Sweetie Pie

Sweetie Pie is a Character from the Omlevex RPG Campaign Sourcebook by Spectrum Studio Games and is used here without permission.

This story was written on a whim after reading the entry of Sweetie Pie in the book.

Note: I have no intention to continue this story (certainly not in this forum). It is a superhero story about a character that wears diapers as part of a costume. Does not have to wear them, does not use them, and the diapers themselves are very secondary to the overall story.

Still, the below is interesting enough, kind of fun, and well written.

"Did you cash out?" Vince asked as he pulled the apron, adorned with the 'Easy Stop' logo, over his neck.

"I did, and I had exactly six cents more than I should have, so I put it all in the take a penny, leave a penny tray," Liz told him as she folded her own apron up and put it onto a small shelf under the cash register.

Vince gave her a look, as if he was not sure if she was making a joke or making fun of him. "It's not that I don’t trust you," he said.

Liz nodded, "Of course," she replied. "I'll be leaving now."

"Listen, I'm sorry if you think that…"

"Vince, it's okay," she told him. "I understand completely. I mean, you’re the assistant manager. It's your job."

Vince was a big man, tall, wide, intimidating looking in many ways, what with his shaven head and the tattoos all over his arms. Still, he looked somewhat cowed in front of Liz, a woman of average height and slim build. And it was not the unease of man dealing with an attractive woman, which she was. There was something else that was at play.

"I just want you to know that I do trust you."

"I know Vince," she pulled her blonde hair out of the ponytail she wore it in while at work, "I know."

Grabbing her coat she quickly exited the store, not wanting to deal with any more of Vince's apologies. She stepped out into the darkened streets of Seaboard, pulling her coat on against the slight chill in the early morning air. She worked the eight till four shift, was alone in the store from midnight till four: A lonely, lousy time, when she could count on the crazies being out, and hungry.

As she walked down the sidewalk, away from the Seaside Drive and the cove, kicking detritus off the sidewalk as she encountered it, Liz once more considered Vince's actions. She did feel bad for him, in a way. He was new to the job (another employee promoted ahead of her) and she was, after all, an ex-con. And had that been all there was to it, he might have even thought to ask Liz Baird out on date; as she knew he was often tempted. But she was an ex supervillian, though she'd be the first to say she had not been all that super.

The buildings around her began to light up, people waking up, getting ready to go to real jobs. Six months in the city and the best she had managed was a lousy clerk job at a 24-hour convenience store. And if she quit it, as she was often tempted to do, her parole officer would likely be all over her.

Life sucked. It really did.

Caught up in her thoughts as she was, she did not notice the two young toughs approaching her. Even when they were close enough that she had step around them, she was not really paying them much attention. Then one grabbed her by the upper arm, finger's squeezing into flesh.

She looked at him then, noting the slight look of surprise that crossed his face. Perhaps he had not expected to feel the muscle there. He and his companion were tall, good-looking men, a little on the scruffy side. Wannabe actors who came to Seaboard, trying to follow a dream, one that had likely turned sour on them. She knew the feeling all too well.

"Hey lady, got some cash to spare?" he asked her. His friend moved to the side, flanking her.

"Let go of my arm," she said, keeping her voice calm and even. Men like those could sense fear, and it would only egg them on.

"Just a few dollars, that's all we want."

She did not carry a purse, so she offered them no easy target. She was fairly certain that once she pulled the wallet out of her coat pocket they would want more than a few dollars.

"Let me go," she said. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Hey lady, we just…" the one holding her said.

"Shut up bitch!" the other one yelled at the same time, lashing out with a backhanded slap that likely would have hurt had it connected.

It never did.

She moved forward, into the man holding her, avoiding his companion's attack and knocking the one with his hand on her off balance. Not breaking his hold, she slammed her knee into the side of his leg, giving him a charlie-horse painful enough to cause him to let go. Spinning about, she kicked the other's legs out from under him, dropping him hard to the ground.

Liz leapt forward, landing on him, knees driving into his chest with enough force to likely bruise ribs. She raised her hand back and drove her fingers into his solar plexus, stealing his breath away.

She rolled off of him and sprung to her feet, facing the man who had grabbed her earlier. He was hopping on one leg, his hands wrapped around the upper thigh of the other, trying to massage the pain away.

Liz hooked the back of his ankle when he was in the upper part of a hop and pulled his leg out from under him. He fell the to the sidewalk, the back of his head meeting the cement with a 'crack' that drew a wine of sympathy from Liz.

She stood over them for a few seconds, and then walked to a nearby phone booth to call the police.

"Are you stupid? I mean, I knew you were not very smart, but I have to wonder if you are some sort of moron," Simon Gris said. "I mean, maybe you think you can get on some sort of social program if you pass yourself off as some sort of village idiot; is that it?"

Simon Gris was a short, fat, balding man, who wore bad green suits and smelled faintly of garlic and stale tobacco. He was, among all his other shortcomings, Liz's parole officer. That she had to deal with the likes of him often made her think that she would prefer returning the peaceful confines of the asylum, or perhaps even just a regular prison. She did not say that however.

What she did say was, "They attacked me. I was defending myself."

"Attacked you? Like anyone would believe that. I bet you that they are pressing charges. I bet you that is what they are doing right now."

"Actually," a young, redheaded policewoman (her name tag read 'Mullins') said, "they both have confessed that attacking Miss Baird was the other's idea. They will not be pressing charges at all." She smiled.

"Listen female policeman," Simon said, "if I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Now, I'm talking to this ex-con here who is under my authority, not yours, but mine, do you understand that concept?"

Officer Mullins looked at Simon as if he were something that she had found stuck to the bottom of her shoe. She stood, grabbing the typed statement that she had earlier written. "Miss Baird, thank you for helping us," she said, now ignoring Simon. "I'll file your statement and you are free to go." She turned on a heel and walked stiffly from the office.

Simon scowled at her back, and then turned to look at Liz. "You got lucky this time. Next time you try a stunt like that you'll probably end up behind bars, and they won't be crib bars, let me tell you that!"

She ignored what Simon probably considered a clever barb and reference to her criminal past (apparently unaware that that particular witticism was horse that the press had long since beaten to death), and said, "I understand."

"And what were you doing out at that time of night? In that neighbourhood? Are you soliciting now?" he asked with a leer.

"The Easy Stop I work at is in that area. I work the late shift."

"Well why don't you quit and find some other job?" he asked. "Why not take that job I got for you. You're supposed to be an actor." He said it as if he were accusing her of lying.

"I don't want to make those kind of films," she told him.

"Why? They aren't illegal."

"They are tasteless!"

"Tasteless or not lady, you better start giving some thought to them. You keep working late hours and you are going to get into trouble. One word from me, and boom! You're off the streets. You got me?"

She got to her feet, gathering her coat in her arms. "I understand you Simon. I'm going home. I need some sleep."

"Keep your nose clean," he told her. "And report to my office in two days."

"I will," she told him, too tired to think of engaging him in any sort of witty banter. Feeling more exhausted than she had in months she walked from the police station and then used money she could not really spare to take a cab home.

A one-room apartment, in an area that would quaintly be referred to as urban primitive, was Liz's home. The sofa bed was still out when she came in, as she had left it when she last left. She flopped onto it, thought a moment about undressing, and then decided that she just could not muster the energy.

She wondered if Simon would force her to go to work for Bell&Gris Pictures, a company partly owned by his brother, or brother in law, or his second cousin, or something. It was such a tawdry place--not quite pornography, but skirting dangerously close. And the only reason they wanted her there was that she was attractive. Her acting skills were actually considered a detriment.

She rolled over on to her back and stared up at the water stained ceiling. At times like this the asylum looked better and better.

8 Months Earlier – The Pinehurst Asylum for the Socially Maladjusted

Liz sat on the edge of the plastic, institutional chair. Her feet were slid under it, the toes of her rubber, soled slippers resting on sparkling clean tiles. The room smelled of disinfectant and desperation. The florescent lights above her buzzed, and flickered, making her head ache slightly.

In front of her sat a doctor, an older man, distinguished many would say. He held a file in his hands, flipping through the pages within. Finally he looked up at her. "You know, you have made steady progress since you have been here."

"Thank you Doctor Bremen," she said.

"I've been looking over the notes, and I was wondering, have you ever considered why you put together the costume you did?"

Liz was a little surprised by his question. "I needed a costume. It is de rigueur after all. I wanted something unique. There were bits and pieces of it lying around at the time from failed acting job. The rest came together. That was the only reason."

"Perhaps, but I would like you to consider this. As Sweetie Pie you dressed as a young child, even down to the diapers you wore. I think that you chose such clothes because they allowed you to regress, in a manner, to a time when you felt protected and loved. That feeling of protection allowed you to, well, do things that were incredibly dangerous."

"What are you getting at?"

"You may be released in a few months, in fact, I think there is a good chance of it. You are likely to find the outside world difficult at times. There is nothing wrong with seeking out that desire to be protected, and just because you do so, that does not mean that deep down you want to return to your criminal past. I want you to remember that Miss Baird."

After a moment Liz nodded, not certain what the doctor meant, but not willing to say anything that might complicate her chances at getting parole.

Present Day

She woke to the click of her alarm, that sound that heralded the discordant, disharmonious clangour that would have woken her up. Her hand flashed out and hit the shut off button before the annoying alarm started.

Liz sat up, yawning and stretching. She had slept in her clothing and was regretting that, feeling the small patches of irritation around her shoulders from her bra straps, among other things.

Stripping as she walked to the bathroom, she reflected back on the long ago session with Dr. Bremen. She had not thought about him in months, but suddenly she was considering what he had said to her.

After showering and taking care of the rest of her ablutions, she made a small meal and cleaned up her apartment. It was a little after one; she had several hours before she had to get to work. She decided that she would go and workout at the gym, and then do a little shopping, maybe even rent a movie if there was time.

It was, for the most part, how she spent most days.

In the gym she was just another client, pumping iron, using the stationary bikes, keeping is shape, no one really gave her that much attention. It was a real gym, smelling of sweat, and hard work. It was not the sort of place people went to be seen, or to try to pick up attractive members of the opposite sex. It was just a gym and that was why she liked it.

Afterwards she wandered around a mall on Seaside Drive, window-shopping for the most part. There was nothing she really needed.

On her way home she passed a drug store, one of the big chain stores. She stood outside of the front doors for a moment, uncertain, and then went in. She thought she needed some shampoo, and maybe a new stick of antiperspirant. And while she did need those things she also bought a sample package of adult diapers. She had not planned to, but somehow they ended up on the check out counter with her other purchases.

Liz left them in the bag when she got home, did not really think about them until five in the morning the next day when she took one out of the package, put it on, and then went to sleep.

Her meeting with Simon was, as usual, unpleasant. In the privacy of the dank hole he called his office he was free to be as rude as he wanted. She suspected, were she to get someone to believe her, she could have him charged for much of what he said and suggested. It was likely that while she had stood against his threats and suggestions, other women under his watch may not have.

He disgusted her, but she maintained a calm façade and was unfailingly polite.

She was noncommittal about working for Bell&Gris, putting him off with a promise to think about it. Afterwards she went out to spend the rest of the day enjoying the sunshine and clean breeze off the ocean.

Along the way she stopped off in several second hand clothing shops, purchasing a small selection of clothing for children. She bought a bolt of cloth and some lace and ribbon from a fabric store. A pair of black Mary Janes and a diaper cover from a costume shop completed the work.

When she got to her apartment she took out her sewing kit and picked the stitches out of the clothing, laying each piece out on the floor in front of her couch. She laid out the fabric and drew out patterns based on the pieces. Liz was good at it. In her first days of acting she had been in some tiny companies. Learning the art of the seamstress was one way to make certain her costumes were always perfect.

When she left for work she felt better, more energetic than she had in weeks.

The next day she spent at home, except for a quick trip to the gym, and continued to work on the clothes. She cut out the patterns and then brought out an old sewing machine. She sewed and cut, used fine needlework to attach ribbon and frill. Finally she hung a dress, that aside from its size any little girl would love to wear, in the closet.

Smiling and humming to herself Liz headed out for work.

It was Saturday night, Liz's one night a week off. She sat on her couch, fresh from the shower, clad in a thin robe, staring at the dress and other accoutrements that were laid out on the coffee table before her.

Finally she stood, letting the robe slide from her shoulders, and picked up the diaper from the table. She unfolded the hourglass shaped plastic and paper, running her fingers along the leg gathers within, brushing across the smooth plastic cover, smelling that unique scent of a disposable diaper.

She put it on, pulling the tapes tight, feeling the elastic of the leg and waist openings bite gently into her delicate flesh. She shivered slightly in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

It had been like that the first time. When she had put on her first diaper she had felt that same delicious sense of pleasure. The padding that pressed in on her reminded her that, while she had not yet broken even one law, that by putting on the diaper she was stepping away from regular society.

Even though it had been so long since that first diaper, she still felt the same way.

Next she pulled the diaper cover up her legs, slid it over the padding of her diaper, letting the tight, frilled garment press in on her, compacting the diaper slightly, proving a more discrete fit, but not too discrete. No, that she was diapered was obvious, it was just that it would not hamper her as it pampered her. She giggled at the rhyme.

A pair of white tights followed, encasing her long legs, sliding over the ruffles of her rumba style diaper cover, up above her waist so they would not slide down. There was a feeling of restraint in the clothing, but at the same time, one of protection, like being held in a tight, loving embrace.

She pulled on a vest next, the tight, thick cotton compressing her breasts slightly, giving her a slightly more streamlined appearance.

She was aching to look at herself in the mirror, but she resisted, and reached for the petticoats, putting them on, knowing that the seat of her diaper would peak out slightly from beneath them.

Finally she dress was slid over her head, the soft material of the outfit gently caressing her. She reached behind herself and closed the snaps, then tied the ribbon tightly into a bow.

Ready, she skipped over to the mirror and looked at herself. Sweetie Pie was back, she thought, smiling at herself. She grabbed a brush and some ribbon and quickly put her hair into pigtails. A tiny bit of makeup finished her off. She breathed a sigh of relief. Until that moment she had not been certain she could truly become what she had been.

She felt, content and safe. She recalled Dr. Bremen saying that it was all right to want to feel that way; it did not mean she had to turn back to crime.

And yet…

And yet…

And yet she wanted more.

Leaving her apartment, she slipped out into the night. Even dressed in the bright colours she could still be a shadow, unseen. And for the moment she wanted to be unseen.

Sweetie Pie took to the roofs, leaping from one to another, the city flying by below her, unknowing that she was there. It was exhilarating, and dangerous, but she felt no fear. It was like it always was when she took on the mantle of Sweetie Pie. As her hard soled shoes slipped on a roof tile she laughed. As she went over the side of the roof she wanted to squeal in delight. As she stopped her fall by grabbing onto a fire escape she wanted to sing.

As she hung six stories up from rusty metal she felt free. She felt in control. She felt true to herself.

And when the scream interrupted her euphoria she felt rather perturbed.

Below her a mugging, and perhaps worse, was in progress. A young woman set upon by three men, in an alleyway far from the main roads. Another young man lay on the ground, probably the woman's escort, Sweetie Pie thought, looking down at them.

Stupid place to be; it was an uncharitable thought for all the truth in it. She released her hold on the fire escape and dropped several feet before grabbing on to a lower railing. She swung herself over to the side, dropped and caught again. Finally she grabbed onto the ladder. It slid down with an ear splitting shriek. Everyone in the alley, who was conscious, looked up.

One of the men took the hard soles of a pair of Mary Janes across the nose. He went stumbling back and fell amongst the garbage. Sweetie Pie pumped her legs, shot up in the back swing, then released the ladder. She tucked, spun, and then came down, right foot leading, onto the instep of the biggest of the young men. He howled in pain.

She turned quickly and kicked the third in the shin, hard. She was, she thought with a smile, such a girly fighter.

It did not take her long to lay the three men out.

"You shouldn’t wander through dark alleys lady," she told the speechless woman. "Didn't your mommy teach you better?" Sweetie Pie asked with a giggle.

Turning her attention to the man who had been lying on the ground when she arrived Sweetie Pie felt for a pulse. She was glad to find one, strong and regular, and his breathing was good as well.

"He’ll be fine, I think," she said looking up at the recently rescued woman. "You better call an ambulance, just in case."

"I, I will," she said, stammering slightly.

Sweetie Pie flashed her a smile, then leapt up, grabbing the ladder, quickly pulling herself back to the fire escape—she was careful not to get any rust stains on her clothing. A few seconds later she was back on the roofs, feeling as if there were nothing she could not do.

Morning found Liz in her apartment, drinking a cup of coffee, dressed in her robe, and looking through the paper. She was both disappointed and relieved to see that her actions the night before had gone unreported. No matter what she had done, or not done, if Simon, or anyone, learned that she was taking on the mantle of Sweetie Pie again, well, there would be trouble.

She was pouring a second cup of coffee when she heard a knock at her door. Liz placed the coffee cup on the counter and then went to see whom her Sunday morning guest was. She was surprised to see the police officer who had taken her statement a few days before standing on her doorstep.

"Miss Baird, I'm officer Mullins, Samantha Mullins. We met a few days ago."

"I remember Officer. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"May I come in Miss Baird?"

"Please," she stepped aside, "and call me Liz."

"Thank you Liz," she said as she stepped over the threshold. "You can call me Sam if you want."

"Well Sam," she closed the door, "what can I do for you?"

"Last night a woman dressed in babyish attire stopped three crimes; two muggings and a liquor store hold up."

Liz said nothing for a moment, and then she nodded. "If you are here to ask if I had anything to do with that, then yes. Yes I did."

"May I sit?"

"Please." She indicated the couch.

Sam walked over and took a seat. "I don't have to tell you that that is a violation of your parole."

"No you don't. Would you like a cup of coffee?" Liz asked as she went to retrieve her own.

"No thank you. Liz, could I ask you why you did that?"

Liz picked up her coffee. "I'm not certain," she said and then took a drink. "It was just something I had to do. No matter the consequences."

"Would you be willing to do it again?"

Liz nearly spat out the coffee she was drinking. She put the cup down and looked over at her guest. "What?"

"I would like to help you, help you to help the other people in Seaboard. I think that Sweetie Pie, no matter her past, could do that."

"But my parole."

Sam shook her head. "There are, not that they are too well known, police programs that could be enacted. In effect, you would be working for us."

Liz looked at the other woman. "Do you have permission to make this offer?"

"Not yet," Sam admitted. "But I'm certain that I could arrange it. And you've already broken the conditions of your parole," she smiled, "what do you have to lose?"

What indeed, Liz wondered as she considered the woman's offer.