Under Review (Tumblr Original)

This was an odd one.

Tiffany’s brow furrowed as she squinted at the metrics and video metadata displayed on the screen before her. “ABDL Super ASMR Hypno Relax Binaural Subconscious Wave Track (Curse)” the title proclaimed, more than a little incoherently. What the heck is ABDL? And binaural…? That just sounded stupid. Anything with stereo sound had to be binaural… right? Tiffany thrust her glasses further up her nose and heaved a sigh, her fingers tapping impatiently on her sleek wireless mouse. Well, nothing for it but to give it a full review. Most of it looked pretty safe, but with something like “Curse” in the title, she was contractually obligated to check it out…

She’d seen a lot in the last six months, she reflected, adjusting her new noise-cancelling headphones: a birthday present from her sweet wife. It was a thankless job, reviewing content for MeVid - but someone had to do it to ensure their policies weren’t being infringed. And that someone might as well be her, right? For $17.75 an hour and the joy of working from home, why not? She pulled the video into full screen, tweaked the sound levels, and cast a quick glance at the video length before checking the “Under Review” radio button. 37 minutes 27 seconds. Wow, this might take awhile. Maybe she could put it on 1.5x speed in slow parts?

And then she clicked Play.

Thirty-seven minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, the pale glow of the screen flickered dimly down into darkness. Hmm. That was one heck of a weird video, Tiffany reflected absently, trying to collect her thoughts, while her dazzled eyes tried to recover from the bright, swirling pastel colors that had been filling her vision. But no violence - so clean on that score. No banned words or hateful speech. No dangerous activities being portrayed… Hmm, she’d have to approve it then, odd as it was. Her cursor slid to the “Accepted” radio button, clicked it…but then paused as she was struck by a sudden recollection. Hadn’t that soft, soothing voice said something about a curse after all? Come to think of it, what exactly had it claimed? She’d better check it again to make sure it didn’t fall under the category of false advertising…

The rest of the house slowly darkened as the short winter afternoon faded away. An hour ticked by, and then another, and still there was no sign of life from behind the door to Tiffany’s little home office. The automatic porch light flickered on. A motor approached, then cut out. Steps sounded on the porch. And, with a jangle of keys, the door opened. “Hey, sweetie, I’m home…” Blaire called, closing the door carefully behind her. Stepping out of her wet shoes, she tossed her snow-flecked coat onto the counter. “Still working?” She grinned ruefully and shook her head, padding over to the office door. “Hey, you know what we said about working late, Tif…”

Tiffany was indeed inside. Well, at least her body was. But despite the light flickering on, despite the increasingly agitated voice of her wife that rose into shrill hysteria, her mind had clearly departed for somewhere else - and remained there. “Good girl…” she mumbled to herself incoherently, her blank eyes still fixed on the screen which had now gone dark. “Me good girl… Mommy say listen… I obey…” A thin stream of drool trailed from her parted lips, trailing down to a glistening, saliva-soaked patch on her shirt. And as Blaire’s eyes widened in horror, a second patch of moisture began to blossom and spread between the young woman’s thighs, soaking her navy jeans, pooling beneath her, and finally dripping silently to the carpet below.

“Good girl… wet baby girl…” the entranced woman repeated robotically, gazing unseeing into the darkened screen. Her companion’s frantic pleadings resounded through the room as she desperately shook Tiffany and tearfully begged to know why she had soaked her pants, what was wrong, why she wasn’t snapping out of it. But Tiffany merely nodded mindlessly, seemingly oblivious to everything but the weird mantra playing inside her mind. “Wet baby, good baby,” she muttered, her tone as monotonous and even as the voice that had been whispering to her these past three hours. “Me good diaper baby. Me good girl, me wet girl. Wet baby…”

***

An occupational hazard, perhaps. But one thing remains clear. Whatever objections might be made against that particular “Curse” video that so transformed our dear Tiffany, at the very least it can’t be removed on grounds of false advertising.