Elizabeth Sullivan’s prey had proven more elusive than she could have expected.

She liked it better that way.

Whoever he was, his online accounts were seemingly impervious–she’d found sockpuppets, fake profiles, but nothing pointing back to his true identity. He clearly had resources, because some of the fakes had real money attached to their names, but none were connected to any root identity.

She’d find him, though. He would be out there, somewhere, and once she got his real name, she’d nail his ass to the wall–or, more likely, lock him in a diaper and make him beg for her permission just to use it.

Elizabeth hadn’t longed to dominate someone this much in a long time, and such was her craving that she’d given up her usual pretenses. This was no vigilante justice, she just wanted to win.

When her anonymous attempts failed, and her more direct attacks on his identity came up with nothing, Elizabeth finally tried to use his own tactics against him, to set out bait and wait for the rewards to come in.

She posted as an anon, attached to a burner account, but with enough identifying information that the burner could be tracked back…at least, to a fictional identity.

‘Help - I’m being blackmailed, user has control of my wallet.’

Elizabeth was careful not to mention diapers within the post–a real anon wouldn’t admit to that, not in a million years, but she implied that she was being made to do something, and stubbornly refused to answer questions about what that ‘something’ was whenever anyone in the replies asked.

It’d be enough. Her mysterious tail would come calling, sniffing for clues, and with luck, he’d finally reveal himself.

All she had to do was wait.

In the meantime, there wasn’t much to do. The trash needed to go out, but that could wait–she’d just had lunch a few…

(Wait, how long has it been?)

Her stomach grumbled. Okay, maybe it’d been a while since her last meal–she ordered a pizza, and checked up on one of her ongoing projects while she waited. One pig–his name was ‘Henry’–had asked to change almost three hours prior. She’d missed the text, including the rather humiliating selfie he’d sent, showing how the diaper sagged.

Pretending that the delay had been deliberate, she sent the encrypted reply: ‘I think you’ve waited long enough. Send me one more picture to prove you didn’t cheat, then you can change.’

She doubted he had cheated–he’d grown too pliable, too obedient. He hadn’t disobeyed her in weeks. Before long, she’d cut him loose, it wasn’t fun anymore.

The only person she wanted to diaper was her mysterious opponent.

She checked her bait post again. No results, no sly comments or suggestions that her bait had lured in any clues.

Finally, a knock came at the door. She checked her private security camera, built into the peephole–a tall woman stood outside, holding a pizza bag. She looked a bit frazzled, with greasy brown hair and a faded top, but she was attractive beneath it–if she cleaned up a bit, she’d be a knockout. More relevant to Elizabeth, she wasn’t one of usual delivery drivers.

Then again, they had a high turnover, so that was no surprise.

Glancing down, Elizabeth poked at her diaper–soggy, but not messy, nothing that would draw attention. Pulling on a bathrobe, she waddled to the door, answering it.

“Pepperoni Pan Pizza for ‘Billy’?” the delivery woman said, reading off the receipt. It was a fake name–Elizabeth wouldn’t put her real name on something so frivolous.

“That’s me,” she replied. “How much do I owe you?”

The woman glanced past Elizabeth, into the condo behind her. The living room was stacked with pizza boxes and a single chair at a table where Elizabeth occasionally worked–nothing incriminating, but then, Elizabeth didn’t like anyone snooping.

“How much do I owe you?” she repeated.

She sniffed a few times, then smiled. “Hello, Little Cricket.”

Her eyes widened. Nobody who knew that handle knew who Elizabeth was–hell, nobody really knew where Elizabeth lived, either. She stepped back, stumbled, and almost fell, but the woman reached out and caught her arm. The bathrobe fell back, though, and Elizabeth’s soggy diaper went on full display.

Elizabeth was so stunned that she didn’t know what to say, but the woman clearly knew exactly what she was doing. Pulling her straight up again, the woman let go and waltzed inside the small condo as though she owned the place, not so much as glancing at the diaper.

“I don’t know what I expected,” the woman declared, stepping in, surveying the scattered pizza boxes and detritus. “You bought this place outright under the name ‘Joan Smythe’, did you think you were being clever?”

Finding her voice, Elizabeth demanded, “How did you find me?”

“Brand loyalty,” she explained. “The designs change, but your targets always get diapers from Behindz. I imagined you likely wore the same, and their warehouse isn’t exactly Fort Knox.”

“I–” she started, shuffling to the side, towards her bedroom. She kept a taser under her bed–this woman was clearly dangerous, and she wouldn’t be leaving on her own. “Wait, you–how did you know I wear diapers?”

“Call it an educated guess,” the woman said, pushing open the bathroom door with two fingers. The toilet had a sheen of dust on it, and several triple-bagged trash bags were crammed next to it, heavy with old diapers that Elizabeth had yet to take out.

“You won’t turn me in,” Elizabeth said, simply. “No matter what you’re being paid, I can double it, make this all go away–but if you try to cause trouble, I’ll do to you what I did to them.”

Before she could smoothly make it to the bedroom, the woman stepped up to it, pushing the door open and looking inside. The room where Elizabeth spent most of her time, it had more pizza boxes, a bulging diaper pail whose front drawer had opened, overfull and in need of emptying, and her bed had several stains on it from where she’d leaked.

Despite herself, the woman’s steady, thoughtful gaze made Elizabeth blush–not because of the diapers, but because of the state of her room.

Walking in, the woman took the laptop from off the bed, as well as the cell phone lying on the floor next to it, tucking both into the pizza bag, which Elizabeth now saw was empty. Nothing was saved onto those devices–Elizabeth kept everything safely in the cloud–but the gesture still made her flinch.

“You need to change,” the woman declared, simply. “And, god, this place is filthy. Put on your clothes, and then you’re going to start cleaning up.”

Elizabeth blinked a few times, baffled. “What?”

“Do it,” she said, simply, reaching for her own pocket. Elizabeth expected a weapon, but she instead drew out a cell phone, snapping several quick photos of the place. “You won’t have the same impact, humiliating your victims, if the world knows the state you live in–you can still take their money, sure, but you’ll never have their fear again.”

Eyes widening, Elizabeth took action–storming towards the woman, she reached one hand for the bag, and the other for the invader who knew her name.

The woman’s motion was swift, smooth, and precise. She dropped her phone, seized Elizabeth’s wrist, and twisted, turning the girl’s body over at a nearly ninety degree angle, rendering her helpless.

The woman could have done anything, but she only delivered five quick swats to the seat of Elizabeth’s sodden diaper. Not enough to hurt, but enough to demonstrate her dominance.

“Let’s be clear,” she said in a warning tone, still holding Elizabeth’s arm, twisting her body at a painful angle. “Attack me, I will win. Threaten me, I’ve got the material to make my threats stick. I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do with you, but violence only makes it more likely that I’ll turn over everything I’ve learned and leave you to the cops and the court of public notoriety. Am I understood?

Elizabeth wouldn’t be letting this woman win, but there was no point in fighting any further. She nodded, compliant until she could find a new angle.

“Am I understood?” the woman repeated, twisting a little harder, producing a pang of pain in Elizabeth’s joints.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, barely hiding her loathing beneath a petulant glower.

Nodding with satisfaction, the woman released her arm. Crossing the room, she sat down in the singular chair, producing Elizabeth’s laptop.

When Elizabeth didn’t immediately move, the woman looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Well? I said to start cleaning. Get to it.”

…

Mikaela couldn’t help but thrill in her victory. She’d found her target, the Little Cricket, the thorn in her side for the past few weeks. It’d been a difficult dance, but a dance that she’d come out of as the leader.

But now, she had to decide how to handle this girl. She’d half expected the Little Cricket to not be a girl at all, but at least that part appeared to be true. The utter chaos of her living space, though? That defied reason. The hacker that Mikaela had come to know was meticulous and careful, brilliant and cautious. To find her living in such disarray had come as a shock, even if Mikaela kept it off her face.

Still, the girl’s sullen expression as she came out of the bathroom wearing clean clothes and a fresh diaper reminded Mikaela that her victory was well earned–this was the hacker who’d robbed and inflicted humiliating tortures on her victims. She was no innocent little lamb.

So, while the Little Cricket gave pouting glances and carried old bags of diapers down to the condo’s dumpster, Mikaela opened the girl’s laptop and began to search.

She half expected to be stonewalled immediately, to encounter a password gate. If that’d happened, Mikaela would have tried to bully the Little Cricket into giving up the password, but it wasn’t necessary. The computer had many passwords, but those passwords were all attached to a USB stick unlock key, and that key only required a five digit code.

The laptop’s number pad had just three keys with slightly yellowed stains on them from regular use; 0, 8, and 5, and Mikaela knew those would correlate with the pin for the unlock key. There were a hundred fifty possible combinations, but Mikaela guessed it on her first try–58008.

Smirking, she logged into the Little Cricket’s device and began to dig.

Her estimates had been low. The girl’s net worth was far higher–in the hundreds of millions, if she sold off all her stolen coins and assets. A truly unfathomable amount of money, all obtained illegally, all ripe for the taking. Her number of victims, too, was far greater than the eleven that Mikaela knew of. Half a dozen men were still, in some way, under Little Cricket’s thumb–requiring regular diaper checks, or begging to be allowed to change, or simply being forced to send in daily videos where they filled their padding thoroughly and declared their love for dirty, smelly diapers–or lose their fortunes, one refused diaper at a time.

The Cricket liked what she liked, and wasn’t coy about making others indulge in those behaviors for her own pleasure.

That meant Mikaela felt no guilt engaging in turnabout play.

When the girl returned, from her fourth and mercifully final bag of old diapers–though she still had mountains of pizza boxes to attend to–Mikaela addressed her. “What’s your name? I know it’s not ‘Joan Smythe’, or Billy, or whatever else you’ve been calling yourself.”

“I’m not telling you that,” Little Cricket replied.

Mikaela simply nodded, and with a keystroke, deleted account access for one of the girl’s many hacking victims–one she’d already planned on deleting, though now she had a convenient excuse. “I hope you didn’t care about ‘Henry’, because he’s not going to be compliant anymore with his account control back.”

The girl gasped. “No, you–put it back!”

“I don’t know how,” Mikaela admitted, her threat protected by candor and honesty. “But if you’re disobedient, I can take away more.”

She swallowed. She knew the game–if she didn’t step into line, Mikaela would take more and more away. It’s the same game that the girl had played with her victims, after all. “I–Beth,” she said. “You can call me Beth.”

Mikaela smelled a half-truth, but it was better than nothing. “Alright, Beth. I’ve changed the pin to your login key, and reset all the passwords. Your accounts belong to me.”

“I can hack back into them,” Beth said.

Probably true. For emphasis, Mikaela deleted access to another victim. “No more diaper checks from, ‘Gary’, then.”

Beth made a helpless squeaking sound, which sang in Mikaela’s ears. “Please, don’t take any more.”

“I won’t,” Mikaela said. “If you do what I say.”

Beth swallowed and nodded, steeling herself. “Fine. You want a video? Want to make me beg? What?”

“You’re going to clean up,” Mikaela explained. “As I already said–and then you’re going to use some of your money to get some proper furniture in here, and buy actual groceries for that kitchen of yours. I see from your activity that you’re up all hours of the night–that’s going to change, too. For now, we’re going to try bedtime at Nine PM, no electronics after that. If that isn’t enough, we can go for Eight.”

Beth began to object, but caught herself, eyes darting between Mikaela and the screen. “What do you want?”

“That’s not important,” Mikaela said. With her client served and the case closed, she now wanted control, to dominate the girl who’d thought herself untouchable, to prove that she was the superior between them–but Beth didn’t need to know that. “If you do as you’re told, I will allow you to continue to do what you like with whoever you can reel in, but only so long as it’s not interfering with your bedtime or chores. For tonight, no electronics, I still have to ensure I’ve set up the passwords so that you can’t easily get back in–and all future purchases will need to be run past me, as well, I don’t want you trying to sneak in a second phone you can use after hours.”

Beth swallowed, and her darting eyes told Mikaela she was looking for an excuse, or–no, not an excuse. She needed a fix. Without electronics in her hands, she didn’t know what to do. “I won’t be able to tell any of my pigs that they can change,” she said. “Or use the bathroom, or anything.”

Mikaela cocked an eyebrow. “Does it bother you that they’ll have to suffer while you’re in time out?”

She couldn’t lie–she could try, but it wouldn’t work, and they both knew it. Beth shook her head.

“Good,” Mikaela declared, a sarcastical, saccharine smile on her face. “Then there’s no issue. Finish with your cleanup, Beth, it’ll be bedtime soon and if you’re not done by then, tomorrow there will be no electronics as well.”

Beth hesitated, not quite ready to get back to work. “Wait–you know my name. What should I call you?”

Tilting her head, Mikaela thought for a moment. One word came to mind, but didn’t feel quite right–she wasn’t this girl’s ‘Mommy’.

There was a better choice. Smiling at her helpless hacker, she said, “You may call me Nanny.”