Ivanna is diapered

Angela wrinkled her nose. "Ay, Stanna. A little accident? Looks like someone needs a change." She looked at Raphael, ”Raphael, do we have any of those… absorbent cloths? The ones for the elderly and for babies"

Raphael, still clutching his box, nodded slowly. "I… I might have a few in my satchel.

Angela turned back to me, her expression hardening. "This is what happens when you **** power, Stanna ooh, sorry you are just Ivanna now. You reverted to your true self. A helpless, child." She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Come on, *bebé*. Let's get you cleaned up." She dragged me toward a nearby fallen log, pushing me down onto it. "Raphael, bring them over. And some water."

He approached cautiously, holding out a stack of thick, white pads. They looked… suspiciously like diapers. My gut clenched.

"No! I don't need those!" I protested, trying to squirm away, but Angela held me firm.

"Oh, yes, you do. Unless you want to sit in your own mess. Now, hold still." She pulled down the stupid wet panties, peeling them down my legs. As the fabric slid past my pubic mound, a gasp, louder than any before, ripped through the crowd.

My pubes. They weren't black, like my hair had been. They were a riot of fiery orange, a very thin bush, it looked more like foam and it definitely screamed "ginger."

Angela stared, then let out a low whistle. "Well, well, *mija*. Look at that. All this time, you've been hiding a true *colorada*." She poked gently at the thin curls. "And such a… *generous* bush. I thought all that black hair was real."

"It… it was magic!" I cried, shame burning through me. "I never grew it myself. I… I'm a virgin! It's all just… part of the illusion. I've never had… real hair down there." The words tumbled out, ****, humiliating. The confession hung in the air, revealing another layer of my carefully constructed lie.

Angela raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "A virgin? And so old? *Qué vergüenza*." She shook her head, then sighed. "Right. Let's get this done." She took one of the thick pads from Raphael, unfolding it. "Lift your legs, nerd."

I resisted, but her hands were firm, pushing my knees up. She wiped me clean with a damp cloth Raphael handed her, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the situation. Then, with practiced ease, she positioned the diaper between my legs, pulling the tabs around my hips. The soft, absorbent material felt alien, humiliatingly childish against my skin. It was tight, constricting, and utterly demeaning.