Commission for Leoroc, written by Gamestreamer

The leopard stood at the end of the decaying, weed infested driveway of the small, suburban bungalow. The clouds hung dark and heavy over the whole scene, it always seemed to be dim in this part of town, the leopard, Leoroc, noticed. He had come here before, and always there had been clouds. It was like a joke, a cruel irony that had descended upon the once warm and inviting valley, full of houses. There had been a mass exodus from the region after the house, 131 Philibuster Road, the address before which Leoroc stood, had been raided by police, boarded up, and never spoken of again. The public had been told to forget the deeds committed inside, but they had been unable, and had, in turn, abandoned the area to roving coyotes. 
It had been over ten years since someone had last entered the house, it had become a famous destination for hazing in that time, but nobody had gotten past the 2X4s that covered the doors and windows, driven into the brick with rail-road spikes and a sledge. Leoroc had watched two older friends make the attempt, and fail every time, but he knew he was different. Leoroc would brave the house of horrors, return to the land of decency, and tell of his accomplishment. Had he any foresight, he would have brought along witnesses, but what brave man is known for his shrewdness, as well.  
Leoroc walked confidently up the broken asphalt, and tapped on the dry, petrified wood. It might as well have been granite, so hard was it. Leoroc was undeterred. He walked to the gate at the side, kicked it open, nobody lived within a hundred meters of the house now, so he simply walked by the shattered remains of the side gate. He walked around to the back yard, overgrown with weeds. There were a few rusty pieces of metal that might once have been something, but no longer. 
The back door, windows, everything was boarded and impregnable. He circled the house once, twice, a third time. There was no way in, he had inspected every way of entry. The state had sealed this house up for keeps. Finally, in frustration, he picked up a piece of broken cobblestone, turned, and threw it, with a crash, through a window that had been armored thoroughly but seconds before. Leoroc gaped a moment, trying to comprehend, then, not able to do so, simply swallowed the shiver that ran up him, and brushed the glass away from the first floor windowsill, ready to climb.
Cats are naturally agile, and Leoroc was no exception. He pulled himself up, then rolled through the window, feet hitting the dusty tile floor without so much as a scratch. He looked around, examining the room in the dim light of the boarded up room. His eyes soon adjusted, and he realized that the place was, in fact, a kitchen. And oh, little more packed of a kitchen could scarcely be imagined. Several cupboards and pantries could be seen, open and stuffed with quart jars, hundreds of them, and in every color of the rainbow. Leoroc shivered, imagining what had gone on in the house. He walked cautiously, sidestepping, ready to bolt for the window, towards the cupboard, and examined one of the jars. Baby food, spinach. 
“Ewww, gross!” he said, and put the jar down on the counter. The stuff had to be ten years old, but there was no sign of mold, or even decay. They were all sealed, and could, in theory, remain edible for another decade or more. 
Trying to push the thoughts from his head, Leoroc took out his flashlight, and looked across the hallway towards the bolted and boarded front door. There was another door, bigger, and, by the looks of it, much tougher. It was made of ash, or something ridiculous like that, and even three stray bullet holes, which Leoroc identified from nowhere near the door itself, hadn’t penetrated the three inches or more of hardwood. Then he noticed the stain. 
It was all over the wall beside the door, and the floor as well. Dry red goop, a fine mist of it sprayed in great sweeps across the front hallway. Blood. 
“Ho-lee-shit,” Leoroc said, forcing a laugh, as much to clear the drowning silence as for any other reason, and walked over to the stain, careful not to touch any of it. So, this is where it had happened. This is where the ten years dead Mr. Friedman had died, shot down by police during a raid, his prisoner, held captive for four years in secrecy, having slipped out between his fingers. 
The leopard fought down the shudder at the thought, then took a deep breath, puffed up his chest, stepped carefully between the blood stains, he would take a picture of it later, wrapped his sweaty, quivering palm around the brass door handle, started to turn it, creaking like the boards underfoot, then pulling it open, stale air rushing to greet him, ten years of dust, decay, and surprisingly little damage greeted him.
The room looked like a nursery. It had all the right pieces: toys, a high chair, a crib, a changing table, stacks upon stacks of diapers in a corner, enough to last for years, and a walk in closet full of outfits, everything from pink frilly dresses and onesies to sleepers and bunny costumes. It would, at a glance, not have been out of place in any day care center or house with a young child. Under closer inspection, however, Leoroc found that everything, from the diapers, to the changing table, to the crib and high chair, were sized up a thousand percent, built for someone much older than a toddler.
“God damn…” Leoroc said in awe, eyes open in disbelief, jaw hanging comically. He shouldn’t have been as fascinated as he was, after all, he knew what had happened here before he had ever decided to come. 
He felt himself being drawn forward, deeper into the dusty, musky depths of the strange place, whether by some ghastly omnipresence, or his own, inescapable curiosity, Leoroc knew not. He did, however, know exactly when he had come too far. He knew this because, against all reason or logic, the door decided, of its own volition, to slam shut with a bang like a gunshot that fired thunderclap. The door had been built to resist implosion from extreme pressure in a burning environment; the last owner of the house had used it to keep a college student trapped like an animal in the room, helplessly bound, raped, and treated like a still suckling infant. The door was almost impregnable, and, in the worst possible situation for Leoroc, it locked automatically from the outside. Ghastly omnipresence it was, then.
Undeterred by the hundreds of claw marks dug in along the door’s length, Leoroc charged it with all the weight of his slight frame behind it. The door had, over the past decade, rotted. Termite damage had eaten away at its edges, and the hinges were rusty and corroded. Unlike its previous prisoner, Leoroc may actually have stood a chance of breaking it down in this way, if not so quickly as he might have liked, but, against all reason or sense, Leoroc never impacted the door, nor the wall, nor the ceiling, nor even the floor. As though further evidence of the ghastly omnipresence theory were necessary, Leoroc was, somehow, hanging in mid-air, suspended by the back of his shirt a foot off the ground, helpless, as though it had been caught on a meat hook.
“G-Gah! What the hell?!” Leoroc screamed, squirming valiantly against his T-shirt, trying, and failing, to get out of it. That, however couldn’t last. Soon enough, he slipped straight through the arm and neck holes, and fell to the ground with a thump, his shirt, balled up like dirty laundry, had been cast across the room, and now lay on top of the table in the back corner. 
Mystified, his face taking on the likeness of a boned fish, Leoroc ignored the sheer bizarre nature of what had just happened, and walked casually over to grab his shirt. 
Leoroc had read extensively about the late Mr. Friedman’s actions regarding his young captive. He had, over the course of four years, regressed a college student to the life of a nine month old baby, fed him baby food, kept him locked away and helpless, spanked regularly, raped daily, and all manner of other torments too gruesome to name. All that came back to Leoroc as he wrapped his paw around his shirt, it had hit the wall and landed at the corner of the prisoner’s diaper changing table. There were cuffs and straps everywhere, on the table, the walls, and overhead, hanging from the ceiling. Leoroc, as it were, had a pretty good imagination, and a very good understanding of Mr. Friedman’s abilities: manipulation, charisma, charm, wit. The articles he had read, however, spoke nothing of his intent knowledge of dark magic, because, just as Leoroc got hold of his shirt, he heard a click, and watched as the table’s wrist cuff locked around his hand, the keyhole securely covered by a plastic flap.
The leopard would have tried to free his arm, but, right at that moment, all hell broke loose. The only way the next events could be explained would be if the air decided to suddenly become a solid, form around him, and force him down flat onto the table, immobile. Even worse, with three seconds and a flurry of straps and cuffs, his arms, legs, head, and torso were firmly strapped down. He started to struggle instantly, but, unlike the door, the rubberized chains were still nearly new, and easily held him at heel. In a flurry, his belt buckle exploded, his shoe-laces came undone, and, by a power that could be nothing but divine, the shirtless leopard soon found himself without pants, as well. The jeans tore up the seams of their own volition, and the torn cloth, his shirt, shoes, socks, pants, and underwear, all balled up, and were cast in a corner, waste fabric. 
 Leoroc was naked. Naked as the day he was born. For all his squirming, his genitalia hung limp between his bound and helpless legs, then he saw it, floating like a phantom with dramatic flair, a diaper, blue printed and huge. His whole body magically lifted an inch off the table as the diaper, unfolded and ready, was pushed under his behind, tail being forced through the appropriate hole. A floating bottle of talcum powder sprinkled his loins with the sweet smelling stuff, and the huge diaper was taped up around his waist, all Leoroc could do was scream. Scream, he did, but only got out the first syllable of what was assuredly a most pain-filled, humiliated, frightened and horrified scream of pure, distilled fear, but it didn’t get out past the pacifier, pink with a nipple the size of a peach seed, that, just at that moment, was forced between his lips, and locked in place behind his head, unnecessary, given that the scream wouldn’t have pierced the sound-proof walls, anyway.
Furthering his chronic humiliation at the hands of the divine, Leoroc watched as a pair of blue wool socks were forced over his feet, and similarly colored mittens, an inch thick, at least and locked with a strap and padlock at the wrist, were pulled over his hands and snapped in place. He couldn’t even break a fist. 
All of a sudden the straps snapped open, all at once, and he was nearly thrown off the table, dressed in nothing but a diaper the thickness of a paperback novel, and locking mittens with matching socks. His quagmire at being left naked, however, was soon dispelled as he felt his chilled limbs start acting of their own accord. A green tiny-toons T-shirt was handed him, he pulled it on as best he could with the mittens. It was snug, and slightly too short for him. It would have been a pain to get off without his hands, but, he suspected that was exactly what Friedman had in mind. Next came a pair of blue overalls that matched the socks and mittens. He was lifted up into the air a foot, and the garment, floating below him, turned upward at a ninety degree angle to pull itself over his legs, both of them at a time. The overalls were stiff and rigid, as though Leoroc, screaming inside, could move anyway. The snapping straps, with a few custom-added cross-straps to prevent removal, spun like a tempest around him, locking over and under his arms, around his torso, and around his waist, keeping him from any interference with the diaper or clothing. Furthermore, every intersection had a latch, and every latch had a lock. Helpless.
Leoroc, shock gradually giving way, leaving him to sulk, suspended by his overall straps, diaper firm and thick around his waist, could do nothing but wriggle in place, pointlessly batting with his wholly restrained hands, the locked strap buckles. The only result was to deepen his sense of dread. The leopard didn’t know how long he was stuck there, there was nothing to use as a timekeeper, what scant light came through the boarded up windows was lost in blurry, meaningless lines across the floor. Gradually, Leoroc gave into depression, hanging limply from the ceiling, diapered, babied, and stranded in the haunted house of a fetish-obsessed maniac.
What Leoroc did notice, however, was the slow, but intense building pressure between his padded legs. He had, on his way to the house, drank a full two liters of McDonalds fountain pop, and hadn’t used the bathroom in hours. Nevertheless, he squirmed valiantly. He tried crossing his legs, batting at his padded crotch with his paws, wiggling in place, working on the straps, trying to jerk the hooks out of the rotten wood, or, at least, to force that horrible ballooning pacifier out of his maw so he could try and chew through the straps and get down. He would still need to find a way through the door, but he chose to cross that bridge when he came to it. The ghost, or whatever it was, knew its work well. Four years with his previous victim had taught him all the tricks, and Leoroc, lacking even a card to play, simply wiggled in his suspension bondage as his overfilled bladder weakened, spasmed, and unleashed his whole day’s fluids into the waiting, thick, crinkly, already over-stuffed garment. 
   Even further the diaper swelled, and, as soon as he finished his wetting, nearly sobbing with cosmic levels of humiliation, the latches connecting him to the hooks unlocked, and, to his dismay, when finally the force relented, letting him down, the leopard was dropped into the feeding chair in the corner, a quart jar of the green, decade old baby food already opened, and emptied into a bowl for him. He tried to squirm, but straps at the sides of the chair restrained his arms, and his legs were tied to the vertical supports, immobilizing him once again. 
As much as he would have resisted, the inevitable feeding came swiftly. His pacifier was removed, and the pink plastic spoon, laden down with the green, spinach and lima bean baby feed, was pushed between his tightly pressed lips, and onto its tongue. It tasted like a holocaust. Over and over again, the invisible man force-fed the leopard the disgusting food. It would empty onto his tongue, and his muzzle would be held shut until he swallowed, all the while forced to sit in his soaked, squishy, horribly thick diaper, little more than a baby with tripled proportions. 
Eventually the deed was done, and Leoroc sagged over the empty bowl. He was unstrapped, and pulled up by the ghostly force. The leopard didn’t care anymore. Was this how the man’s previous captive dealt with it, too? Acceptance? 
Leoroc was dropped onto the changing table, happy to be relieved of the huge, soaked diaper, finally, and his overalls were pulled off, the locks all unsnapping at once. His diaper had, in fact, swollen to about twice its original, already substantial size. He wiggled as he was strapped in, this time with his lower body hanging off the edge. The tapes were torn, and the crinkly ball of padding was removed, balled up, and disposed of in a receptacle. 
He started to squirm, desperate to avoid being diapered again even as the thing was set down beside him and unwrapped. Then it stopped, all the forces going moot for a second, then, slowly, Leoroc felt the cold hands of a ghast push his thighs apart, and pull him slightly forward to the point that the base of his tail was slightly off the changing table. At last, Leoroc realized what was about to happen to him.
The leopard considered himself bisexual, though he had never been with another man, but, at that moment Leoroc realized that his anal virginity was about to be taken from him by something he could never explain. He writhed with a mix of arousal and horror at his predicament: bound and helpless, about to be taken in the ass by a long dead rapist. 
He felt the cock probing his tail-hole before it actually entered him, but, when he did, Leoroc knew it. It was a sudden, forceful event, like the ghost was compensating for something. The leopard went from virgin to lewdly full of spectral cock in a second, holding him a second, a moan escaping the feline’s lips as he was penetrated over and over, impaled on the ghost of Friedman’s phallus, before he blew his phantom load into Leoroc’s waiting, hungry tail hole. He could even feel the warm liquid as it seeped into his fur, and ran down his legs. 
The leopard, breathing heavily, in the grasp of a spasmodic fit, moaned helplessly as his new owner put the diaper on him, powdered him, and taped the new, equally thick diaper around his waist. The locks disengaged, and Leoroc immediately tried to grab hold of his cock, aroused, and give himself what the ghost had denied him. He failed, as might be expected, for the ghost just then pulled his arms over his head, and pulled a bright blue onesie over his head, the crotch snaps locking in place over his diaper, and putting both the crinkly garment and its deprived contents well out of reach. 
Leoroc, denied his release, and still in no position to resist, simply whimpered a bit as his pacifier was pushed back into his mouth, and as he was lowered into the crib, the sheets patterned with 90s cartoons, and watched as the six foot, rubber coated steel bars were raised, and locked in place. A second set of bars were flipped up from one side, covering the top and making the crib little more than a glorified cage for Leoroc. Finally left to his own devices, the leopard re-examined the room. Thousands of diapers, all the baby food in the world, clothes for years to come, and all the means needed to force all this upon him. He could be here, Leoroc reasoned, for years, potentially… Forever, even… Forever, babied, fed on mash, diapered, and sleeping in a crib, and raped… Leoroc thought, stroking his sore behind. His odds, he realized, were worse even than his predecessor’s, and it had taken him four years to escape…