Spirit Diaper Rough Draft

A magician or sorcerer without a familiar was not a man or woman of the Mystical Arts. Such a concept was like a painter bereft of a brush, a warrior without their sword, or a town guard devoid of corruption and immense alcoholism. It was expected that when a man or woman would first wield the wild supernatural forces teeming throughout the world, they would contact the realm of spirits and pull from it a familiar who would stay by their side till the moment they died. It was not a purely servile relationship--a master was expected to care for their familiar as well, and support them.


Of course, many sorcerers would take highly attractive familiars and perhaps even fall in love with them. For all the usefulness they provided to Terra, the Middle Firmament, the stereotypical view of a sorcerer was a somewhat off-putting man or woman assisted by a beautiful spirit familiar they were undoubtedly sexually attracted to. Rumors would spread in more vulgar towns that the local sorcerers would engage in orgiastic magic-fueled ruts with their familiars at night, even.

However, there was one unusual thing about spirits. When they manifested on Terra, they became bound by the metaphysical rules of all mortal beings: the 25 Laws of Morality (or 24, 23, 27, 45...the quickest way to derail a meeting of sorcerers was to ask how many Laws of Mortality there were). Chiefly most important for now was that spirits had to void waste. As they were unfamiliar with these sensations, special measures were required at first...

And that brings us to one particular man and his familiar who lived in Istar, a small community on the outskirts of the town of Megiddo...

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Kairos na Luxis da Megiddo sighed, flipping absent-mindedly through the mess of papers strewn all over his desk. The sun was bright overhead, and the cool breeze coming from his open windows pointed towards the perfect day to go out and grab materials, yet here he was arched painfully over a chair reading letters whose contents he knew before even opening them. Most of them were either records of business transactions, letters from fellows, or notices from his local guild chapter. He wasn't even reading most of them--he scanned the first few lines and chucked them away. It wasn't like reading a record of business was going to edify him much.

After getting through nearly half of the pile he leaned back and reached for his cup of coffee. The scalding liquid nearly burned his tongue, but it invigorated him nonetheless and filled his belly with soothing warmth. The cup was nearly empty, so he made a note to call her later and ask her to refill it. He softly chuckled at the mundanity of the task. For all the commotion people made about it, 80% of the time a sorcerer used their spirit familiar a glorified maid or butler, even if they were puissant enough to destroy entire towns, beautiful enough to drive onlookers to suicide, or so crafty as to outsmart the gods.

Still, she was not exactly a very powerful spirit either. Not that he minded. He did not want to have a familiar whose power vastly exceeded his own; he wasn't some incredible hero or magician reinventing fields of mystic science over a cup of tea. He was a simple alchemist and explorer.

He wanted to keep relaxing in his chair, but he had to push through this mass of papers eventually. His only solace was that mail would not come for another week, and with business as low as it had been recently he wouldn't have a million records coming through. He grabbed a particular stack and strode over to his open windows. He had enough of that dark corner. Falling into a plush sofa,  he instantly felt relieved. The sun's bright rays were making his crimson hair shine a bright scarlet.

Unfortunately his high spirits were deflated when he saw that the stack began with a letter from Ramayosha. He already knew what this one would be: another pedantic argument about how there were exactly 43 Laws of Mortality and anything else was sacrilege. Everyone else in the Vograna Alchemists' Guild had long since dropped the issue, but Ramayosha would not give up.

Thankfully, Kairos was saved by the sound of a sweet young woman's voice. “Hey, master!” It was of his spirit familiar, Hebime. Hailing from the legends of the eastern Orient, Hebime was a relatively low-class dragon girl. Her long and straight hair was a dark, deep azure that contrasted heavily with Kairos' crimson as well her own crimson eyes; eyes whose pupils were thin slits like those of a cat or snake. Indeed according to her, her own name meant “snake-eyed”.  This and the small horns which curled around the side of her head were the only indicators of her draconic nature; she was too weak to possess even a small pair of wings, or a thick reptilian tail. Truthfully, she was part of the second-lowest class of the draconic races. Kairos liked that about her, however. She was feisty and sweet at the same time, always working hard and free of the immense hubris of the higher classes, which led them to rarely ever become familiars.

Her attire for the day was a curious mix of her native oriental dress and occidental clothing: a light and airy pastel pink yukata covered in lovely images of flowers combined with a skirt more reminiscent of Hülgald and Gallos women. The skirt was rather short and did not come to her knees. She was barefoot as per usual when inside.

Kairos couldn't help but smile when he saw her. She was a lovely, lovely girl. To think that in her native society would have viewed her as a low-class peasant made his blood boil. That was why he tried to treat her as lovingly as possible. She wasn't merely a familiar: she was a companion. “Hello, Hebime. How are you today?”

“Just great!” Hebime hopped excitedly and gave two thumbs up, smiling goofily. “It's a wonderful day, why are we inside? I'm thinking of going for a walk outside.” Kairos noticed that she was fidgeting a lot more than usual today. In addition, she was closing her legs more tightly than usual.

“I have a lot of annoying mail to deal with.” Kairos pointed towards the desk coated in papers, before returning to the one in his hand. Yet another philosophical argument from Kurasi. That sorceress always held the exact opposite opinion of his. He sighed and placed it on a nearby table--it demanded a more thorough examination later. “It's quite draining.”

“You're an alchemist!” Hebime strode over to him and placed her hands on her hips. “Craft something to raise your spirits!”

“I would, but I need a bunch of stuff...” He ran through the requisite materials in his mind. “Extract of a salamander, one tear of a red sun peony, some absinthe to mix it all in...oh, and my alchemical workbench is running low on juice too.” His eyes moved to a small table etched with runes in the corner of his house, flanked on both sides by large glass cabinets filled with all sorts of liquids in every color of the rainbow and labeled boxes of alchemical materials. The table's runes were unlit, and the cabinets were a little too empty for comfort. That was his “little” workbench, fit for making little concoctions. More serious projects demanded the larger one in his study, but a tonic for revitalizing energy was fit for the little one. “My supplies are still low from making all that medicine. I'm gonna have to go get some more supplies in town. Wanna come with?”

Hebime's bright smile faded and she shrunk back, nervously glancing away. “Um, no, not really, because...you know.”

Kairos frowned. She had been getting less and less excited to go into town for the past few months. Originally she was always going on trips herself, but now getting her to leave was an ordeal. It wasn't right for her to remain cooped up, especially not an out-going girl like her. “Hebime, you can't let it control you. It's not your fault.”

“Yes...yes it is...” She looked down on the ground and fidgeted. “I...” She abruptly stopped and blushed fiercely. “Oh no...” She bent over slightly and crossed her legs, her face as red as Kairos' hair “Hnnggh...I need to go to my room, master!” Her legs were trembling like jelly.

Kairos knew exactly what was going on--and he did not like it one bit. With a stern expression and voice, arms crossed across his chest, he glanced at her quivering form. “Hebime, lift your skirt and show me your underwear.” He used his “special” tone--Hebime's eyes grew even more wide and her forehead broke out into a cold sweat. He only used this deep, paternal tone when he was not happy with her actions. Right now, he was like a father about to scold his young daughter.

“W-why...?”

“Because--”

“Ahhh....oh nooooo!” Hebime doubled over, a loud hissing sound emerging from her crotch. A gold stream of urine fell from under her skirt onto the ground below her. She broke into tears, sobbing quietly in front of a Kairos shaking his head. Her piss collected into a acrid-smelling puddle at her feet, the stream making a distinct noise as it hit the wooden floor. Still sobbing, she gave in and stood straight, letting the stream continue to fall. She looked straight down, unable to look her master in the face. Eventually, she voided her bladder completely, the stream coming to a stop like a closed pipe. Her feet were soaked into a malodorous puddle of her own urine. The sharp pungent stench of pee began to fill the room.

Hebime said nothing, only looking down at her puddle. Tears rolled down her cheeks like rain on a window, falling off and mixing with the puddle. She said nothing, only sobbing and gasping.

Kairos shook his head. He was angry at her, but in the way a parent would be angry at their child. He took a deep breath and spoke sternly, yet softly. “Hebi, look at me.” He hoped the nickname would let her know he wasn't going to be abusive. She did nothing, however; not even acknowledge his words. “Hebime, look at me.” He said again, this time with slightly more edge to his voice. Once again, she did nothing.

Kairos frowned and shook his head again. This time, with enough edge and just the slightest tinge of anger, he repeated himself: “Hebime, that is an order. Look at your master now.” This did the trick--she slowly raised her head and made eye contact with him, her huge red eyes quivering. Her rosy cheeks glistened wetly. “Alright, sweetie,” Hebime blushed even harder upon hearing that name. “please lift your skirt.”

Hebime nodded and mechanically gripped her skirt, moving as slowly and artificially as possible, as if she was terrified of showing him. Still, she gulped loudly and raised her skirt, revealing a black pair of lacy panties now shiny with piss, some of it still running down her leg.

Kairos glared at her. “Why aren't you wearing a diaper like you should be?”

“I'm sorry, master...” The waterworks turned on once again. Hebime began to loudly bawl like a baby. “WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! I-I wanted to try wearing normal underwear...” She could barely get through two words before tripping up on sobs and gasps. “I don't want to wear diapers anymooooooooooore!” She whined, clasping her hands together and pleading with Kairos.

He sighed. All spirits manifested in Terra completely incontinent, having never dealt with voiding waste in the spirit domain (outside of those who had already visited there, and many did to gain toilet training before summoning, but new spirits were easier to handle). Therefore, it was customary to diaper them for a while 'till they were finally toilet-trained. Many new spirits one passed on the street would be discreetly diapered. As most spirits were already adult in form and didn't enjoy sitting in their own waste, nearly all of them were toilet-trained by around two months, three at the worst

Hebime, however, was unusual. After two months of being bound by Kairos, she was still having constant accidents during the day and night. They had moved to thinner training pants, expecting her to  quickly graduate from them, but she was having so many constant wet and messy accidents that after only two weeks he moved her back into diapers full-time, though she had pleaded with him not to. It was only a minor setback. He and his fellow local sorcerers (who had all gotten spirits at around the same time as he got Hebime) had thought little of it. Some spirits took a little longer to train, just as some children did when they potty-trained.

...except Hebime never got better. three months passed, and of his fellow eight local sorcerers and their spirits, Hebime was one of only two to still not be toilet-trained. Kairos tried, but she still was having constant accidents with no signs of improving, and thus he reluctantly went back to diapers. Then four months passed, and Hebime was the only one of the nine spirits to still not be toilet-trained. At this point, Kairos had begun to get worried, as did his friends and their spirits. Very few spirits took this long. Still, they all thought: she had to eventually gain some bladder and bowel control, right?

It had been eleven since he had bound Hebime. She was still completely and utterly dependent on diapers. He had not tried training pants for six months; she wet and soiled herself so heavily and so often that she had to wear the thickest diapers possible 24/7. In addition, Hebime absolutely refused to change herself, meaning that Kairos had to do it. Even newly-bound spirits still toilet-training usually changed themselves.

Kairos stood up, stretched, and patted her on the head. She only came up to his broad shoulders. Sorcerers were stereotypically scrawny academics, but alchemists like Kairos often ventured out to grab materials and thus were often buff. “Sorry, Hebime. You know that you can't wear big girl panties. Get a diaper from the washroom and come back here. After I diaper you, you are to clean up this mess,” he pointed at the puddle, “and after that you will clean up this whole room.” Hebime said nothing, only sniffling softly and avoiding all eye contact. “Come on, go. The quicker you go the quicker you can finish cleaning this up.”

Hebime finally nodded slowly. She turned around and trudgingly walked out of the room into the nearby hallway. Kairos sighed and walked over to his desk, carefully stepping around the piss puddle, which was already starting to smell pungent. He threw the papers on the desk and stretched. He adored Hebime, he really did. She, however, had to realize eventually that diapers were a necessity for her. It was not ideal, but nothing in life was. He turned to his open window and wistfully admired the forest to his right and the glimpse of Megiddo's massive walls to the left, with the tiny community of Ishtar next to it. Hebime hadn't gone outside for three weeks. He hated seeing her like this. Still, what could he do? He was never too good at personal heart-to-heart talk, just being an authority figure.

He was a master, but Hebime needed more than just a master.

The sound of slow, dainty footsteps tore him from the window. Hebime slowly walked into the hallway, looking towards the floor and frowning so sadly it broke Kairos' heart. She used to be so bubbly and happy—he had seen glimpses of that earlier that morning. But now she was only happy when wearing panties, except that always led to inevitable accidents which tanked her mood into depression. In her hands was a small white garment, folded up. It was a quite thick disposable diaper.

Kairos walked up to her and sternly said, “go to the changing table. I need some things.”

Hebime's eyes opened wide with terror. She looked up at him finally with quivering orbs. “N...no...” Her voice was so weak it was barely audible. “Please...please not that...”

“You know the rules.”

Hebime's mouth fell into a frown once more. She whimpered quietly and walked back into the hallway. Kairos went to his alchemical workbench and opened the glass doors straddling it. Most of the glass vials were empty, but he still had what he needed. He pulled out one of the few vials which wasn't empty. It was filled with a a dark maroon powder and not very large—the powder inside was only about a palmful. On it were the words “Inflammatory Command Dust”, written in dainty handwriting, with neatly-formed letters made of lovely strokes that flowed together. That was Hebime's handwriting. He made the dust, but he always had her write the name on it. “Need to make some more of this.” He remarked. “...and learn how to make All-Punishment-Encompassing Command Dust. But that's for another time.”

He turned around and entered the hallway, entering a room on the far end. It was his workshop—against the wall to the left was a massive table that resembled his workbench but much larger, etched with much finer lines, and straddled by two massive glass cabinets fortified with magic circles and crimson locks. These two were near-empty. Tucked into the corner was a small sink of purified holy water for cleansing his hands before working, and on the right wall was a set of massive bookcases. These stretched the entire length of the wall and appeared to be covered in a hazy blue sheen—anti-theft spells from a friend. Their books contained thousands upon thousands of spells and alchemical recipies—many that far exceeded his level. Entire books on those shelves had recipies that would take him decades more experience to craft.

 However, his destination was the table on the wall opposite the door. It was a long changing table suitable for changing the diapers of fully-grown adults. He had placed it there so he would be able to change Hebime quickly if she needed it. Doing that so close to his workspace was a point of contention amongst some of his peers. Hebime was sitting morosely on the table, her feet dangling above the ground. Behind her was a bright open window that didn't match the gloomy look on her face at all.

“Let's begin.” Kairos bluntly said. He walked over to her and urged her off the table. “No getting out of this. You aren't supposed to take your diapers off ever. Now pull down your skirt and panties and lay over the table.”

“Please, master...” Hebime's eyes began to well up with tears.

“Looking cute and sad wont make me stop.”

Hebime whimpered and slid down both garments, exposing her naked crotch. The tinest patch of blue pubic hair accompanied her tiny slit. She slowly walked, as if she wanted to stretch out the time as much as possible, to the edge of the table and laid over it, exposing her quivering buttocks to him. He gave no reaction and popped open the vial, pouring the dust into his hands. He stuck one finger in it and chanted. “When she does not count out my smacks on her buttocks with the paddle.” Upon finishing his words, the dust briefly glowed red-hot like embers with a sizzling crackle.

Hebime yelped at those last two words, eyeing him with wide-open terror. “T-the paddle! Please master, no, no, I promise it wont happen again!”

“You have to learn your lesson.” Kairos lightly patted her quivering ass and rubbed the crimson dust into it.

“Please, no, it hurts so bad, please, I can take the powder but not the paddle!” She cried hysterically, tears pouring down her face. She was so agitated a blast of smoke erupted from her nostrils—that was all her low class could muster of the fabled Dragonfire breath--, flash-boiling her tears into steam which rose up and condensated on her face, making it gleam slightly.

Kairos acted as if she didn't exist and pulled out a large wooden paddle from the changing table, which had several holes drilled into it. He tested it first by lightly tapping it to her butt, making her jump and yelp. He knew she would never dare try to run, but he held her down firmly anyway.
“Alright, I'm going to give you twenty smacks, Hebime. Count after each one. Get the number right, or we start over. Understand?” Hebime only whimpered frantically, her torso erratically expanding and compressing with her ragged breath. “I need an answer.”

“Y-Yes!” Hebime replied hastily, quivering in dread.

“Alright...” Kairos raised the paddle, and with a good bit of force, swung it firmly into her butt with a resounding “SMACK!” of flesh and wood. Hebime writhed in pain and screamed, but it wasn't over. The dust on her butt started to glow red-hot—it wasn't actually burning, but now it was stinging almost as badly as an actual hit.

With tears Hebime quickly began counting through a pained grimace. “A, Ahhhhgggh!O-ONE!” The dust faded away and she breathed a sigh of relief—one quickly cut off by another smack to the ass followed by the powder stinging yet again. “T-TWO!”

Kairos smacked her several more times. Each time, the dust would sting her butt until she counted out each hit correctly. Her butt was already starting to turn bright red and she was struggling a lot less, now more content to sob into the sheets and yelp whenever Kairos smacked her again. She was starting to slip. Each count took longer and longer as the pain built up more and more, until eventually, when she was on 18, she failed. “Eigh—AAAAHHNNNN! IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HUUUUUUUUURTS!” She whined and broke down into wild bawling like a child, sobbing unconstrollably into the changing table.

“That's not a number.” Kairos bluntly stated. “We start again.”

“W-what? No...no! Please—OWWWWW!” Hebime cried as another smack lit up her ass in burning pain. “We were so close...” She sobbed.

“Count correctly this time.”

“O-one...”

This time, she did. By the end of the new 20 smacks, Hebime's ass was as red as a tomato. Kairos took a cloth from his table, soaked it in the holy water, and wiped the dust off her ass. She grimaced in pain as the cold and refreshing touch of the water mixed with the agony of her inflammed ass lighting up again. She would not be able to sit comfortably for the rest of the day, that was for sure. Kairos grabbed her limp form—she was too exhausted to move much—and rolled her over onto the changing table. She whimpered when her ass touched the padded top. Kairos took the diaper she had gotten and opened it up with a loud crinkle. Hebime's face fell into a sad frown when she heard that noise. The rest of the change was uneventful. Kairos slid the opened diaper underneath her butt, liberally applied some baby powder, and taped it up between her legs. The garment's thickness ensured that she could no longer close her legs all the way, and it rustled with every slight movement she made.

“There, now you're adequately protected.” Kairos walked up to her head and lovingly—well, as lovingly as he could—stroked her dark blue hair. She frowned and blew more smoke out of her nostrils. “Woah there, calm down before you burn me up!”

“Muuuuuuuuuuuuh~” Hebime groaned and got up, her diaper crinkling loudly. She winced in pain, but endured it and silently grabbed her skirt and put it back on. Then she wistfully gazed at her panties with tears in her eyes.

Kairos patted her on her padded butt, making her adorably jump in shock. She covered it with her hands quickly and shot a glare back at him. “Now now, go and clean up your pee, Hebime. That's an order.”

Hebime said nothing and walked out of the workshop, closing the door softly behind her.

Kairos remained silent as well. How long was this to go on? He wanted her to stop suffering, but she was the one who had to actually come to accept herself.

He thought about the Hebime that he had seen earlier today. The smiling Hebime. The spunky Hebime. The Hebime that bounced around and brought joy to everyone she met.

He missed that Hebime. He missed her so much.

The changing table was stained with not only Hebime's tears that day.