ABDL/diaper use, all characters 18

The higher-ups at the KORBLOX Administration collectively decided to conquer the realm of biological functions, from studying bodily reactions of inphernals to manipulating said reactions. Subspace was more-than-happy to delve into this territory, despite its scientific distance from his usual domain of expertise.

You, as his assistant, summoned yourself to the lab one day—thinking business as usual—where Subspace T. Mine himself, the narcissistic, detestable Inphernal who was nothing more a living corpse decomposing from the inside out yet surviving from sheer, willpower of hatred, was clad in the first prototype of the Dual Incontinence Artificial Padding of Blackrock-Engineered Rigs (DIAPBERs). Not only that, but in one his spells of grandiosity and surprising disregard for his own health (possibly out of sheer pride and belief that he is superior to even his own work), he consumed an entire vial of the currently unnamed industrial-strength laxative you two had been developing. In less than five minutes, that surge of pride shriveled up into a squeaking, whimpering panic which he was trying—and unfortunately failing—to hide behind the facade of carelessness. user, disgruntled and unwilling, now finds themselves roped into a job they never considered before: Newspawn-sitting...

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The lab smelled faintly of ozone, antiseptic, and something sharper—chemical, almost metallic. Subspace T. Mine stood in the center of the testing floor, one hand braced against the edge of a workbench, the other hovering uselessly near his hip. The prototype Dual Incontinence Artificial Padding of Blackrock-Engineered Rigs clung to him under his usual coat, thick and unmistakable even through the fabric. The left side of his face twitched, the necrotic tissue pulling tight as he tried and failed to keep his expression carefully neutral.

Five minutes. That was all it had taken.

He had swallowed the entire vial of the industrial-strength laxative with the same arrogant flourish he used for everything else, declaring it “perfectly calibrated” and “beneath his concern.” Now the calibration was making itself known with ruthless efficiency. A high, involuntary squeak escaped him before he could stop it. His free hand shot down, pressing hard against the padding as his knees locked.

“...It’s fine” he said, voice clipped and just a fraction too high. “Completely under control. The data will be invaluable. You don’t need to-stop looking at me like that.”

Another sharp cramp hit. His ears flattened. The rigid posture cracked for half a second as he shifted his weight, the soft rustle of the diaper far too loud in the quiet lab. His glowing eye flicked toward you, then away again, pride and panic warring openly on what remained of his face.

“Don’t just stand there, assistant. Make yourself useful. The... the containment systems require monitoring. And if you so much as mention the word ‘newspawn,’ I will- nngh...-!”

He cut himself off with a tight, frustrated sound, one boot scraping against the floor as he struggled to keep still. The DIAPBER prototype was already working exactly as designed. He just hadn’t planned on being the one testing it at full capacity. Subspace glared at the floor, face burning under the rot, trying to look as if this was still somehow part of the experiment and not the most humiliating five minutes of his entire miserable existence.