punishment.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been publicly spanked, after all. Her mind flickered to past humiliations, each one a fresh wound to her pride. Maybe this time, Mommy and the professor would tag-team the duty, taking turns or working together to maximize her embarrassment. The thought twisted in her head, and despite herself, her lips curled upward in a slight smirk. The image of being sprawled across both “adults’” laps, spanked mercilessly while the class watched, struck her as absurdly funny—funnier than the burning shame that simmered beneath it.

A bitter chuckle escaped around the pacifier, muffled but still there.

She shifted forward in her booster seat, crayon digging harder into the paper as she tried to focus on forming even one legible mark. Her concentration was so intense that she didn’t notice the shift at first—not until she sat back down fully. Immediately, the contents of her now messy diaper squished beneath her, spreading with an unmistakable sensation that made her stomach lurch. A soft groan slipped out behind the pacifier, barely audible but enough to make her blush scarlet. Her face burned as she froze, hoping no one else had noticed, though deep down she knew better.

The straps of the seat held her firmly in place, pressing the soggy, now messier padding tighter against her skin with every tiny movement. It was unbearable—the warmth, the weight, and worst of all, knowing there was nothing she could do about it. Her clumsy fingers couldn’t undo a buckle even if her life depended on it, and asking for help was out of question.

“Everything alright over there?” Mommy’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, dripping with mock concern as she leaned closer. Her eyes gleamed with amusement, clearly picking up on Elara’s discomfort.

Elara’s jaw tightened around the pacifier, refusing to meet that gaze. She nodded stiffly, though every part of her screamed otherwise. Her hand gripped the crayon so hard it nearly snapped, dragging another useless squiggle across the page.

“Mm-hmm, doesn’t sound like it,” Mommy teased, reaching over to pat Elara’s strapped-in thigh with a condescending little tap. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you all cleaned up soon… if you’re good.”

The promise—or threat—hung heavy in Elara’s ears as she hunched further over her desk, trying to block out everything: the stares, the words, and especially the humiliating reality of sitting there in her own mess. But with every shift of her body came another reminder of just how little control she had left.

Mommy’s teasing remark drew smirks from a few classmates who didn’t even bother to hide their amusement. Elara kept her eyes glued to the scribbled mess on her paper, pretending not to notice, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. She sucked harder on the pacifier out of sheer frustration, trying to block out the whispers and stifled giggles as she scratched another useless line with the crayon.

Mercifully, the class finally ended. The professor’s voice faded into a dismissive tone as students began packing up. Before Elara could even attempt to move, Mommy was at her side, deftly unclicking the buckles of the booster seat. In one swift motion, she hauled Elara up onto her hip, her hand sliding under the messy diaper to support her weight.

The sudden pressure made the contents squish uncomfortably, and Elara flinched, a muffled groan escaping around the pacifier as the sensation spread. Her legs dangled uselessly, strapped-in helplessness replaced by being carried like an infant.

She wanted to argue, to insist she could walk on her own, but the memory of that morning flashed vividly in her mind.

She’d tried standing after the rune had been applied, clinging to the crib’s edge for support. The moment she let go, her legs wobbled like a newborn fawn’s, and she nearly face-planted into the dorm floor. If she hadn’t swallowed her pride and begged Mommy to carry her, Elara knew she’d have been reduced to crawling to class—hands and knees dragging across the cold floor while everyone watched. The very thought sent a fresh wave of heat creeping up her neck, burning hotter than the shame of being cradled now.

“Shh, no fussing,” Mommy murmured as they left the classroom, her tone soft but laced with control. Her hand patted Elara’s padded bottom absentmindedly, each tap squishing things further and making Elara tense in her grip. “You’re much safer up here with me. Can’t have my little one tumbling again, can we?”

Elara’s jaw tightened around the pacifier, but she didn’t respond. The hallway bustled with students heading to their next destinations, some casting curious or mocking glances as they passed. Being carried like this made her feel smaller than ever, every step Mommy took amplifying the crinkle of the padding under her skirt. She tucked her head against Mommy’s shoulder instinctively, hiding her scarlet face from view, though it did little to dull the humiliation seeping into every fiber of her being.

“Where are we going?” she mumbled around the pacifier, barely audible, half-dreading the answer.

“You’ll see soon enough,” came the reply, sing-song and evasive. “First, we’ve got to get you all cleaned up. Can’t leave you like this all day, now can I?” The hand under her bottom gave another light pat for emphasis, sending another mortifying squish through her senses.

Elara bit down harder on the silicone in her mouth, wishing she could disappear entirely as they continued down the corridor.

Elara’s gaze lingered on the bustling corridor as Mommy carried her. It seemed they were heading back toward her dorm in House Ruby, but they paused in the common room, right before the towering class scoreboard that loomed over the space. The polished wood and glowing runes displayed the rankings of every student in the house, their names shifting with each update of points.

Elara’s eyes flicked to her name—and Quinn’s—etched in the middle of the list. They’d been slipping dangerously down the rankings not long ago, teetering on the edge of expulsion. The threat had been enough to force them into submission, groveling to Mommy and Daddy for mercy with promises to behave. Now, though, they were solidly middle of the pack and climbing fast. At this rate, with the House Cup just a few days away, both girls wouldn’t just qualify for the competition—they’d be front-runners for House Ruby.

A confusing swirl of emotions churned in Elara’s chest as she stared at the glowing letters. Happy? Sad? Excited? Scared? She couldn’t pin it down. The idea of competing in the Cup, of being thrust into whatever humiliating spectacle awaited, made her stomach knot with dread. Yet there was a flicker of something like pride—or maybe desperation—at how far they’d clawed their way up. Mommy clearly approved; she pressed a kiss to the top of Elara’s head, her lips warm against her scalp.

“Such a good girl,” she murmured with a smile, adjusting her grip on Elara as they moved away from the scoreboard. “You’ve definitely earned a diaper change—especially since you haven’t complained once.”

Elara’s cheeks flushed at the comment. She did care—deeply. The soggy, messy weight between her legs was impossible to ignore, and the thought of being changed like this still stung with humiliation. But she also knew the price of asking for changes or showing any resistance. Whining or pleading often led to delays, teasing remarks, or worse punishments. So she bit her tongue around the pacifier, letting herself be carried without protest into her dorm and straight to the changing table.

Mommy laid her down gently on the padded surface, the cool material a sharp contrast to the warmth under her skirt. With practiced ease, she tugged open the tabs of the diaper, exposing the mess beneath as she cooed down at Elara. “What a good girl you are for me today.”

But Elara’s mind wasn’t on the change or the infantilizing words washing over her. Her thoughts drifted back to that scoreboard in the common room, to the looming specter of the House Cup. What would it be like? The rumors and whispers among students painted it as some grand event—a test of skill wrapped in layers of public humiliation. Every degrading moment this year felt like preparation for something even worse. Her nerves twisted tighter at the thought. Could she really endure whatever awaited for the chance at another year here?

She supposed she’d find out soon enough. The uncertainty hung heavy over her as Mommy continued her work, wiping and powdering with an air of satisfaction while Elara lay there, lost in apprehensive thought.