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It wasn't the first time the postman had woken me up well before the sunrise to tell me I'd won the lottery, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I was not entirely ready, I think, to undergo my stint in the Transmogrifier, but they always put you back to where and when you started from, so that's not really an issue.

I was mostly concerned by the fact I was still in my boxers and I wouldn't have a chance to put them away before the only-marginally-efficient machine converted me into an object myself for public use.

It's the price we pay, for living in a society without waste, for giving up wasting natural resources: we all take turns as the things everyone else needs.

As the postman was trying to hand me the blitter before it went off in his hand, I decided to shuck it all off anyway, giving him a glimpse of a naked skunk's morning wood as I grabbed it from his paw.

There was a flash of light, and a flash of darkness, as I was transported into the hopper.

Some people like the hopper but I think it's my least favorite part of the process. Being basically piled up in a massive heap of people, being squashed by the ever-steady flow of new transmogrifiees, everyone either squirming against you (admittedly, sometimes in not-all-too-unpleasant ways) or worriedly trying to stay inconspicuous--well, there are better ways to spend a half hour.

Slowly I tumbled through the mass of furs until I finally slid through the chute at the bottom of the hopper, landing on the conveyor belt.

Ah, the conveyor belt, my old friend. This was my favorite part, not just because it was the least crowded part of the process, but because I could look around and enjoy the enormousness of the factory, every cog and every gear being another person changed to perform their duty to society.

The factory is huge. Thanks to it I get time to gauge the feeling of the place, see how many of my fellow soon-to-be-objects are enjoying themselves or weeping or trying to get away. Every time I come back it seems like more and more people are just more and more resigned to their fates, which makes me a little sad. Me, I signed up for a special track; having an unusual taste in a thing I enjoyed being meant I got to choose to be it every time.

Life does have its perks.

After about the twenty minutes required to get me through the various identification and sorting checkpoints between the entry point and the processing area, I finally reached the end of the line and was deposited in front of the Transmogrifier.

You always remember the capital letter when you're standing in front of it.

Each Transmogrifier is a giant assembly of robotic arms with various attachments useful to forcibly changing the shape and texture of its victims, so to speak. It runs under its own control, the transformed furs making up its parts steering it with better intelligence than any individual person could design it with. The arms all ranged around a central void where the finished products were thrown to be packaged and sorted for distribution the world over.

I approached it without fear.

"I'm ready," I said.

The first arm to grab me was the most important one. It probably has a fancy technical name but I just call it the Inanimator. Its job is to make sure that nothing else that happens afterwards kills me, and it's very good at its job--in fact, outside of the tiny prick of the needle that injects me, the whole process doesn't even cause any pain at all.

And that needle goes to work now, just at my shoulder, and slowly I feel the influence spreading through me, changing bone and flesh and hide and muscle to softer substances, leaving me all in all more with the texture of a rag doll wrapped in plastic than a skunk, though being a doll was definitely not my fate today. I breathed deeply--while I still could--as the change took effect, my head flopping forward as my neck became too soft to keep it up, my arms flumping to my sides, my belly puffing out a little more (I never really understood that part) and finally I toppled to the ground as my legs and tail changed, taking away my balance altogether.

The Inanimator's needle extracted itself from my body as I fell, and the Flattener arm moved in to do its work. Its tool looked comically similar to an ordinary kitchen rolling pin, but applied it to my body with such force that all the air that was left into me was forced out immediately.

Usually the Flattener does a good job of making sure I'm rolled out all straight and even, but more than once it's gotten me folded over on myself. You wouldn't believe what an annoyance it is to be transformed into something else and still feel your nose melded into your chin!

Today it managed to get me all right though, and I lay out spread-eagle as the Cutter arm moved in and started slicing around my body into the now-familiar pattern. As usual, what used to be the bulk of my torso was encircled by the blade, painlessly cutting off arms and legs and severing my head and tail in short order, then picking up the flattened appendages and layering them on my body to serve as extra padding.

Oh, I make a well-padded diaper.

The Stitching arm worked its magic as I finished taking shape. I was still, of course, entirely unable to move, and fortunately could not writhe in enjoyment as the needle pulled thread through my perimeter--it wouldn't do at all to come out misshapen. When the Transmogrifier was finally done with me, Scooping arms hefted up my diaperish form and fed me into its ever-hungry opening.

Time passes in funny ways when you're an object; the remainder of my trip through the factory was, as usual, a blur, as I was individually wrapped, then joined most of a dozen other diapers in a bigger package, and then a dozen other packages in a case, and--though of course at this point it's always too dark to tell anything further--presumably another dozen cases in a pallet to be shipped out into the world.

Of course everything beyond that point is beyond my senses; from the point everything goes dark, the world ceases to exist until I end up on a convenience store shelf or in someone's living room after being mail-ordered.

The outcome today was no different; I regained consciousness being pulled out of my case and being stocked on a supermarket aisle, facing a rack of body shampoo and deodorants.

I don't know what's worse, really, the feeling of lost time in shipping, or the long, slow, drawn-out wait to be picked up while on the market shelf. I did end up on the front of the display this time, so hopefully I wouldn't have to wait long. I watched the shoppers go by, occasionally hoping or dreading one might pick me up. (Yes, though what was originally my eyes are folded somewhere on the inside of my diaperform, inanimate objects do get a general sense of what's around them, for courtesy's sake.)

My heart metaphorically skipped a beat as an absolutely adorable tubby red kangaroo pulled his cart alongside my shelf... and then my hopes fell as he grabbed the package of diapers right next to me.

Awwwh, I thought, resigned to spend another day around the crotch of someone I might much less enjoy.

And then the roo picked up my package and another two more besides.

I knew I would be in for a good time.

He took us to the checkout line, chatting on his phone the whole time about some party he'd been to, and I could hear the rustle between his legs as he walked, and even caught a whiff of him at one point--he was certainly due for a change.

He smelled amazing. If I'd had the equipment for it I'd be stiff as a board just from the anticipation of it all.

Checkout was uneventful--I worked out that today I sold for twenty ecus, practically a steal--and the world faded out of existence again as he crammed me into his trunk and slammed it shut.

It didn't feel like long--but then, it never did--before he was opening up the trunk and pulled his new stash of diapers inside, carrying all four packages under his arms at once so as to make it all in one trip.

This was the part where I'd noticed he hadn't bought anything else.

He took us up to his bedroom and tossed the three other packages onto his bed, carrying me and my ... associates into the bathroom, quickly wriggling out of his pants and diaper, which had just been beginning to drip.

"Whew," he said. "Made it in time. Didn't want to have another Incident in the supermarket like last time."

He disposed of the full diaper appropriately and cleaned himself off, soaking and drying his fur before sitting on the toilet seat lid and ripping our package open.

He pulled me out.

He didn't say anything to_me_--that's not the way things are done--but he did talk to himself a little, saying nice things about the patterns, how he would look in skunk-striped diapers, and wondering if he should take pictures, as he positioned me appropriately (you'd be surprised at how often I get put on backwards, which is interesting but a little uncomfortable) and taped me up in place over the curve of his belly.

Now there's the stuff.

I enjoyed, for a good long time, the feel of the big roo's round buttocks against my body, his soft cock under a hefty set of balls pressing into the remains of my face, and being stretched around his hips and tail to keep myself in place... and he had me on quite snug.

It was the most enjoyable feeling I'd had in weeks--almost like winning a lottery of a more conventional kind.

He patted my front and put on a pair of shorts over me, and started going about his evening routine, which looked like making dinner and watching TV shows I didn't recognize. Feeling his body move under mine was a kind of paradise, which only enhanced itself as, bit by bit, he started leaking into me, his piss running over the bit of padding comprising what used to be my mouth.

The taste made me shiver, my new body sending pleasurable signals all through me as it performed the functions it was made for, to drink down another's fluids and keep them good and absorbed. I felt my body fill as he emptied himself while gathering his dinner dishes and plunking that soft round furry butt on the couch, smothering me with his weight in the meanwhile, causing his piss to slosh around and redistribute itself inside me.

Oh, I was starting to get soggy, but I took it like a champion, determined to keep my owner comfortable as he paid attention to his crime dramas or whatever, and I'm proud to say I didn't let a drop slip until at least five hours later, after I'd had at least four or five loads of piss dumped into me. I felt massively bloated, even though I knew for the most part my fullness couldn't be seen.

I shared my owner's disappointment as he noticed the wet spot spreading under us, the chubby roo sighing a bit as he tried to dry up the mess, and a few minutes later we were back in the bathroom for another change.

Being so full, I was quite spent, but was brimming with the enjoyment that kept me coming back. He carefully tossed me in a bin full of other diapers, and I thought of home as the lid came down and the world faded out again.