Story Collection

Brenna Connell leaned back in her chair, a half consumed cigarette hanging from her lips. On the computer screen in front of her was a display, showing her progress so far. She reached up and took the cigarette from her mouth and stubbed it out on the wooden armrest of the chair.

"God, this is taking too long," she said softly as she dropped the but to the floor.

Brenna probably would have been called pretty, had she taken the time to care for herself in even the most basic ways. As it was her black hair was dull, and matted, and her pale skin was sallow.

A little below average height, she was far too skinny due to lack of proper meals, improper ones as well.

Brenna reached across the desk and picked up a half-empty tumbler full of whisky. She drank it, then filled it from a bottle by the side of the desk. As the computer continued running her program she took another cigarette from the case next to the bottle and used a gold lighter to light it.

The computer beeped twice and she typed the fingers of her free hand across the keyboard and then waited. She continued to smoke and drink for almost twenty minutes before the program finished its work.

"About fucking time," she muttered as she pushed a writeable CD into the drive in the tower and used the mouse to copy the newly decrypted files onto the CD. That took a few minutes; there was a lot of data to copy.

When it was done she took the CD from the drive, put it into a case, and then slid the case into the pocket of her leather coat.

Brenna dropped the most recent cigarette to the carpet and crushed it out with her boot toe. She finished the last of the whisky in the bottle and then, a little unsteadily, walked from the office, out into the darkened room beyond. She took a moment to turn off the lights, and then headed for the elevator.

It was several hours later, the sun was just beginning to rise. Brenna stood in the dirty alleyway behind a bar. She leaned against the wall, smoking another cigarette, shivering slightly in the cool air.

"Do you have it," someone asked from the shadows near the big, blue dumpster in the corner.

"Yeah," she said around the cigarette, then she reached into her pocket and removed the CD. She flicked it negligently in the direction of the voice.

A somewhat portly man stepped out of the shadows to catch the CD before it hit the ground. He was ungainly in his actions, but he caught it. He shot her an angry look as he put it into the pocket of his coat. He was well dressed, wearing a neatly pressed suit, though his leather shoes had become fouled by the trash in the alley.

"Good." He reached into his pocket. "I guess there is just the matter of payment."

"If that is a gun in your pocket, and I think it is," she said before he could do anything, "you had better know there's a friend of mine on the roof across from us with a hunting rifle and it is pointed at you."

"Just in case you are thinking that you get rid of me and everything stays secret. The opposite is in fact the case here. If anything happens to me, it all comes out."

He took his hand, slowly, from his pocket. He reached inside his coat and removed a thick envelope. He tossed it towards her. Brenna let it fall to the ground at her feet.

After a moment she knelt down and picked up the envelope. She opened and it and looked through the bills within. At least he had not tired to short change her. Straightening, she put the envelope in her pocket and set off, whistling tunelessly between her teeth.

Brenna Connell was a woman who should have been great. She had in her the bloodlines of ancient kings and warlords. She should have shaken the foundations of the world. Instead she dealt with expensive crimes in the shadows the society and was moving closer and closer to an early death. She was of course aware of that, but she really did not care.

There was and is magic in the world. Point of fact. Most people were not aware of it. As it turned out Brenna was supposed to have crossed with that magic when she had been much younger in the form of a caretaker. A caretaker who was a nanny in fact.

Magical nannies were somewhat more common than most people would have thought. Children were important and childhood was the best time to affect the destinies of those who could be great.

Most people knew of a certain nanny who was practically perfect in every way. There were others. Nancy Odmons was one of those. She was fairly perfect, in most ways. In one way she was not perfect was in arriving in time. She was quite bad at it in fact.

Nancy Odmons sat slumped in the booth, using her finger to roll an empty shot glass back and forth on the sticky table.

"So," the large man sitting across from her said, "that was when the Pharaoh ordered me killed."

"Well, it was a few centuries before I could go back, and by then the Romans had showed up and the place really went to hell."

Nancy yawned and sat up. She looked around the nearly empty bar. "What time is it?"

Nancy reached into the carpetbag at her feet and removed a date book. She flipped through it, and then cursed in a way that would have earned her a look of severe displeasure from her supervisors had they heard her. "I truly did it this time."

"There was this girl I was supposed to take care of. A very important mission. When they find out I messed this up they will fire me for certain."

"No," she slammed her hands to the table top and stood up, a little unsteadily. "I can fix this."

"What? You're almost twenty years too late. You're a nanny. Not much use for you now."

Nancy shook her head. "If there is a problem I'll figure out what to do. And everything might have worked out fine. Then I'll just report back and tell them that everything is just peachy."

He shook his head. "You're dreaming. When you realise that come and see me, always room in the sandmen corps. And if you are really hard up for a job the tooth fairies are always hiring."

"I will not be looking for new employment, thank you," she said imperiously and then walked regally out of the bar, spoiled only by her tripping on the threshold and falling out of the bar with a scream.

Nancy had secretly hoped that Brenna would have figured things out for herself, found her own destiny, and well on her way to making a good life for herself. It seemed like a little thing to ask. The world was full of people who screwed things up. Was it so much to ask that Brenna be someone who rose above that without the help of a magical nanny?

Nancy had watched Brenna for over a week, and every day, much to her surprise, it got worse and worse. That she smoked and drank was not good, not that Nancy could really fault the girl her drinking. Nancy herself tended to hit the bottle a lot, but, to her credit, she was a magical being, and her liver was not as risk.

Bad habits, but not really a huge problem, if everything else had worked out well.

Brenna stole. She stole data, information, which even Nancy realised was far more valuable than simple gold and jewels. She stole that information and destroyed it or sold it, depending on what she was being paid to do. She made a large amount of money doing so, which was, as far as Brenna was concerned, was the only good thing she could find about Brenna.

The Brenna she was faced with would probably be dead in a few years, and what was really unfortunate was that no one would care.

Dying was not a problem. Everyone did it, but Brenna was supposed to be a person who's death would be a notable event. It was supposed to have meaning, as her life was supposed to have meaning.

At the end of the week Nancy was seriously considering brushing off her dusty CV and looking for a new job.

She might have, right there and then, but for the nagging suspicion that she had really screwed things up, far beyond the normal levels of the screw ups. Perhaps far beyond the ability of her superiors to ignore. It was just possible that they might think that simply letting her go was not enough and that an example had to be made. It had been a long time since something like that had happened, but just because it had been a long time did not mean that it would not happen.

Nancy sat in a bar, drinking a single malt scotch, wondering what she should do. Sitting in a bar, drinking, was not really the best thing for her to be doing, it had been what had led her into the situation she was in, but the nanny was a creature of habit.

That was the problem. She was a creature of habit and she was a nanny. She knew how to deal with children. How to shape their little minds, to mix equal parts of threat and reward to get them to do as she wanted. Brenna was not a child, and Nancy did not know how she was going to get the woman to do as she, Nancy, wished.

She drank the contents of a tumbler and singled the bartender to refill her glass.

It would be so easy if she could just regress Brenna back to childhood. She would do that in a moment, if she could. Nancy had access to a lot of magic, and could pull of some pretty amazing things, but turning an adult into a child was not one of them. Which was a pity, because such a power would make her life ever so easier.

Okay, she thought to herself, sipping at her scotch, I can't turn her into a child, but maybe I can put her in a child like state. Tear her down and build her up again. It was unfortunate that Brenna was not likely to join the army, because Nancy thought that such an environment would be perfect for what she needed to do.

For some reason Brenna must need me, and she must need me in the way that makes me the authority figure.

A dominant lover? Her superiors would of course have a fit to learn of such a thing, but it would, well, might, work. Lots of Nancy's charges had loved her, but that had been a child's love for a caretaker. Nancy was not certain she could make Brenna fall in love with her in another way.

Why would Brenna need a nurse? Well, Nancy could arrange any number of accidents to befall the young woman, but really, she did not feel like crippling her. That seemed far too much.

Maybe there was something she might do. Start small, work up, and along the way break Brenna down and build her up again, in the way she should have been.

Later the bartender picked up the half empty tumbler and tried to remember why he had placed it there.

Brenna woke up with a hangover, coughing as she always did as of late. She flipped the sheets off her body and began getting out of bed. She realised that her panties and the bedding underneath her were soaked in urine.

"I don't fucking believe this," she said, reaching for a pack of cigarettes by her bed. "What the hell was I drinking last night?" She lit up a cigarette and took a long draw on it.

She left the wet bed behind and padded towards the bathroom. She peeled off her soaked panties, tossed them into the garbage, and then took a long shower.

After the shower she returned to her bed and stripped the sheets and blankets off of it. Those she threw into the garbage, leaving the mattress to dry. Brenna did not bother doing laundry. If it was not something she could take to the cleaners she threw it away when it got dirty.

She dressed, picking up a few pieces of clothing from the floor where she had dropped it the night before, pulling a new pair of panties from a bag of clothing. After lighting up another cigarette she left the apartment.

Down the street from where she lived was the building in which was her office. On the ground floor was a twenty-four hour diner. She stopped off at the diner for a cup of coffee and some toast. Her breakfast.

She took the elevator up to her office and sat down at her desk, starting in on her next job. Some politician wanted dirt on one of his opponents. She needed to find it, and if she could not find it, manufacture something that would pass for authentic, at least long enough for the press to go crazy with it.

As she worked she forgot about the wet bed that morning, her attention focused on the task ahead of her.

She did not really notice that she was getting up to go to the bathroom more than normal, or that she was making it just in time as it were. It was not until late afternoon, when the cotton gusset of her panties ended up a little damp in the seconds she had needed to unzip her pants, that she thought about what had happened that morning, and through the day.

She thought about going to see her doctor about it, but decided not to. Unless she thought she was going to die she did not go to see doctors. Seeing doctors was a lot like doing laundry or eating right. They were actions of people who cared.

She took a piece of tissue paper and lay it in her panties to dry the dampness, then pulled the panties and her pants up her legs. Brenna went back to work.

At the end of the day she was fairly certain she could find some real dirt for her client. She locked up her office and went out to hit the bars. She liked the bars, well, the drinking, but she was actually working. She could only find out so much with her computer. She had to speak to her contacts.

During the night she found herself rushing off to the bathroom several times. It seemed that once she noticed she needed to go to the bathroom she did not have long to make it before her bladder let loose.

Several times she needed to fold up a piece of toilet paper to absorb dampness, and the gusset of her panties was stained yellow by the end of the night.

When she got home, a little after two in the morning, drunk, she took the time to tear open a package of bedding, wrap herself up in a sheet, and then collapse, still clothed, onto her still damp mattress.

"Shit, what is wrong with me?" Brenna asked, sitting on her wet bed. She was still wrapped in the sheet, and her clothes were damp on her. She stood, pushing the sheet from herself, and then stripping her clothing off.

She was going to have to figure out what was happening. First she wanted to shower.

Normally Brenna was not much for cleaning, but she felt she really had to take care of things. So, after showering and dressing, she cleaned up the mess as best she could. All the urine-stained things were tossed into a garbage bag and the bag sealed up for later disposal.

She found some bleach and a spray bottle in her bathroom. She mixed the bleach with water in the bottle, and then sprayed the large, yellow stain on the mattress until she could no longer smell the urine for the bleach.

Opening the curtains let in light to spill upon the mattress, hopefully drying it. She looked around the apartment, made bright by the sunlight. "What a dump," she said. It was time to get a maid in her for a couple of days to scrub everything clean. Her version of spring-cleaning.

Brenna left her apartment, carrying the trash bag down to the street with her and then tossing it into the dumpster. Then she headed to work.

She came running into the twenty-four hour diner and dashed for the bathroom, just making it in time. Afterwards she restricted herself to a small cup of coffee, just in case, and then went up to her office.

With the information she had picked up the evening before she was able to find the dirt she needed. Credit card records, some e-mails that really should have been deleted, and even a chat record, all of it suitable for her client's needs.

Honestly, there was nothing there that was really all that bad, but people in the area in question tended to be more conservative. Uptight, conservative, idiots who were less concerned with competency than with other people's private business.

A few hours after starting work she suddenly had to rush off to the bathroom, again barely making it in time. As she used tissue to dry the damp gusset of her panties she was thinking that it was time she went to see a doctor.

So she thought, until, a little after lunch, she found herself peeing her pants while she sat at her desk. Even when she realised that, it took her few seconds to stop the flow. She ran to the bathroom, a large, wet stain soaking the front of her pants.

Sitting on the toilet, finishing off what had started at her desk, she suddenly felt like crying. She was wetting her bed. She was wetting her pants. She was out of control, helpless. Brenna did not like being helpless.

She remembered the last time she had had an accident like that. She had been six and had wet her bed after drinking a great deal of pop the night before. She had woken up, ready for the day, when she had realised that her bed was wet, her panties and snoopy nightie soaked, as well as the sheets.

She had gone to the only adult around, the maid, Mrs. Graham. Standing there, in her wet clothing, the scent of her own pee in her nostrils, she had felt her cheeks burning as she had said, 'Mrs. Graham, I've had an accident.'

It was the days before bedwetting items had become a huge industry, and companies had begun to spend a great deal of money on convincing people the bedwetting was perfectly acceptable and easily dealt with by spending money.

Mrs. Graham had not been a cruel woman, but her job kept her busy, and she really had little time for taking care of a child.

'An accident," she had said, obviously exasperated. 'Your parents should have hired someone to take care of a baby if you are going to be wetting your bed. Don't I have enough to do without having to deal with a bed wetter?'

Then she had thrown up her hands and told Brenna to take a bath and that she would handle the rest.

That day she had felt so shamed, so small, so useless, like the baby that Mrs. Graham had compared her to.

Brenna had never wet the bed again, for the first few weeks after that making sure she restricted her fluids, just in case. She had never wanted to feel that way again.

Sitting on the toilet, her wet pants around her ankles, she felt just like that shamed, little girl again. Not only did she want to cry, but also she wanted someone to talk to, someone to take care of it. She wished that her parents had been home that day, so long ago, or that Mrs. Graham had been a little kinder about it.

"Stupid idiot," she said to herself. If a six-year-old girl could not get comfort, what chance did a woman have of finding it?

Getting up from the toilet, she went back into her office, shuffling with her pants still down around her ankles. She kept several changes of clothing in the office so wet pants was not a huge problem. Once she was in dry clothes she picked up her phone and called up her doctor's office.

Brenna was not really the sort of person to take care of herself, but she had spent money for good medical insurance. She was able to make an appointment for that day.

Before leaving the office she wadded up some tissue paper and put it into her panties, just in case.

Dr. Sabina Dammar looked over the paperwork, marking the page with a pen. "Well, initial testing has not showed anything."

"What does that mean?" Brenna asked. She sat on an examination table, dressed in just a paper gown.

"It means that we have not yet found a physical cause for your condition. Now, there are still a number of tests to be run, so it will be a few days before we can say with any certainty that it is not physical."

Sabina put aside the paperwork. "Well, then we work at management. Speaking of which," she reached into her pocket and removed a business card, "this is someone who help in the management of situations such as yours." She handed Brenna the card. "I think you might want to contact her. Any treatment that we can provide is unlikely to immediately solve your problem and you'll likely need a little advice."

Brenna nodded as she looked at the card. It simply had the name 'Nancy Odmons' on it, and a phone number. Brenna supposed that the simple card was a subtle way to help avoid embarrassment.

Brenna nodded and slipped down from the examination table. She noticed that there was a large, wet spot on the paper where she had been sitting. Her cheeks grew warm.

Sabina looked at the wet spot and then at Brenna. "You were not aware of that?" she asked in a clinical fashion.

Sabina picked up the paperwork and wrote something down. "Back in a moment," she said, and left the room.

When she came back about a minute later she carried a small box with her. "These are a little like menstrual pads," she said, removing one of them from the box. "They are thicker, and more absorbent, but may not be enough for your difficulty." She handed the pad and box to Brenna. "However they may serve as a temporary measure until you decide how you want to handle this."

Brenna looked at the pad. It was a lot like a panty liner, with an adhesive strip and a quilted cover. It was, as Sabina had said, thicker than any pad that Brenna had worn, even on heavy flow days.

"I'll let you get dressed. Talk to the nurse on your way out, we should have the test results back in about three days." She smiled and then left.

Brenna sighed, and then felt a build up in her bladder. Fortunately each examination room had its own small bathroom and she was only steps away from the toilet. As it was the insides of her legs were wet with urine as she sat down to finish urinating in the toilet.

She cleaned herself up and then went to get dressed. She put the liner into her damp panties and then pulled her panties on. She could feel the pad, its thick bulk between her legs. Looking down at herself she did not think that the pad would be very discrete. Pulling on her pants confirmed it.

Anyone really looking would be able to tell that there was extra padding between her legs. She hoped that no one would be looking all that closely.

She left the office, pausing only to set a date for another examination in three days time.

Brenna had come straight home after the visit to the doctor. In the privacy of her bathroom she checked her pad and found it wet, but apparently still capable of absorbing more wetness. She left it in place, pulled her panties and pants back up, and then went to call the number on the card she had been given.

She got the woman's voice mail. Brenna left a simple message, telling the woman that Dr. Dammar had advised that Brenna call her. She did not go into details why, assuming that Odmons would know why. Se left her numbers and then hung up.

As she sat back in her chair she felt a dampness about her bottom. Looking down she saw a small wet spot between her legs. She rushed to the washroom and found the pad had grown to wet and was leaking.

She changed, throwing away the stained panties and drenched pad and then put a new pad into a fresh pair of full cut cotton briefs. She would have to check the pad often if she wanted to avoid leaks. She also looked at the box of pads. It was a sample pack and only held four pads. She had used two already.

She felt like a child as she sat on her toilet for several minutes, doing her best to make sure she really did not have to go to the bathroom. After that she dressed, putting on a loose pair of slacks so that pad would not show, and a long shirt that hung down to the middle of her things and would effectively hide a small accident, if she were to have one.

So clothed she went out, heading for the nearest drug store to buy what she needed.

Oh, she was not really happy with what she was doing to Brenna, and knew that her superiors would be more than upset were they to find out. Still, things were working out in a manner that would, hopefully, lead Brenna to the place that Nancy wanted her to be.

It was the third morning Brenna woke up in a wet bed. The pad had helped a little, but obviously it was not meant for such things.

She repeated her actions of the previous day, cleaning things up, hoping the mattress was not ruined. She left for her office a little later than usual, having stayed on the toilet a little longer, just to be sure, and then making certain she had enough pads with her.

The pads did help during the day. They kept her from having to deal with wet pants, and she did not have to rush to the bathroom the moment she felt the urge from her bladder, knowing the pad would absorb any leakage.

As she worked she set a small timer on her computer to chime every thirty minutes so she could check to make sure the pad was not too wet. She tended to get absorbed into her work and without the timer might have waited too long.

A little after noon she completed the job she had been hired to do. She zipped all the files up and sent them off to an anonymous mail drop. She had already been paid for the job so there was no need for her to meet with her client.

The work finished she leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers behind her head. She really should look at the other job offers she had and start on a new one, but she did not really feel up to it. Maybe she had been working too hard. Maybe that was why she had starting having the accidents.

A few days off, at least until she knew the results of the test, would not cause any problems. She was thinking about going hope when her phone rang. She picked up the handset. "Hello?"

"Oh, right," Brenna felt uncomfortable, and her cheeks grew warm. She suddenly had no idea what to say.

"I've spoken with Dr. Dammar about your condition," she said, as if aware of Brenna's embarrassment. "I have a little time right now. If you would like we can meet and I cal tell you about what services I can offer."

The last thing Brenna wanted to do was talk to someone about her problem. Yet she had called the woman, and really, she knew she needed some help. "Well, I have some time as well," Brenna said. "Where would you like to meet?"

After a few questions and answers it was decided that they would meet at Brenna's office. It seemed the easiest way to do things.

As Brenna cradled the headset and leaned back in her chair she felt a wet, squishy sensation between her legs. "Damn," she said, getting to her feet. She must have wet again while talking on the phone. She rushed towards her bathroom, legs spread slightly, hoping that the pad had not leaked.

It turned out it had, just a little, nothing very bad. She cleaned herself up and put a new pad in place. She went back to her desk and looked around. For some reason, knowing that someone was going to come to the office, she felt like cleaning things up a little. She straightened things up, shredded some papers and put disks and files into a cabinet.

She was throwing away some cartons of take out food, a couple of old, when there was a knocking from the door.

Brenna went and opened it. "Nancy Odmons?" she asked of the woman standing across from her.

Brenna took her hand. "Likewise." Nancy was a tall, thin woman, pretty, in a strange sort of way that Brenna could not put her finger on. She was dressed in a long skirt that dropped to her ankles, a white blouse, and a short jacket.

Nancy came in and looked about. Brenna was struck by the feeling that Nancy was judging her by the condition of the office. She then turned around to face Brenna. "So, shall we get down to business?"

"You are suffering from a loss of bladder continence," she said, sounding very clinical. "There is some leakage, but you seem to suffer from urge incontinence as well."

"I'm using absorbent pads," Brenna said, without really thinking about it. She blushed.

Nancy looked at her, her gaze travelling up from her feet to her head. Brenna felt uncomfortable to be under such scrutiny. She sniffed the air. "They really are not working very well for you, are they?"

Brenna felt as if she wanted to collapse in on herself. "Not really," she admitted, her voice quiet in her embarrassment.

Nancy pulled a chair away from the desk and sat down. "I can help you with management, but there is another service that I offer that might be of use to you, depending on what your tests reveal."

Brenna shifted another chair around and sat down across from Nancy. "What do you mean?"

"If your problem is physical then your doctor will be able to help you. My association with you will end once I help you acquire the products you need."

"If, on the other hand, it is not physical, which is sometimes the case, then I have a program that will help you get your continence back. I have," and she smiled, "a ninety percent success rate."

"Sometimes that is the case. I tend to worry less about why it has happened and focus on help my clients relearn their control."

"Not necessarily. I'm currently working with another client, but my association with him may end soon. That is the only reason that I have told you about this."

"Then you should probably see a psychologist. I can give you the name of several good therapists, if necessary."

It sounded to Brenna that treatment from a therapist might not be a good as treatment from Nancy. What was more, Nancy's service seemed to be difficult to get. Brenna was a woman that wanted the best, and in her mind she perceived that Nancy was the best.

The look that Nancy gave her made Brenna want to shrink down in her chair. There was something so disapproving in that glance.

"I am loyal to my clients Miss Connell. If you become my client, I will be quite loyal to you. No one will be able to buy me away from you. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Why was this woman so intimidating? Brenna had faced down people with guns. Why did a simple glace and a hard tone of voice make Brenna feel like a little girl? "I understand," she said, and for some reason she did not quite understand she added, "I'm sorry."

Nancy nodded, as if pleased by Brenna's answer. "Very well. Now, while I may not be able to take you on as a special client, I can help you with your immediate incontinence management."

"Thank you," Brenna said. She did not want the help that Nancy offered, but she knew that she needed it.

"Well, I want you to go to your bathroom and sit on the toilet for five minutes and then put a new pad in your panties."

"This is part of the management. Before going out, where you will not be immediately near a toilet, you should always do this. Far better that you go to the washroom in the toilet, and that you have a fresh and dry pad, or whatever, in place. Now go."

It made sense, Brenna thought. That was why she was going to do it, not because Nancy told her to in that no nonsense tone that made it obvious that she was not to be disobeyed. It was not that at all.

Nancy was waiting for her when Brenna came out of the bathroom, about five minutes later.

"Come with me. We'll go to the store where we can buy you the things you are going to need."

Brenna followed Nancy out of her office, stopping only to lock the door on the way out. Brenna's car was a bright red compact. Before she let Brenna in she laid and a waterproof cover and absorbent underpad on the passenger seat. Brenna felt her cheeks grow warm, but she could not blame the woman the precaution.

As they drove away from the office Nancy said, "What I think you need for your problems are diapers."

She said it so simply, putting it out in such an obvious way, that Brenna was actually slightly confused. She had expected some sort of euphemism. When she had picked up the absorbent pads she had seen terms like 'absorbent brief' and 'security pant'. To have it called a diaper, just like that...

And then there was what it meant. She needed diapers. She, Brenna Connel, adult, independent, tough woman, needed diapers. She could not quite wrap her head around it.

Nancy, seemingly unconcerned by Brenna silence, continued. "With your problem you need something that can take a full wetting and hold it without a single leak. Being able to hold a second wetting, in case you don't change it in time, is useful, but of course that requires the diaper to be a little thicker, and therefore less discrete.

"Now, for night time you'll need an even thicker diaper. The last thing you want is it to leak when you toss and turn. Would you prefer cloth or disposable?"

I would prefer not to wear any such thing, Brenna thought, but what she asked was, "Which one is better." Just like shopping for anything, she thought. Always ask for the best.

"Well, I'm not sure one is really better than the other, but each has its own advantages. I prefer cloth, but I suppose I am a little old fashioned in that. I think cloth is dependable, absorbent, good for your skin, and better for the environment. On the down side you have to launder them, and you have to carry the dirty diapers with you as well as clean ones. Some people don't care much for that.

"Disposables are mass produced and sometimes you can end up with a bad batch, but usually that is not a concern. They can be a little expensive, but they are very convenient. New ones have very good absorbency.

"I think I would prefer disposables," Brenna heard herself say. She would prefer neither, but...

"There is also the possibility of a catheter and urine collection bag," Nancy said cheerily.

"Your insurance plan will cover the full cost of incontinence products, if the cause is physical and treatable. If it is physical and chronic, they will only cover 80% of the costs. If there is no physical cause they will only cover 40%, and only for a period of up to three years." She made a harrumphing sound that seemed very old fashioned. "Not particularly generous of them, but at least they let you choose whatever brand you want. I have found that if you let an insurance company make that choice you end up with something very cheap."

Brenna simply nodded, not really paying that much attention to what Nancy was saying.

She was going to wear diapers, like some helpless child, because she could not control her bladder. It was very difficult to accept.

Before Brenna knew it they car had come to a stop and Nancy had said something. "What?" Brenna asked.

Nancy had parked in front of a store with a large sign that proclaimed 'Health Care Supplies'. There were no windows so she could not see what was in it, nothing beyond the sign.

Brenna followed Nancy into the store. As she walked she felt the slight, damp, squishiness that told her that the pad in her panties was a little damp. She took a moment to make sure that there was no sign of leakage from the pad. That she had to do so made her wonder if diapers would be better.

She hated herself for that, but she could not help it. Being able to avoid the embarrassment of wet pants might be worth wearing a diaper.

The store was filled with high shelves that divided the floor space up into aisles. The shelves were full of various home health items and medical equipment. Nancy led the way to the middle of the stores and into an aisle marked discretely as 'Incontinence Supplies'.

"Here, these will be good for day time use," Nancy said, picking a package of diapers off the shelf and handing them to Brenna. "You look like small will fit you."

Brenna took the package, hardly looking at it. She could not believe that Nancy had just said that. Now there could be no doubt whom the diapers were for. There was actually no one close by to hear what Nancy had said, there were few people in the store, but Brenna was not thinking in such a way.

"Those are absorbent enough, and discrete enough, which is good for the daytime. These on the other hand," she handed Brenna another package, "are much thicker and will hold a lot more. That will be good while you sleep. My advice however," she said in an off hand tone, "would be to wear the thicker ones all the time. I would think it would be less embarrassing for someone to know you are wearing diapers than it would be to stand in a puddle of your own urine."

Easy for you to say, Brenna thought, holding the two packages. You're not the one who is going to have to wear them. Or wet them.

"You'll want some plastic panties," Nancy said cheerfully, stopping in front of a display of said garments.

"A little extra security," Nancy told her. "We'll go with two pair of pull on type," she removed two white pairs from the shelf, "and two snap on type." There were no plain white ones so she grabbed a pink pair and a yellow pair. "You can decide which type you like most."

I'm not going to like either, Brenna thought. Nancy handed the packages holding the plastic panties to Brenna and continued down the aisle.

Brenna looked at what she was indicating. Hanging on some hooks were a small selection of clothing. A sign said that the store carried a large variety of clothing and that it was stored in the back. The garment that Nancy was focused on was a white diaper-shirt.

"The crotch fasteners help to keep a diaper from sagging as much. It is more comfortable." She turned away from the display and continued down the aisle.

Brenna looked at the shirt and then at the other clothing there. There was a pair of overalls with a set of snaps in the crotch as well as a pair of pants with a similar set of snaps. All the clothing there had a sort of childish feel to them. It was nothing obvious, but it was there. Brenna shivered slightly in the warm store.

When they went to the cash register Brenna was carrying the two packages of diapers, the packages of plastic panties, a few tubes of rash cream, and two spray bottles of odour neutralizer. She dumped her products on the counter and pretended not to be connected to any of it.

The woman at the register was middle aged and looked a little bored. She ran a scanner over the purchases and made no comment about them.

Brenna had her credit card out and handed it over to the woman before she could ask for it. When the receipt was finished Nancy reached out and took it. "I'll drop this off at your doctor's office. They can send it into your insurance company," she said cheerfully.

Once more Nancy had made it obvious that the diapers were for Brenna. She looked towards the woman at the register. That woman simply shrugged her shoulders and offered Brenna a smile, which seemed to say, 'don't worry, I've seen it all.'

Brenna gathered up the two, large bags that her purchases had been placed in and then followed Nancy towards the doors. Brenna was almost there when she felt a demanding pressure from her bladder; one that made it clear that what was about to come was not a tiny trickle.

She began to look around, certain there had to be a bathroom nearby. Suddenly Nancy was standing beside her, taking the bags from her hand. "Over there," the woman said.

Brenna looked and saw the male and female silhouettes over a doorway in the far wall. "Thank you," Brenna said as she almost ran off towards the bathroom.

She made it just in time and as she sat down on the toilet she said a quiet thanks to Nancy. The woman had kept her from having what was likely to be an embarrassing accident. As the urine poured out in an uncontrolled flow she pictured her standing in the middle of the store, holding the bags that held her diapers, as urine ran down her legs into an ever increasing puddle at her feet.

With that picture in her mind the idea of wearing diapers did not seem such a bad thing.

She put a new pad in her panties afterwards, and then left the washroom. Nancy was standing by the doors, waiting.

They left the store and got into Nancy's car. As they were driving away Nancy asked, "Do you know how to put those diapers on?"

"If you want I'll show you how to properly put the diapers on. It's not the difficult, but I don't think it is something you want to be making mistakes at. It could be a little embarrassing I think."

Brenna, still thinking about the accident that Nancy had helped her avoid, nodded. "It probably would be best if you showed me." She did not look up, not wanting to meet the other woman's eyes at that moment. She was trying her best to pretend that things were not quite as bad as she knew they were. It was not really working.

Brenna thought about that for a moment, and then shook her head. "My apartment I think. I'm kind of done with work for the day."

Brenna gave Nancy the address and the location of it in reference to her office.

Not too long afterwards Nancy pulled into a parking spot in front of the building where Nancy's apartment. Together they left the car and entered the building, Brenna carrying the bags in such a way so they would not touch her, as if they contained some noxious substance.

Once they were in the apartment Brenna led Nancy into her bedroom, which somehow seemed like the best place to handle things. When they entered Nancy looked at the pee stained mattress, which was leaning up against the wall so the sunlight could hit it, and said, "We should have got you a rubber sheet."

"Well, no matter," she said happily. "That is something that is easy to come by." She walked over to the mattress. "This looks dry. Let's put it on the box spring and then got to work."

Once the mattress was back on the box spring Nancy said, "Well, get those pants off. You can keep your panties on."

Brenna undid her belt and had her pants halfway down her legs before she had even thought about what she was being asked. She supposed it was not that surprising. Nancy was obviously an expert at these sort of things, and in the short time they had been together Brenna realised she had begun to depend on the woman for advice and information.

She kicked her pants away and stood in front of the other woman in just her blouse and under things.

"You'll probably want to take off your blouse, or at least pull it up so the tails are not in the way," Nancy said as she took a package of diapers from the bag.

Brenna undid the buttons of her blouse and then slipped out of it. She felt exposed, standing there in only her socks, bra and panties, and what was worse was the obvious bulge in her panties that that pad made.

"Here you go," Nancy said, handing the package to Brenna. "Take one of the diapers out."

Brenna tore the packaging and removed a diaper from it. The white object, soft and bulky in her hands, the clean, white plastic cover, the strange smell of the scented paper within; she simply stared at it for several seconds in rapt attention.

Brenna looked down at the diaper, spread out on her bed, waiting for her. She was suddenly, for some strange reason, reminded of the face huggers from the movie Aliens. Instead of not wanting to put her face near it, she must not put her bottom near, lest it latch on and never let her go.

"Alright, now position yourself over it so the top part will rest near the small of your back and the bottom will be between your legs."

Brenna did as she was told, shifting about so everything was lined up. Then se lowered herself onto the diaper. She could feel the thick padding compress underneath her bottom, and there was the soft crinkle of the plastic.

She was lying on top of a diaper. Only the thin layer of her panties was keeping her skin from being in contact with that diaper. That was the only thing that kept her from being just like a baby. And the panties would have to go some time.

Nancy told her how to apply the diaper, pulling it about herself and then taping it up. It enfolded her, like some kind of chastity belt. It was thick between her legs, and the crinkle of the plastic seemed louder now that she had it on.

Nancy reached down and pulled at the leg openings, her fingers brushing the bare skin of Brenna's thighs. "Little loose here. You'll want to get that fairly secure to help prevent leaks." Then her hands were running along the waistband of the diaper, warm fingers grazing the bare flesh of her belly. Brenna did not know what it was, but there was something in those gentle touches that made her feel very strange.

Brenna had to practice putting the diaper on four more times before Nancy was satisfied she could do it right. Each time when Nancy checked it Brenna was left feeling a little more confused about how she was reacting to what was happening.

Then Nancy had her practiced how to put the diaper on while standing up. 'If you are changing in a restroom you'll probably not want to lay on the floor to do it,' she had explained.

It only took two tries before Nancy pronounced Brenna sufficiently skilled in self-diapering.

"I'll give you some privacy now since you can handle it yourself." She started towards the door, and then stopped. "You can use the pads you still have as soakers, in case you find yourself in a situation where it might be sometime before you can change the diapers. And you may want to remove your pubic hair to avoid rashes. Once you got the diaper on come and show me and we'll make sure it is good." She left the room and closed the door behind her.

Brenna stood there for a time. Remove her pubic hair to prevent rashes? That seemed a little extreme. And using soakers in case she had to go a long time between changes? It made her seem like such a child.

She took off the diaper she had been practicing with and tossed it into the wastebasket. She then removed her panties, and the pad, which was very damp, and threw them into the wastebasket as well. Naked, but for her bra, she took a fresh diaper from the package and then lay it on her bed.

Well, nothing for it, she thought. The padding of the diaper against her bare flesh felt, strange. She did not know how to explain it to herself, just that it felt strange. She pulled it up between her legs, amplifying the feelings of strangeness. She was careful as she taped it up, recalling all the things that Nancy had told her, making certain it was on right.

She stood, feeling the diaper shift slightly on her, the thick padding between her legs. It was still a little loose. She adjusted it, careful not to tear the plastic backing. There, that seemed better.

On her way out of the room she grabbed her blouse and slipped into it, not bothering to button it up, just holding close. Stepping out of the room she found Nancy waiting for her.

Brenna felt a little uncomfortable having the woman in her personal space, and as Nancy prodded and pulled on the diaper, making certain it was on right, Brenna felt even more uncomfortable. It seemed that Nancy's actions just amplified the strange feelings that the diaper caused, and there was the unsaid accusation that Brenna did not even know how to put on the diapers that she had to use.

"Looks good," Nancy said, and gave her a little pat on her bottom, pressing the padding against her. "You should wear a pair of plastic panties over them, just to be certain."

She turned and stared towards the apartment's door. As she opened it Brenna pulled her blouse closed to cover the diaper. Nancy turned to look at her. "Take care of yourself. If I were you I would stop drinking and smoking, and you should tidy this place up, get some sun, and improve your diet. All that would probably be a good start to find a solution to this situation."

Then Nancy left the apartment, closing the door behind her. Brenna stood their for a moment, then quickly crossed the room, her bare feet nearly silent on the hardwood floor, and locked her door, slipping the security chain on for good measure. She turned about, put her back to the door, and then slid down so she was sitting on the floor. The padding of the diaper made itself instantly known between her backside and the floor.

Tears began to run down her cheeks as she felt her world beginning to fall apart.

Nancy felt that things were proceeding nicely. She felt a bit bad for what Brenna was undergoing, but she consoled herself in that what she was doing was necessary. After all, sometimes you had to break a bone in order to see that it set properly.

Once finished Brenna would not only be out of diapers, she would be into a much better life situation. One that could easily see the young woman accomplish everything that she should.

Gregori Atanza was a man who felt he had been done an injustice. Just a few hours ago a person who had had planned to elevate to a high, political office (for Gregori's ultimate benefit of course) had contacted him to tell him that he had to drop out of the running.

Apparently someone had dug up some embarrassing thing from his past. He would have no chance to achieving victory.

Oh, perhaps the politician who had paid for Miss Connell's services shared some of the burden as well, but that did not really feature in Gregori's mind.

Over the past year there had been eight times when actions by Miss Connell had cost him, and often cost him dearly.

Gregori had come to the conclusion that Miss Connell was purposely causing him problems. He did not see her as simply an agent, hired by those that might wish him ill, but at the ultimate cause of his difficulties.

So, he decided that he would have Miss Connell taken care of is such a way that she would never trouble him again and so that all those who chose to oppose him would know the cost of doing so.

Brenna woke up to a dry bed and very wet diapers. She supposed it was better than the alternative. Probably.

She went to bathroom, took off her diaper, and then showered. Afterwards she sat on the toilet as she brushed her teeth, in hopes that she might empty her bladder where she was supposed to.

Afterwards she put on a fresh diaper, a pair of plastic pants, and, after realising it was a bit too bulky for her pants (which upset her), a skirt. She found a backpack in the back of her closet, gave it a shake to remove some dust, and then filled it with a couple of diapers and a few other things.

Then she went to work. Not that she intended to take any new jobs for a while, not until she knew her complete medical situation. But what else was there for her to do?

She stopped off at the coffee shop, ordering a small glass of juice instead of a coffee. In her office she went through her things and tossed out all her cigarettes.

That taken care of she checked her e-mail and sent off a number of messages telling people she was not available for their jobs at that time. That done she had nothing else to do.

Recalling what Nancy had said about getting some exercise she decided that maybe she should go for a walk. She went to the washroom first and carefully removed her diaper. It was damp, but not terribly so. She sat on the toilet for a good twenty minutes and then put the diaper and plastic pants back on. She suspected that she would only be able to re-fasten it one more time.

Grabbing her backpack with its spare diapers she headed out of her office for the streets.

Brenna knew that she did not get a lot of exercise. To that point her sedentary life style, smoking, and bad diet had not really had much of an effect on her, or so she had always thought. She had not walked all that far when she started feeling tired and breathing a little fast.

She was in terrible shape. She might not have cared but for the nagging suspicion that the loss of bladder control and being in bad shape might be connected.

An hour later she collapsed onto a park bench. It was quiet, still early morning, and there were few other people around. It was, she noted, rather nice. The sun was warm enough, and just sitting on the bench, getting her breath back, was enjoyable enough. It had been a while since she had done such a thing. It had been at least... She could not recall how long it had been.

She had been sitting there for about ten minutes when she saw a woman with a small child, walking across the grass, to a set of swings. The little girl waddled slightly, and the short skirt showed a thickly diapered bottom.

That reminded Brenna of her diaper, not that she had really forgotten it (the elastic leg openings of the plastic panties had chafed the skin on her thigh slightly, and the bulk between her legs was had to ignore). She decided that she should check the diaper and got up from the bench.

Across the grass, past the playground, was a large, cement building that held the bathrooms. She was halfway there when she felt a pressure build up in her bladder. She began to walk faster, not wanting to completely wet the diaper. She might have run, but she did not want to bee seen running for a bathroom. Unconsciously her hand drifted down to her crotch, pressing against the front of her diaper, as if to stop the potential flow.

When she realised it she took her hand away. Had either the mother or her little girl seen her? She thought maybe the little girl was watching her. What was going through that child's mind? Might she speak up to her mother, saying something like, 'look at that woman mommy, she has to do a pee pee too.' She thought for certain that she might die of embarrassment if she heard something like that.

She dashed the last several meters to the washroom, extremely happy the door was not locked, and nearly flew into a toilet stall.

Skirt pulled up to her waist, she hated skirts. Tear the plastic panties from her, the snaps popping free. Rip the diaper from herself, careful not to let the wet padding touch anything. She sat down, less concerned with whether the seat was clean and more focused on the pee coming from her.

There. That was taken care of. Most of the urine had ended up in the diaper, but at least a little was in the toilet. Something of a victory, a pathetic victory, but she was in no place to be choosy.

She dried herself with some toilet paper, and then opened her backpack and removed the things she needed. She tapped on a new diaper, a little complicated in the tight confines of the toilet stall, and then snapped the plastic panties back on. She directed a few sprits from the spray bottle of odour neutraliser between her legs.

Satisfied she let her skirt drop back down, packed up her things, and then wadded the used diaper into a compact bundle to throw away.

A teenager was leaning against the counter with the sinks, applying a thick coat of makeup. Their gazes met in the mirror, and Brenna saw the girl's eyes shift and a puzzled look appear on her face. She was looking at the diaper that Brenna held, probably trying to figure out what it was.

Brenna quickly crossed the floor and threw the used diaper into the garbage slot, and then left the washroom without washing her hands.

Did the girl know what she had been holding? Might she look in the garbage? What would she think?

Brenna started back towards her office. She no longer wanted to be out in public.

He was sitting on the bed of a small hotel room in the bad part of the city. There were two other men with him. They sat, though that was not really the best word to describe it, in pair of chairs, facing him.

One of them men was called Mr. Rat. He was a thin man of average height, his caf�-au-lait skin smooth and hairless, his brown eyes had an Asian cast to them. He was dressed in a three-piece, black, Armani suit. He seemed to slouch in his chair with a liquid aspect that made it seem if he would flow to the floor at any moment.

The other was called Mr. Ox. He was big, with broad shoulders and huge arms and legs. His skin was so pale that it seemed that he must be an albino, but his long, matted hair was black and his eyes a deep blue. It was possible that he wore a suit, but his massive frame stretched out the clothing he wore so it was all but impossible to be certain.

Mr. Rat smiled, showing perfect, white teeth. "You wish for Miss Connell to meet an unpleasant demise."

Gregori nodded. Fucking the bitch up was what he wanted. "And I want it done in such a way to send a message."

"Of course," Mr. Rat said. "We will endeavour to make her demise a work of art in which those who look will be certain to understand the futility and the foolishness in working at cross purposes to you."

"Good," Gregori said. "Good. I want to make sure I don't have to deal with shit like this again. I want people to know that they cannot mess with me."

Gregori looked between the two men. They had a good reputation, but something about the two of them set him on edge. He thought it was the insufferable smugness that Mr. Rat radiated. Maybe it was the scent of BO coming off of Mr. Ox.

Brenna sat on the examination table in Dr. Dammar's office. She wore a paper gown, and a diaper. She did not like wearing the diaper in front of the doctor, nor would she have liked wearing it in front of anyone, but she recalled the last time she had been in that office and the diaper was slightly less embarrassing then leaving a wet spot on the table.

Sabina looked over the chart in her hands, flipping through the pages. She had been discussing the results of the test for almost ten minutes, and Brenna did not like what she was hearing.

"So," Sabina put the chart down, "in the end it seems as if there is no physical cause for your incontinence. Or at least no physical cause that we can find. Barring the unknown, a psychological reason is the likely cause."

"Well, not crazy." Sabina smiled kindly. "But there is obviously something that is wrong."

She nodded, but did not look up at Sabina. She was staring down, and the thick bulk between her legs, wondering when she could be rid of it.

"Well, Nancy has a very good record of dealing with these kind of things. In fact, I would have to say that she is your best option to overcome this problem in the shortest possible time."

"Well, that is difficult to say. But Nancy usually gets the same results in months that other therapists might need years for."

Months? Brenna did not want to be wearing diapers for months. Of course she wanted to be wearing them for years even less. She was about to tell Dr. Dammar off. As Brenna saw it she paid well for the doctor's service and answers like this just would not do.

Then she flashed on an image of herself snapping at Sabina. Picturing herself, in the diaper, yelling at the woman, she saw herself as a child having a tantrum. Likely Dr. Dammar would see her in a similar way.

"I'll give you some names of some other therapists that you might speak to, if necessary."

"Talk to the nurse on the way out," Sabinna said cheerfully, and then left the office.

Brenna got off of the exam table, her bare feet slapping lightly on the tiled floor. She checked her diaper to make certain she did not need a change and then got dressed.

What was going to happen next? Bascially Mr. Rat and Mr. Ox would attempt to kill Brenna, as they had been hired to do. Fortunately for Brenna she would be saved by Nancy, who would deal with the two killers as only a magical Nanny might. Then with Brenna in a state of shock from her near death experence and the stress of the last few days, she would be putty in Nancy's hands, for a few days at least, long enough for Nancy to put Brenna firmly into the child role.

It may have ended at that point, or it might have continued on, with Brenna being allowed to 'grow up' and becoming the woman that Nancy believed she should be.

A story based on the RPG D20 Modern and the Urban Arcana suplement. The AB/DL aspect would have been less in this, with more B&D scenes, I think.

Violeta Jadethorn stood a little, very little, over five feet, and she weighed a little less than one hundred pounds. One might have thought that made her rather small, but the truth was that she was about average height, for an elf.

She was a beautiful creature, with a triangular face and, of course, pointed ears. Her hair was a deep, rich, dark magenta, the purplish red hair only another of the many exotic things about her. Her eyes were green, and while a rare colour, was easily the most 'normal' thing about her. Her skin was pale, smooth and perfect, as was often the case of elves.

One might have thought that she would not be able to operate in the mundane and modern world, but she did. People tended to look past those things that should have made her stand out. Pointed ears were simply not seen by most, a sort of protective cover over their minds; they saw them, but did not notice. As for the hair, well, hair dyes were quite common.

Interestingly enough, no one thought she was particularly small. Even those who looked down at her could not help but think she had to be taller. It was her charisma and strength of presence. It was not unheard of for people to guess Violeta's height as being much more than it actually was. Very few people ever described her as being 'short'.

At the moment, she was sitting at an outdoor table, in a small caf�, drinking her third cup of coffee. She was watching a dilapidated tenement house, nearly directly opposite, across a four-lane street, of the caf�. There were, she supposed, people, in a way, in that building and Violeta was interested in those people. Those people would not be pleased to learn that she was interested in them.

She shifted back the sleeve of her black jacket, looking at the watch on her wrist. When were they going to come out? she wondered, leaning back in the chair. They were inconsiderate monsters.

She was about to order another coffee when she saw movement across the street. "Showtime," she said softly, careful not to be obvious in her examination.

There were five of them, all well over seven feet, dressed in leather, festooned with chains. Gnolls, predatory, animalistic humanoids, with hyena-like heads. As with her ears, the people around her did not really notice them. Likely they just saw five, tall men and assumed they were gangers. Of course they were gangers, but they dealt in things that were as exotic as they themselves.

Violeta waited until they had walked away, ambling off down the street, pushing anyone who did not move fast enough out of their way. Then she made herself wait a few more minutes, just to be certain they were gone.

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a handful of bills and change, and left it in an untidy pile on the table. She stood, brushed her hands across her jacket, and then left the caf�. Moving easily, she walked along the road a short distance, and then crossed at the crosswalk.

Instead of going to the door that the 5 Gnolls had exited from, she circled around the block and then cut through and alleyway, coming up behind the building she had been watching earlier. The rear of the building was in even a greater state of disrepair than the front. The windows on the first and the rear door were all boarded up. She looked around, to make certain that she was alone, and that there was no security measures that she should be aware of.

There was also something else she was looking for, and after a moment she saw it. She stepped forward, knelt down, and plucked a small spider from its web. "Sorry weaver," she said softly.

Quietly she chanted an arcane formula, then placed the spider in her mouth, chewed it once, and then swallowed. Straightening, she stepped up to the wall, and then began to climb. She went up the wall as easily as the spider she had just eaten might have.

She ignored the windows on the second floor and climbed right to the third. The windows there were locked, but the locks were not very good and did not present any real barrier to Violeta. She slid the window open and climbed into the room beyond. She stayed off the floor and scaled the interior wall and moved onto the ceiling. The wall and wood creaked slightly under her weight, but held.

Skittering across the roof, thus avoiding the leg hold traps scattered on the floor, she made her way to the door. She stopped, still hanging on the ceiling, and listened. It seemed quiet. Carefully she opened the door, just a little, and peaked out.

The hallway beyond was quiet and empty, but she could see that the floor was clear of dust in the centre, though not on the sides. It was obviously a high traffic area. She exited the room and moved into the hall, keeping to the walls and ceilings. The floor would have been safe enough, but there was a surprise factor to moving on the walls.

Quickly she searched the third floor. Most of the rooms were empty, a few showed signs of being lived in, and in one there was a young woman, tied up, blindfolded, and gagged. Her name was Sophia Winston, and she was the reason that Violeta was there. Violeta left her where she was, for the moment, not yet ready to save her.

She crawled along the ceiling, down the stairs, to the second floor. She followed the sound of voices, coming to a room near the back of the building, right below the room where Sophia was being held.

Dropping quietly to the floor, she reached within her jacket and removed a small-frame, automatic pistol. She screwed a silencer onto the weapon and then jacked a round into the chamber, moving the slide slowly as to avoid any excessive noise.

Taking a deep breath, she spun around and kicked the door fully open. Sitting at a dirty table were three humanoids; they had been playing poker. Two were Gnolls, the third was a human, all three of them were surprised.

She gave them no time to react. She fired at the human, expecting that someone so out of place was likely the largest threat. A subsonic, 9mm round, its discharge no louder than a cough, punched through the man's skull. She worked the action back, ejecting the spent cartridge and loading a fresh round.

The Gnolls were getting over their surprise, one of them was reaching for a shotgun by his chair. She fired at him, worked the action and fired again. The damn thing is not going down, she thought as she once more cocked the pistol. The third shot put it down, but the last Gnoll had snatched up a length of chain and lashed out at her with it.

The chain, the edges of every other link sharpened, snapped out and knocked the pistol from her hand. She leapt back, reaching under her jacket, to the small of her back, and pulling free a long knife she had secreted there.

The blade shone with a silver light, and a blue fire seemed to dance along its edge. Shifting into a fighting crouch, she held the blade in front of her, close to her body. The Gnoll came at her, whirling the chain around so fast that it whistled. She held her position for a moment, almost moving too late to avoid the deadly weapon. She rolled to the side, then sprung at her attacker.

Slashing the blade across his hip opened him right to the bone. He stumbled forward, one of his legs no longer supporting him. Surging to her feet, she transferred the knife from her right hand to her left, and then drove the blade into his back.

The Gnoll grunted, and then fell forward onto its knees. After a few seconds it fell onto its face, unmoving.

She waited, listening to the sounds around her, waiting for others to come to the aid of their fallen fellows. The building was quiet.

She wiped her blade clean on one of the fallen Gnolls and then returned it to the sheath under her jacket. She retrieved her pistol, and then picked up the empty brass cartridges.

Searching the room revealed a money-filled briefcase. Stupid bastards, she thought as she closed the briefcase and picked it up.

Violeta left the dead and climbed back up to the third floor. She walked into the room that Sophia was in, knelt beside her, and removed the blindfold. Sophia looked about wildly, her eyes opened so wide the whites showed prominently.

"I want you to be quiet," Violeta told her as she reached forward to untie the gag. "If you make too much noise then the people who kidnapped you will come running in here and kill you." Not really true, but Violeta found scared people often did what she told them and did not make trouble for her.

"I've been sent by your father to get you out of here." She pulled a small knife from her pocket, flipped it open, and then used it to cut the bonds that held Sophia. "Can you stand? Can you walk?"

Sophia nodded and, with a little help from Violeta, got to her feet. She was a little unsteady at first, but quickly regained her complete balance.

"Come this way. Don't say anything, don't touch anything, and walk only where I walk."

Violeta led her down to the second floor, down the hallway, to a window. She opened it up, leaned out to make sure the area below was clear, and then indicated that Sophia should go first. Violeta took her hand, held it as she climbed out the window, and then lowered the woman as far as she could before letting go. The drop was not too bad, and Sophia landed without hurting herself.

Violeta followed, hanging outside the window for a moment, closing it and locking it behind her, and then dropped to the ground.

Sophia was looking around, her gaze darting about. Violeta reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She turned it on, and then hit a few keys to dial a number that had already been programmed in. She waited until it rang once, then shut off the phone. "Follow me," she said, and did not look to see if Violeta was doing as she was told. She had little doubt that she was.

She threaded her way through some alleys, crossed a street and then through another set of alleys. As she came out onto the streets a black, BMW E55 AMG pulled up to the side of the street. The car rode low, Violeta noted. No doubt due to the weight of the armour.

The front, passenger door opened, a tall man in a black suit climbed out. He opened the rear passenger door. Sophia let out a cry of relief and almost dove into the back seat. The man nodded to Violeta. She entered the car at a more sedate pace and the man closed the door before returning to his seat in the front.

The car accelerated smoothly away from the curb, slipping effortlessly into the other traffic and in a few seconds was gone.

"The fifty thousand, as we agreed upon," Victor West, Sophia's father, said as he handed her several bundles of bills. "Well worth it."

"I would also like to pay you ten percent of the ransom money you recovered," he told her.

"Please to not take offence Mr. West, but I follow the terms of my contract, exactly. I do not take more, nor less, than what was agreed upon. It is how I do business."

He looked a little confused by her statement, but then he nodded. "I respect that. I think there is nothing wrong with accepting, well, let's call it a bonus, but if that is how you wish it�"

Violeta nodded at him politely and then turned and left the room. She made her way straight out of the large, four-story brownstone that Mr. West called home. At the front gates she hailed a taxi that she had drop her off at a parking garage several kilometres away. There she retrieved her motorcycle, a Honda CBR600F4i. It was a large bike for her, weighing 370 pounds, but she handled it well.

She sped through traffic, cutting lanes, easily passing through the congestion that four wheeled vehicles had to deal with. It was not really safe, but considering what she did for a living, it was one of the safest things that she did.

She made her home, for the moment, in a bachelor's apartment in a new building in what was considered the good part of town. Of course good was something of a misnomer, but it was safer than most.

Her bike parked in the underground lot, she took the elevator up to the tenth floor and then walked down the thickly carpeted hall to her apartment. She had three locks on the door, one of them a double-barrelled job that could be locked with a key from the inside.

She entered the apartment, locked the door, slid the security bar into place and only then did she relax.

Her weapons she laid out on the kitchen counter. The money went into a safe in her closet. She undressed to her panties and t-shirt and then went to clean her weapons. After that a shower, then dinner, then she opened up her sofa bed and lay back to get some rest.

Elves did not sleep, but entered a meditative reverie. She lay there with her eyes open, not really seeing what was going on around her, which was why the intruder was sitting at the foot of her bed surprised her when she drifted out of reverie.

The woman was an elf, like Violeta, but her skin was black as obsidian, and her long hair such a fine, light blonde to be almost white. She was beautiful, with angular elven features. She was smiling and that did not make Violeta feel good.

"Hello my dear, little Violeta," the dark elf said. "It has been a long time." She was dressed in a pair of tight jeans, a white t-shirt and a long, leather coat. In her hands she held a long dagger, idly playing with it.

"You wouldn't happen to be reaching for a weapon would you?" Asara leaned forward slightly, the dagger shifting so its point lined up directly with Violeta's throat. "That would probably be a bad idea."

"Hardly a nice welcome. It had been more than three decades since we last met. Why not a warmer welcome? Why not a kiss?"

"Never see me again," Asara said in mock surprise. She put her hand to her chest. "Why would you never want to see me again? After all, you owe me so much."

"I found you, lost, confused, with no idea where you were or what you were to do. I took you in, helped you adapt to this world. For twenty years I taught you and took care of you. You would think that you would feel some gratitude."

"Gratitude?" Violeta sat up in the bed, giving up on the pistol. "You made me your maid, or your secretary, or whatever subservient task you needed. You punished me for your own enjoyment and used me to satisfy your sexual desires when you wanted it. You want me to show you gratitude for that?"

"No, not interested. Now, you've had your little break, now I need you to work for me again. I suspect that you've honed what I've taught you, which is good. I would be most displeased if you let your skills decline."

Despite herself Violeta shivered at Asara's words. Fear at being under the other woman's control again, of the punishments that made her feel helpless, the desire to please her to avoid those punishments brought about that shiver. Also, there was a tiny flame of desire that scared her more than anything else.

"Oh Violeta, don�t be that way. You'll feel much better serving me and we did work together so well."

"That may be so, but I refuse to be subservient to anyone." Her resolve strengthened as she said that. "You can hire me, but I'm not cheap, and maybe I'll be willing to take you on as a partner. Maybe."

Asara's laugh was high and sweet, and she smiled broadly. "Violeta, you are so wonderfully funny. How could we be partners when you are so clearly inferior to me? No, I am the superior so you are the servant. It is as simple as that."

"Well then, let us put that to the test. A duel, of some sort or another, to see who is the strongest. When," she smiled, "or should I say if, I win, you will be my servant once more, as it was before. If you win, then I will be your servant."

"I don�t want you as a servant. If I win you leave and never bother me again."

"Very well. Now, with what should be duel with? Swords?" She waved the long dagger about. "Pistols? Or perhaps the arcane arts?"

"Unarmed," Violeta told her. "Tomorrow night, on top of the Wilson Building, ten minutes before midnight."

Violeta relaxed slightly, slumping back in her pillows. Perhaps she had been facing an illusion, or Asara's magic had grown in power since they had last been together. It did not matter however, what truly concerned her was that Asara had found her again.

She considered running, she had done it once before. She discounted the though almost as soon as it occurred to her. The first time she had made good on the separation because Asara had been busy trying to avoid being killed by a vengeful dragon; and Violeta was not pleased that the Dragon had failed. This time she did not think that Asara would have such pressing concerns.

No, the only thing to do was to meet the woman and defeat her in combat. Only in that manner would she truly win her freedom. Of course defeating Asara was going to prove difficult, of that she had no doubt.

The Wilson Building was twenty-seven stories tall, with a flat roof, crowned by a cellular antenna. A strong wind was blowing, pulling strands of hair from the tight braid that Violeta wore. It was cool, and the illumination from the warning lights on the antenna was poor at best; not that it mattered to Violeta who saw well in the dimmest of light.

She wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She had tossed her jacket aside, not wanting to wear anything too loose that Asara might grab hold of. As it was she had concerns about her hair.

Asara stood across from her, wearing loose, flowing clothes. She had kicked off her shoes and stood barefoot on the tar and stone covering of the roof.

"You know, I must admit that I'm a little excited about this," Asara said as she walked towards Violeta. "It has been some time since I've had what I would all a challenging fight."

Asara began to run when they were about three meters apart. She charged Violeta as if she was going to slam into her, but then she shifted to the left, lashing out with a kick.

Violeta shifted away from the kick, letting it pass close, and then she moved forward, snapping a punch out that caught Asara in the middle of her back. Violeta followed that up with a kick, catching the other elf low on the hip before she could turn.

Asara rolled with the kick, launching herself forward, tucking into a roll, and then coming to her feet facing Violeta. "Very nice."

Violeta came after her, trying to maintain momentum. Right hand: reverse punch, snapped out her wrist in a circular motion, swung her elbow out. Left hand: upper cut. Asara managed to block the punch, rolled her head to the side to avoid the backhand, caught the elbow across the upper part of her arm, and took the uppercut right in the chin.

The dark elf stumbled back, looking a little shaken. Some blood stained her lips.

For almost two minutes the two of them moved about the roof. Attack, block, counter attack. It was as if they were dancers, moving together and apart to music that only they could hear.

Violeta managed to connect with her attacks as often as Asara did, but both of them managed to roll with the blows. Neither had done serious harm to the other. Violeta dropped low and spun about, sweeping Asara's legs out from under her. She landed hard, but broke her fall and kicked up to her feet.

In that moment Violeta committed herself to an attack. Her leg snapped up into a kick. It took advantage of the momentary opening Asara had left in her defence. Still in the air, not quite recovered from the fall, it was the best time to attack.

And the dark elf managed to block it. Hands brought together she caught the top of Violeta's foot, locking her arms, riding the strength of the kick to keep it from hitting her. And at the top of the kick she shifted her hands about, locking them onto Violeta's ankle.

Violeta reacted quickly, kicking up with her other foot. It was a little desperate, and resulted in having both her feet off the ground. Hardly a stable fighting style, but she was willing to take the chance.

With one hand still locked around Violeta's ankle, Asara caught her other foot. It was as if her hands were moving faster than Violeta could see. With a hold on both her legs, Asara drove Violeta down, slamming her against the roof, pinning her.

She tried to kick free, to flip around, anything to break the hold and the pin, but there Asara had too strong of a hold on her. All her experience, all her tricks, and none of them seemed to work.

Asara trapped both her legs in one arm, her other shooting down to grab the waistband of her pants. A moment later she was yanking Violeta's pants down, having somehow cut her belt. She yanked them up to her ankles, hobbling her. Then she folded Violeta up, pushing her legs forward until her knees were beside her ears.

It did not really hurt, Violeta had plenty of flexibility, but it rendered her even more helpless. She knew that Asara was doing it to prove a point and Violeta was not happy to have it proven to her. She was not finished though.

She pulled her pants back up her legs, until the waistband was behind her neck. It effectively tied her up and secured her in the position she was in. No longer needing to keep a hold on her legs, Asara moved to securing Violeta's hands. She rolled her to her side, used a plastic zip tied to secure her wrists together, and then rolled her back she was lying on her hands.

"I'll take your silence as agreement. Now, as we agreed, you become my willing servant."

Asara stepped close to Violeta and reached between her legs, rubbing her hand across the front of Violeta panties. "We had an agreement." She hooked her fingers in the waistband. "You have to live up to it." She yanked at her panties, pulling them back and forth until she had them yanked down to Violeta's knees.

Asara lifted her hand and brought it down on the inside of Violeta's bare thigh. Violeta gasped, a sound between a squeak and a cry. "Now, let's just give you a reminder of who is in charge." The dark elf began to methodically spank Violeta, delivering firm, sharp slaps to the other elf's thighs and bottom, continuing until Violeta's fair skin grew red, and she had begun to sob.

It was not that it really hurt all that much, it was more because there was nothing that Violeta could do to stop it and that made her feel terribly helpless. Worse, there was a part of her that did not want to stop it.

Asara seemed to realise that Violeta had reached that point, for she stopped her spanking and stepped back to look down at her. "Now, I just want you to know, that the punishment was not for you choosing to fight me. I can understand that. No, the punishment, my dear Violeta, was due to your initial refusal to live up to our agreement. Now, I'm quite willing to continue this if you still want to refuse. So, do you want to refuse?"

Part of her meant just that, and part of her was hoping to buy time, and save herself some punishment, until she might escape.

"Excellent." Asara stepped close to Violeta and took her knife and cut away her pants, freeing her from the embarrassing position that she had been pushed into, but leaving her naked from the waist down.

What happens next? Well, Asara takes Violeta to a private school that she, Asara, runs. She needs Asara to go undercover, as it were, as a student to deal with magical threats that are a danger to the school's students, and thus something that Asara wishes to put a stop to. This puts Violeta in the embarassing position of having to become a school girl.

After Violeta gets into a fight with some annoying studetns, Asara punishes her, angry that Violeta would allow herself to lose her temper with the children as Violeta may have easily injured or even killed them. If she is going to act like a child, Asara decrees, she will be treated as a child.

While facing diapers, cribs, spankings and general humiliation, Violeta still has to deal with the threat to the school and hope to escape her punishment by the virtue of hard work.

A character for A BtVS RPG that never happened.

My name is Shelly Johnson and I would dearly like to say that I am just a normal girl, but I can�t. Not by a long shot. Even before I became the Slayer I was, well, odd I guess.

You could call me miss slow development girl. I always looked a few years behind my classmates (you�ll notice I said classmates and not friends), like I was some kind of genius kid, promoted ahead of everyone else. I wasn�t a genius, but at least when it came to mental things I was not a slow developer (thought I did lisp until I was twelve). So under no circumstances think that I was little miss popularity.

About the only good thing happening was mommy and daddy. They loved me no matter what, and I think mommy did not mind that I stayed her little girl for so long. I mean, I was in diapers until I was five, and still wet the bed until I was ten, but she never complained. Actually, I think she might have been a little disappointed when I no longer needed diapers at night.

Don�t get me wrong, my parents weren�t weird or anything, they just let me be who I was and loved me for it.

It all started like a normal day. I got up, showered, and got dressed. I was fifteen years old, though I looked more like twelve, and in the tenth grade. I suppose I should have been suffering greatly from peer pressure, and letting that make all my decisions for me. However, being something of an outcast, I was not part of any clique and I felt no need to meet any outside expectations. So when most girls my age were going for the sexy look, I was happy to dress in the cute clothing mommy bought for me.

I set out, skipping along, thinking about a math test I had second period when my archenemy (well, the latest one in a long list of bullies) Jenny Douglas jumped me. Jenny was eleven, a little dumb, so still in the fourth grade, and only a little bigger than me, but she used that size to her advantage. She liked to make me cry, and was pretty good at it really. I mean, she is a horrid little monster, but you have to admire her dedication to her work.

She grabbed me, tossed me down, and straddled my chest, using her knees to pin my arms. Then she started lightly slapping me (nothing that would leave a mark, she was a professional). �Come on tough high school girl, why don�t you stop me,� she taunted. I�m guessing that fact she could bully someone older than herself was something of a power trip for her.

I tried to shake her off, expecting that nothing would happen and that she would continue to slap me until I started to cry, and then maybe she would leave. Funny thing happened though. Something did happen. Jenny went flying off me and slammed into the ground about three meters away from me. Hit hard enough to bloody her nose and send her running off, crying.

I had no idea what happened. I brushed it off after a moment, figuring that Jenny must have tripped or something. At that moment I was just glad she had gone. I continued onto school, mostly putting what had happened out of my mind.

Then third period gym came about. To say that I hate gym would be an understatement. I loathe it with a passion, mostly because I suck at it. We were playing soccer that day, and the make things even worse, our gym teacher, Miss �I�m a Nazi� Wellington picked her two favourites, Olivia Crown and Cathy Demst as team captains and let them pick their teams.

What a wonderfully cruel concept, with the less able girls left in smaller and smaller numbers until there are only a few, pathetic losers left, taken only because they have to. I was not picked last, but second last is not much better, especially when the last girl picked actually suffers from a real disability. They are basically saying, you suck as much as an able bodied person can suck.

And then the actual torture of the game started. Miss Wellington wanted to make sure everyone played, so she put people on and off from both teams. A way of being fair you might think, well, don�t believe that. She just liked to see the poor students suffer. And when I was told to run onto the field I fully expected things to go much as they always had, basically me looking like a total spaz. And yet, that did not happen.

I was, well, co-ordinated. I was fast, and I could run all the way down the field without running out of breath. I stole the ball from Olivia, �Captain of the soccer team� and took it back to score. I had no idea what was happening. Suddenly my body was actually doing what I wanted.

By the end of the period I knew that things were not as I had throught them. And I was not the only one. After showering, which was still a rather embarrassing thing, what with feeling so underdeveloped and all, I was approached by Olivia. She looked me up and down as I stood there, wrapped in a towel, looking a little like a drowned rat I supposed, and said to me, �You were pretty good out their today.�

Olivia Crown, darling of the school, actually complimenting me? I did not know what to say. She hardly ever noticed me before, and about all she had ever said was insulting. For a moment I stood there, just feeling stupid, then I said, �Thanks, I guess,� and moved to walk by her.

�Wait,� she said to me. �Listen, I was wondering, do you know that there are going to be tryouts for the soccer team next week?�

I looked back at her, thinking about what she had said, wondering if it was what I thought it was. �No,� I answered.

�Well, you might want to think about coming to try out. I think you could make the team.�

Now, I really did not know what to think. I mean, I had been something of an outcast, and now one of the more popular girls in school was asking me to join the team she was captain of. That sort of thing was all new territory to me. I could tell she was not too comfortable either, what with the fact she had never been too friendly to me in the past. �Maybe I will. Thank you,� I told her, and then went to my locker.

After that the day went like it always did. A couple of girls, all on the soccer team, I assume on orders for Olivia, said 'hi' to me. Sort of giving me a feel for what I might get if I joined the team. I guess it was nice. Oh hell, who am I kidding, it was great. Having people notice you, and not in a bad way, that was wonderful.

I went home that night feeling that maybe the school thing might not be all that bad. A big shift for me considering I had been spending the last few years wishing for the day I could graduate and get the hell out of the morass of stupidity that I thought high school was.

In a better run world I would have had a few weeks to get used to things. Probably have joined the soccer team, maybe even helped win the big opening game of the season. Then I would be flying high when it all came crashing down. Seems that life does not enjoy a sense of narrative.

That night things came to the house. I call them things, but in fact they were three vampires, two hellhounds, and something that was thin, pale, and ugly that I still don't know the name for.

I woke up when I heard a loud crash. Then I heard daddy scream. It was a scream that made me feel cold inside, made me feel as if Jenny had punched me in the stomach. It was the kind of scream that made you want to pull your sheets over your head and quake. It was not the sort of scream you wanted to hear you daddy make.

Slowly I got out of bed, treading softly across the carpet of my room to open my door. I heard someone crying and realised it was mommy. I peaked out and saw the things not too far down the hall. One of them, the thin and pale one, was holding mommy up in the air, while two others, the hell hounds were tearing at something on the floor. It was daddy but at the time I did not know that, or did not want to know that.

I looked over my shoulder. There, just outside my window, was a vampire. I did not know it was a vampire then, just that it was an ugly monster. I did not know that it could not enter the house either, and that the best thing for me to do would be to slam the door and try to barricade myself in my room. I just saw the monster outside my window, something of a archetypical horror for most of us.

The other things in the house were already looking in my direction, so I ended up standing there, in their view.

The pale one killed mommy then. It just twisted her head around so her neck broke. It sounded like branches snapping. Then the hell hounds charged me.

I remember grabbing a table, thinking of putting it between me and the monster, and throwing it. It hit one of the hell hounds, knocking it away. It was an impressive feat of strength and co-ordination, but it was not going to save me.

The back story would have continued, leading to a slayer who was an adult, or teen I suppose, baby. Whether another player would have become Shelly's acting mommy or daddy, or that role would have fallen to an NPC is something I am not sure of.

Simple beginning to a rather common story.

Andrea King was what you would call a fast developer, physically and mentally. Fortunate in a number of ways as she had a lot of responsibility placed on her shoulders at a young age. Her mother passed on when she was seven, leaving her, as the oldest of three children, to take over the majority of the child care responsibilities for her siblings..

Fortunately she was up to the challenge and was very helpful to her hard working father.

At twelve years of age she was skipped at head to an eleventh grade class. None of her new classmates knew that the tall, well-developed girl in their class was four years younger than them at first, and by the time they found out, she had become friends with most of them and faced little teasing.

At the age of fourteen she graduated from high school and had scholarship to a good university. She put that on hold for two years and took a job, to get some real life experience and to help with some bills her family faced.

By the time she enrolled in University her younger brother and sister were old enough that they did not need her looking after them and her father had been promoted and money was no longer such a big problem. This allowed Andrea to enter university with a clear conscience.

University was quite an enjoyable experience and she did well in her classes, joined a few clubs, and was introduced to role-playing games by her dorm mate.

At sixteen she was allowed to play 'let's pretend', albeit with more rules, again. It was something she had not had time for since her mother had passed away.

Her first character was a standard fantasy hero, a muscular male with a big sword. It fit with the world. Her next game, in a modern, cyberpunk setting, was a tough woman, much like Andrea herself. It was not until her second year in university, when she started playing a game about vampires, that she found her favourite character type.

As she had recently read some Anne Rice books she had decided that the child vampire sounded interesting, so she made up a girl who had been made a vampire when she was six: The eternal, cute little girl.

Role-playing that character, and the way she was treated while in the game, turned out to quite enjoyable. After being responsible for so long, becoming a child who was taken care of was quite the treat. From that point on, assuming that the genre supported it, she played children characters.

Of course her whole life was not taken up by these games. She still had to study, worked a part time job, and was part of her University's, girls' lacrosse team. She was tall and well built after all, and took the team to the championships three years in a row.

Suffice it to say that University was quite the positive experience for her. She made lots of friends, led an interesting life, lost her virginity to a handsome senior when she was seventeen (and did a little sexual experimentation afterwards), experimented with drugs (a little) and basically lived the life most university students did.

At twenty-three years old she left University with a Masters degree in chemical engineering, and a minor in business, and went on to get a high paying job with a pharmaceutical company.

She was a tall, six foot two, blonde, striking, well muscled woman who looked fabulous in the skirt suits she often wore and still played lacrosse when she got the chance. She smiled often, real smiles that showed in her blue eyes. And when she was angry most people backed down because her anger was as real as her happiness.

Andrea still played role-playing games, though it was harder to find groups once she left university. Fortunately there were some computer games that allowed her to indulge in sessions of 'let's pretend' and she also found some web based games which were also good.

It was one fall evening, as she was surfing the net, her boyfriend currently out of town, that she discovered another of those games. It was called 'Elemental Princesses' and looked to be in the style of Japanese Animation. While she was not certain that she wanted to join another game, she decided to take a look.

It was quite a nice looking site, with great graphics, and an interesting story. The world in danger, and people who had the blood-lines of the supernatural were the only ones who might save it. It sounded a lot like the Japanese animation she had watched.

Still not entirely certain if she wanted to join, she decided to play around with the character creation section, just to see what it was like. It was surprisingly enjoyable, and well set up. A character began to take form. Female, of course, she had not played a male character in a long time. There was an age slider, and she could have gone as young as six, but chose nine instead as it seemed a good age.

After giving it some thought she eschewed combat skills and created a super hacker, which sounded good to her. A hacker could even work from home, where her parents would think that she was tucked safely away in her bed; while she was in fact half the world away, hacking a super secret system.

She smiled as she moved onto the physical description. Never quite one to quite understand the odd hair and eye colours in Japanese Animated characters, she went realistic, black hair and dark brown eyes. Extremely cute, and looked younger than she was. Andrea liked that, it was quite different from who she was.

She chose an ice woman for her supernatural bloodline. The program suggested that she change her eye colour to blue to reflect this. She shrugged her shoulders and accepted the suggestion.

When choosing her problems she decided to play around with an idea she had recently thought of. Her character became a bed wetter with few keystrokes, and then suffered from daytime accidents as well. Andrea smiled at that. It seemed a little naughty to her, and also gave the character a little more childishness.

A little more work and she was done, all except a name. The last name was provided to her, Ikimura, she just had to choose the first name. She looked as the suggestions and chose Yukiko, which meant Snow Child. It made sense to her.

She looked at the clock, was surprised to see it was nearly one in the morning. She had been playing with the character creation programme for almost four hours. The time had just flown by. Looking at what she had, however, she understood the time. She had never created such a well-rounded character with such depth.

All she had left to do was to hit the enter button to start playing the game. Well, with a character creation section that good she was certain that the game itself would be great. She pressed the button and was taken the registration section.

She entered a username and a password, set some of the profile variables and then finished everything with another click.

A window popped up on her browser, asking her if she wanted to start playing. For a moment she considered hitting 'YES', but then remembered what time it was. Later, she thought, click on 'NO'. She closed the browser and then shut off her computer.