Twilight hummed as she brushed a feather duster back and forth over the bookshelf. A task she’d been performing, perfecting, for the past few hours. Her movements had transformed from near robotic to practiced, fluid, and graceful, all in the service of completing her task.
Her task.
Her… task?
Twilight blinked in confusion.
The wheels of her brain spun suddenly, latching onto that phrasing in a way she couldn’t predict. It just seemed… wrong somehow.
Tasks were delegated. Delegations came from a higher power than oneself. And, blearily, Twilight could recall this very task being delegated onto her. But by who? Why?
And why did a part of her feel like that didn’t matter? That everything was fine?
Her feather duster halted mid-swipe. No, everything is not fine. Something’s not right. But what? After all, she was just cleaning. What could be wrong with that?
Unless her cleaning was the problem...
She looked over the bookshelves of the Golden Oaks Library that she’d already finished. Not a speck of dust remained. Be it the aged wood or the spines of the books, everything was pristine. Her shelves had never looked better.
My... shelves…
Yes, these were hers. And yet she had the distinct feeling somepony else had ordered her to clean them. But who could have—
Maybe it was the duster itself? Her brain latched onto a new idea before she was ready. Before she even realized it, Twilight was already observing the instrument of cleanliness poking out from her mouth. While the brown-grey feathers were weighed down by dust on one end, nothing about it seemed off.
Was it the fact that she wasn’t using her magic to clean? That was odd for her, right? Evidence of something wrong, maybe?
Well, no. The duster had been put in her mouth for a reason. The black handle pushed deep into her jaw, wrapped in place with thick rubber straps that went around her head as well as over and under her snout. The duster was stuck in her mouth, that was why she couldn’t use her magic to clean instead.
Looking down at the tool gagging her, Twilight’s eyes caught sight of fabric. She was wearing something, and for long enough that it didn’t feel odd to have clothes on.
She tried to get a better look at herself, craning her neck awkwardly to maneuver the duster so she could see.
Oh, it was just her uniform.
Uniform…?
She… had a uniform. This had to be the issue, then. Twilight stepped away from the bookshelves and took a moment to observe herself.
A tight maid outfit hugged her body, clinging to her curves. The black dress was plain on its own. Simple bubble sleeves, a short skirt, white frills under the helm and at her shoulders, but the frilly white pinafore really spruced it up. Tied behind her back in a large bow, it made for the perfect apron, spanning from her chest on down to her ruffled skirt. Fishnet stockings ran up each of her legs, with shiny black heels on her hooves to lock them in place. A matching headdress, black with white frills, was the only decoration to the otherwise traditional outfit.
Everything was fine. Everything was fine. Her head kept telling her that, at least. Why couldn’t she just believe it? That would be so… easy…
squish
Twilight blinked again, a new sensation afflicting her body. Bringing her hind legs together, she felt it again.
squish
She shivered. The feeling against her legs. Something icky and sticky and gross and… poofy?
When she concentrated, which was not as easy as it should have been, she could tell she was wearing something poofy around her plot, containing the icky-sticky-grossness.
It took a moment for her to understand she was wearing a diaper. A well used diaper, at that.
I… I don’t understand… But it made sense. She’d been told to wear a diaper. Considering she used it, she must’ve needed it too. But that can’t be right! This diaper has to be the thing that’s wrong.
The poofy cloud of padding was latched onto her rear, so big it forced her hind legs apart and gave her a waddle whenever she moved.
Formerly white, the now heavily stained garment revealed the fact that she was a maid who made as many messes as she cleaned. Lumpy and brown, the padding sagged under the heft of her accident. Cold and warm mush alike mingled inside the diaper, the result of more than one potty breaks she’d needed.
She shifted from side to side, letting the mushy contents of her padding squish around. Her diapered rump jiggled, allowing her mess to find new areas to explore as it coated her inner thighs. The way it jostled meant there was still plenty of room within. It could handle more accidents to come.
Could she need to use it? ...No, that’s not right either. Come to think of it, Twilight had no memory of her using her diaper today. And while she certainly must have hoisted her rear, raised her tail, and grunted a mudslide into her poofy rear, it certainly wasn’t on command. She wore diapers for a reason, after all: she was incontinent. If she needed to go, she would just go.
This is… confusing. Twilight had all but stopped working now as she tried to figure out the source of her irrational thought.
Something is wrong? Everything is fine. But it’s… not quite right? Everything is fine. But I...
It was because she’d stopped working. Now there was the problem. She’d been assigned the very simple task of dusting off the bookshelves and here she was messing it up.
Waddling back into place, Twilight flicked her chin and brought her duster-gag across another shelf. It wiped up a trail of dust, leaving behind tiny flecks she’d have to dot up before finishing. Back at work, Twilight felt a little better, and tried humming to herself to regain her early rhythm. It wasn’t easy with her squishy diaper trying to drown her out, and the handle in her mouth keeping her tongue pressed down, but she gave it an honest try.
Everything was fine.
…
Well…
She still felt that nagging feeling. Again, her task had been assigned. Delegated. But by who?
“Hmmm…” She chewed on the feather duster’s handle, lost in thought.
“Is there a problem, Twitard?”
The voice cut through the room with stern authority. Twilight felt her muscles stiffen at the call. Puzzle pieces clicked together in a way they hadn’t before. She knew exactly who had assigned her this task.
She turned around, seeing her Mistress leaning back in her chair across the room. The blue unicorn with the starry robe and hat frowned back at her, unhappy. Mistress was unhappy.
Wait, was she calling for me?
She was Twilight. Her Mistress asked for Twitard. Who even was that? A look of consternation morphed Twilight’s brow into a scrunch as she tried to work out these puzzle pieces.
Is she even my Mistress? Now there was a dangerous thought. But Twilight kept on thinking it anyway, as understanding dawned on her face. Wait, that’s—
“Ah, Trixie understands.” Mistress hopped up from her seat, and slowly crossed to Twilight. As she did, her attire became clearer and clearer. The matching robe and hat could be seen a ways away, but the amulet around Mistress’s throat was not so blazon. Yet, the closer Mistress drew, the more Twilight seemed to notice it. A deep red gem, a black collar. The symbol of an alicorn.
That’s— But why does she have— It was so hard to focus.
“You got confused,” Mistress explained. Twilight paid attention… to her words. Her eyes remained transfixed by the amulet. Was it glowing? “You’ve been getting this funny little notion in your head lately that your name is Twilight Sparkle, haven’t you?”
But that is my name. Yet Mistress wouldn’t lie to her. But she’s not my—
Mistress tilted Twilight’s head up, forcing eye contact from an otherwise vacant stare. “But your name is not Twilight Sparkle, is it?”
It’s… not? Then that explained it! She’d been thinking of herself as Twilight again. No wonder something seemed wrong.
“Everything is fine.” When Mistress said those words, it was easy to believe them. “You are not Twilight Sparkle. You are Twitard Stinkle. Everything is fine.”
“Yerrsh.” Twitard nodded, her feather duster bobbing in her mouth. It was so easy to listen to these words. So easy to accept.
I’m...
Mistress smiled. It was such a lovely smile. Some might call it sinister, or even evil, but Twitard loved it all the same. She wanted her Mistress the smile all the time, just for her.
“You are Twitard Stinkle,” Mistress repeated. “Humble, stupid, maid of the Great and Powerful Trixie! Everything is fine.”
I’m...
“Yerrsh, Mifftwish…”
“Remember? You lost a Magic Duel to me and became Trixie’s stupid, stupid maid for life?”
That’s right...
“Yerrsh, Mifftwish…”
“You became a maid so stupid she forgot she was supposed to be cleaning.”
Twitard’s eyes popped out of her skull. Of course! What was she thinking? Her work... “Mmph!”
Turning, Twitard resumed her work. One good swipe to polish off that last shelf, and then she could move down.
That earlier feeling was all but gone. Nothing had been wrong after all. Now that her Mistress had explained everything to her. I get it now. I’m her maid.
She bent over, lifting her smelly rear high as she reached down to clean the bottom shelf of the bookcase. Her short maid skirt made no effort to hide her brown behind from her Mistress. It let Twitard’s dirty laundry air. And spoil the air.
“Mmm…” Mistress’s smirk was audible. Twitard didn’t react when Mistress put a hoof against the bulging mess. But she did whimper when that hoof pressed into her diaper. The pressure shifted and sloshed the mess up against her rear, and Twitard’s heart was sent aflutter. She loved when Mistress played with her.
“Fill this up for me, Twitard,” Mistress demanded.
The order was well understood, even if Twitard herself continued cleaning. Almost instinctively, her tail hiked for the third time that day. Tiny grunts were swallowed by her feather duster gag, as what little poop Twitard could muster poured out of her.
Her mush came into an unforgiving world. Her diaper had so little space already, but with Mistress’s hoof pressed right up against Twitard’s plot, it gave her accident no room to move. The log of poop she’d managed squished into gooey sludge almost immediately. The warm feeling it brought with it slathered Twilight’s plot, some getting trapped at the spot where her diaper climbed over her rear. All told, the last remotely clean part of her padding was soiled.
Mistress cackled with delight. The sound was utter ecstasy for Twitard. Her lips did their best to curve into a smile. She purred happily at the feeling of her Mistress jiggling her sagging, used pampers.
“Good girl, Twitard.” Mistress slapped the full diaper, the padding rippling and squishing. She started the trek back to her chair, where she could keep a watchful eye over her servant. “Now don’t make Trixie have to remind you of your place again. She may just have to punish you if that’s the case.”
“Mmmhmm…” Twitard moaned, still reeling from the touch of her Mistress. Already, she was back to cleaning at maximum efficiency. A swipe and a sweep and a squish, and another shelf was done. Over and over again, until her Mistress was satisfied.
Twitard flicked her tail happily at the thought that she’d be able to do this for the rest of her life. To serve a Mistress as Great and Powerful as Trixie was truly and honor. She would have to make sure she’d never forget her position as Twitard Stinkle the maid ever again.
Everything was fine.
Everything was good.
Everything was quite right indeed.
