Collectible, Chapter 1

 [Standard Content Warning: This is an ABDL story blog, that means stories on this page contain diapers, diaper usage (like, lots of it), infantilism and the like! In addition, mental and physical manipulation, bondage and nonconsensual or dubiously consensual employment of all of the above themes and many others may also apply. Viewer discretion is advised.] 

[This is chapter 1 of a story written based off a prompt from omutsuryuu! If you'd like to submit prompts for potential short stories, check out the short story post on Bluesky!]

Day 1:

You really hadn’t thought much of it when you’d bought it.

You were a collector, but you didn’t really collect dolls or other kinds of toys. You mostly stuck to stuff from movies and TV. Rare posters, signed scripts, props, that kinda thing. But you’d read an article about some really rare and valuable doll from France called “Princess Bonenfant”, a doll based on a princess that only a couple hundred of existed, most of them somewhere in France. You read the article and just filed away the information as not-all-that-valuable trivia until by coincidence a couple months later, you stumbled on a listing for it online. A listing that seemed bizarrely cheap. Normally that meant a scam, but whatever, the price was so low and for some reason it had piqued your interest. You were already buying some other stuff, so you just tossed it on to your order.

Again, you weren’t really a doll collector, but if it was the real deal, this was a pretty valuable find. You could flip it and make some decent money or you could hold onto it, maybe hold onto it for a trade or a gift some day. The circles of movie collectors and doll/toy collectors weren’t without any overlap. You could probably find some use for it.

It arrived shortly thereafter and near as you could figure, it was the real deal. It had a really unique design you couldn’t recall ever seeing in a vintage doll. Red eyes and long white hair. You had just bought it without thinking, figuring you’d sell it, gift it or trade it but now that it was in your hands, you thought it might be interesting enough to just hang onto….

Day 2:

You tossed and turned for several hours throughout the night before groggily waking up. The first thing you did was check the time - about 3 AM. The second thing you did was notice that something felt very wrong. You pulled off your covers to notice a very big dark spot on your pajamas and your bed underneath you.

That was a lot to digest at three in the morning, so you just kinda sat there staring at it for a few moments.

As you trudged your wet clothes and sheets to the laundry, you briefly thought to yourself that you had no idea how something like that could’ve happened. It wasn’t like you had gotten piss drunk the night before or something. You eventually decide not to dwell on it right now, chalk it up as a weird one-time freak occurrence and just replace your sheets and go back to bed.

Your alarm goes off about five hours later, as per usual. When you wake up and realize you’ve wet the bed twice in the same night, you’re no longer able to dismiss it as a weird one-time freak occurrence.

You spend the first half of the day on your phone googling causes of sudden bedwetting. By about….2 PM-ish, you’ve either leaked or almost leaked into your underwear enough times that your searches have broadened in scope past simple night wetting. The entire time you’re searching, you do so with heightened anxiety, stealing glances behind you as if somebody is going to look over your shoulder, see your search results and announce them to the world.

You consider all of the possible causes. Stress? Who isn’t stressed these days, it’s weird times. Your mind of course goes to all of the worst possibilities, like some horrible disease where this is just the first symptom. That doesn’t make you any less stressed. Before the day ends, you make an appointment with your doctor for next week. After a full day of dealing with this and more stained underwear than you care to admit, you consider buying some, uh, “protection” to tide you over until you see your doctor. You get halfway to the incontinence supplies section at the store before you chicken out and go home. Maybe you’ll try again tomorrow. At 11 PM, when there’s nobody within a 5 meter radius of the section or the self-checkout lanes.

For tonight, you settle on drinking as little as possible in the hours leading up to bedtime and just crossing your fingers. No, you’re not really expecting it to work.

Day 3:

Let’s focus on the good news first, shall we?

First bit of good news, you slept through the night! No tossing and turning at all, you slept right through until your alarm! Those stress levels must be going down, right?

Second bit of good news, the first thing you check when you wake up is the status of your sheets and your pajamas and both of them are fine, no wetness or discoloration to be found. For a few seconds, you’re just relieved.

And now you’re realizing that you still feel a warm wetness between your legs, so, that’s about enough time spent on the good news.

You pull off your pajamas to reveal a thick absorbent brief around your waist that, well, has lived up to its job and has spent the entire night absorbing your bedwettings. Plural, because from its slightly swollen status, it appears you used it more than once over the course of the night. You put a hand to it to confirm it’s both sodden and…kind of warm, which means you used it relatively recently, too. You, of course, didn’t feel any of this as it happened and slept right through it all.

You stumble into the bathroom, not sure what to make of any of this. You see something tucked between the toilet and the bathtub, disceretly. It’s a stack of more of the briefs. You stare at them for a moment. Did you…buy these? You thought you had chickened out, but. You must’ve bought them and you must’ve put one on, otherwise why would they be here?

You take a shower and try not to look at yourself in the mirror as you grab one of the briefs off the stack and slip it on.

You shuffle through the day like a zombie, completely lost in thought about what’s happening to you. You only really snap out of your reverie in the moments you realize you’re about to wet yourself, or worse, have already started. At this rate, you’re worried you won’t be able to tell when it’s happening at all in, what, a couple days? A few hours? Whatever’s happening to you is only getting worse. You consider moving up your appointment, but your doctor’s office has already closed by the time it occurs to you, so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

As you get ready for bed, you notice the princess doll you got a few days ago. You grab it and let out a huff, the dots connecting in your head that your problems started pretty much immediately after you bought her.

…

Wait a sec.

Something floats to the top of your mind and you go to your computer. You find the article you read that tipped you off about Princess Bonenfant in the first place. You read about the original doll - it was made as a gift for the princess….to help her learn about potty training.

With no small amount of embarrassment, you flip the doll’s nightgown up. You murmur an apology to the doll as you tug down her bloomers revealing, yes, a diaper. With two little buttons that were meant to simulate the pins they used to affix cloth diapers back in those days, you guess. This was a potty training doll (possibly the first of its kind), the kind that wet themselves so kids could learn about changing diapers and going to the potty on time. And the night after you bought it, you started —

Okay, hold on a second. What?

What are we doing here. Are we seriously theorizing that buying a doll made you start wetting yourself? Like, what, it was some kind of magic doll? How absurd was that. You redress the doll, apologize again for casting aspersions on it and put it back.

As you sigh and slip on a fresh brief before bed, you come to an understanding that you probably just wanted to believe “Magic Doll” was a possibility because it’s better than the thought that you have some kind of weird medical problem that’s gonna take a lot of time, attention and money to deal with. Some weird supernatural explanation was more fun than a very mundane, very arduous, very expensive, realistic explanation.

You give the doll one more look before you turn the lights out. You resolve that tomorrow, you’re gonna try to get your doctor to see you immediately.

…

…

…

“Wake up.”

Your eyes flutter a couple times. You’re vaguely aware of a light - it must be outside. Your eyes start to open, before you turn over and shut them again.

“Wake. Up.”

You feel something pressing down on your cheek. That gets your attention for real.

“Bwuhhhh.”

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

Now you’re being whacked repeatedly on the side of the head.

“Ahhhh, aahhh, getoff!” You swipe at whatever it is and sit up. Or rather, you try, but you immediately flop back down. You try to move your arms, but they feel like they’re in molasses. You turn your head and realize the source of light and the source of you being repeatedly hit in the face was the same thing.

There’s a girl sitting cross-legged on your bed. A brightly glowing, slightly translucent girl. A girl in a white puffy nightgown with long white hair and red eyes.

“Wha…?”

“You don’t have much time,” the girl says. “You’re still dreaming.” You try to sit up again. The feeling like you’re trapped in quicksand or underwater or something persists.

“Whas’ happenin’…?” You murmur out.

“You need to wake up soon, so I can’t explain fully,” she says. “I’m the soul inside the doll you acquired. You’ve been cursed. You need to wake up and get rid of the doll before midnight.” Your eyes widen.

“You mean you—“

“Yes.” The girl is getting impatient, now. “The doll really was magic. It’s the reason you’ve been wetting yourself. It really would’ve been better if you’d listened to that superstitious part of your mind a while ago, when you still had a few hours to spare. But you still have time. If you just go on your computer and make a listing attempting to sell me, that will count as giving up ownership and should remove the curse’s presence. But you have to do it before midnight.”

In your dreaming state, you’re not sure how much of this you’re actually retaining and how much is just kinda washing over you, but at the very least, two things aren’t lost on you - the amount of urgency in this girl’s voice and her repeated insistence that it has to be done before midnight. You try focusing on moving your arms, moving your body, doing whatever you can to wake yourself up. One thing occurs to you before you do.

“So…” You murmur out. “Did’you…give me…those pull-ups?” You ask. The word you choose burns a little bit, but in your state, you couldn’t find the phrase ‘protective overnight briefs’, so something simpler just spilled out. Rather than looking annoyed that you’re still talking instead of waking the hell up, the girl looks a little anxious.

“No,” she says. “That wasn’t me. That was….” She swallows. “Them.” Before you can follow up, her tone becomes urgent again. “That’s why you have to wake up, now! Remember - before midnight!”

Something about the foreboding way she says that puts a chill in you. It’s enough to get your brain to send the right combination of signals to your body. The next thing you know…

“Huhhh!”

You sit up in your own bed. You’re covered in sweat. No prizes for guessing, you’ve also wet your pull-up - brief! It’s a brief!

The first thing you do is grab the clock. 11:54.

“Geez,” you murmur. Really cutting it close. You get out of bed. You look over at your dresser and turn on the light. You see the doll sitting on top of it where it was. You take a minute (while being vaguely aware that’s too long to spend) to wonder if it’s just a dream.

Then you notice the doll isn’t sitting in the same position it was when you went to bed. It’s raised an arm and pointed a finger across the room. At your computer.

That’s enough healthy skepticism for one night. You’re going to fully indulge the crazy superstitious part of your brain for the next - oh crap - five minutes. You dart across the room to your computer and turn it on, thanking the lord you have an SSD of pretty recent vintage, so it takes less than a minute to get your browser open and get on your auction website of choice. You put together an extremely slapdash listing for the doll without a picture and with very few details. You just need to have something up before midnight, you’ll worry about editing it afterwards. Your hurried listing is ready to submit. You mouse over the ‘Submit’ button.

Then you hesitate.

You look back at the doll. It didn’t seem to be worried about you wetting the bed. It explicitly said that things were going to get worse. If you sell it to someone and they buy it for dirt cheap like you did, doesn’t that mean they’ll be next in line to suffer whatever terrible fate is about to befall you?

You suddenly bite your lip. You turn and look at the clock.

12:00.

Day 4:

Ohhhhhhhh, no.

You look at the doll. It hasn’t moved. She warned you that you had to give her up before midnight, but now it’s midnight. You stand up from your computer. You keep staring at the doll, waiting for something to happen.

12:00 becomes 12:01. You run your hand through your hair. You briefly wonder if it was, in fact, just a dream. That’s…probably for the best. Although even if it wasn’t, you’re still not sure if you could’ve gone through with it. If you really were cursed by this doll, you really don’t think your conscience would’ve let you foist it off onto someone else.

Before your inner monologue takes you to 12:02, you feel a sudden shot in your stomach. You grunt, then groan. You feel an intense need to make it to the bathroom, right now. You make it about halfway across your room before that need starts moving from present to past tense. Your knees buckle as your body shifts into a squatting position against your will and you feel something soft and warm invading the seat of your pull-up. You can feel the front growing warm and wet all over again, to add insult to injury.

For some reason, the first place your eyes go as you continue your utterly humiliating accident is the doll sitting on your dresser. You gasp when you realize she’s moved again. Her arm is no longer raised, she’s no longer pointing at the computer. She’s looking right at you. And her expression is just….saddened.

Almost apologetic.

You wince as you feel another wave of pressure further muddying your seat. When you open your eyes again, you feel something encroaching on the sides of your vision. Before you know it, you’re getting kind of woozy.

Everything is…fading…

…

…

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