Authors: Devon Shire
Tags: #Age Play, #BDSM, #Erotic Fiction, #Exhibitionism, #Short Fiction
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Today, I am going to be defiant. Today, I am going to try to escape. Again.
I have to try. No matter the consequences, I have to at least
. If I don’t, then it means they’ve won and I’ve accepted this new life. No. I am not theirs. I won’t be their toy or their doll. I won’t let them dress me or diaper me anymore. I am not a baby! I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!
Okay, I just have to stay calm. If I can be rational and think this through, I’ll be able to get out of my baby cage.
As I wake up and awareness returns and my quasi-remembered dreams dissipate, I regain my body’s sensations. Before I met Kayla and Seth—two of my teachers—I woke up to sheets and the freedom to stretch. My sheets were always a dark lavender, crimson, or scarlet. Now my sheets have Disney prints, cartoon bears, or pale pink hearts. Worse, I wake up and start to stretch. I hear the mattress’s plastic lining crinkle beneath my weight.
That sound is the first reminder of how else my life has changed. Other sensations quickly remind me of how different things have become. Aside from the absurdly childish prints on my sheets and blankets, I can throw them off, but I still remain very warm. Back at my dorm, I would have slept in sweat pants and a sports bra.
Here, I wear an entirely different set of clothes, if they can even be called that. First, I have on a heavy sleeper. The thick and fuzzy material is surprisingly strong. I’ve spent hours trying to tear it off, but the fibers simply won’t give. The one I have on now is bright pink and zips up the back to a lock at the collar. The sleeper does more than keep me warm at night or during naptime.
The sleeper’s feet are footed, which makes sense since they want to treat me like their baby girl. But the sleeves don’t have holes. Instead, they’re a few inches too short which means I have to ball my hands into fists to fit, effectively making my hands useless. This way, I couldn’t get the sleeper off, even if I had a key to the lock at the nape of my neck. The sleeper helps imprison me in other ways too. It’s also very tight, but only in certain places. Unlike my grownup clothes, the sleeper doesn’t allow for a full range of motion.
When I have it on, I can’t stretch my arms or legs. I can’t flatten them out, which means I can’t walk. Once they force me into this fuzzy little prison, I’m stuck crawling. The thought dries my throat and reminds me how I have to get away.
But I finally master the balance necessary to get back onto my knees, and I hear the crinkle of the plastic on my mattress. There’s another sensation, the feel of cotton and plastic crunching between my legs. I didn’t want to think about it, but now I have no choice.
Kayla and Seth did more than simply dress me up like a baby. They’ve put me back in diapers. The idea of my most sensitive bits being wrapped up like an infant’s makes me want to hit something. They’ve bound me in symbols of babyhood, but I won’t let them do this to me. As I peer up at the top of my crib, I think of how I can do this—of how I can escape.
It’s happened before. I’ve decided to get away, steeled my resolve, saved my strength, and spent the wholeness of my energy on one attempt.
Each time, I’ve failed. They get me back into my crib—Kayla calls it my baby cage—and I’m forced to take a nap or wet my diaper. Each time they take away my sense of control and independence, I still feel it. I still feel the loss of my adulthood. I think that on some level I’ll always feel it, no matter how much they condition me to think this is normal for a college freshman.
But today, I’ve decided to resist again. I can feel my defiance chipping away. The first time I tried to get away, I made it all the way to the front door before Seth pinned me, put me back in my baby harness, and forced me to crawl back to the nursery where he proceeded to spank me until I was crying and begging for my crib.
Rather than try to break the bars of my crib, I have to go over. This is going to be difficult. But not impossible, I remind myself. Kayla and Seth are confident. They think they’ve trained me. And why wouldn’t they?
For a moment, I allow myself to dwell on those memories. When I first came to their house, I was so cocky and arrogant. I had complete faith in myself and my ability to handle anything the universe threw at me. I thought I was so tough and mature. But now they fed me with little spoons. Every meal they made me eat came from those little baby food jars. I had to wear a bib and my babysitters had no problem smearing the food over my mouth in those instances where I got “fussy” and tried to struggle.
They’ve done other things. They’ve made me thank them for my diapers. I’ve been forced to pose for baby pictures or home videos. They made me use my diapers, robbing me of my ability to control my bladder. It seemed like such a small detail, yet since I lost that control, I miss it terribly.
I don’t want to wear diapers. I don’t want to be their baby girl.
Yes, they said I would get used to it and enjoy it. And that’s the part that scares me the most because I think they might be right. There have been those instances where I felt so safe and secure and loved. Only last night, Seth had me curled up on his lap as we watched another Disney movie. The plotline was cheesy and so predictable, yet he had a bottle in my mouth. The milk was warm and it relaxed me. It made me feel so soft and I let go of everything. I had Seth, and I had Kayla, and they would take care of me as long as I behaved myself.
But when as I wake up now, I feel my body clench at the thought. They tricked me into being their baby girl. I couldn’t allow them to get away with it. Even if they were protected legally, they couldn’t keep me like this. I had worked so hard to become an adult! I wouldn’t let them take that away from me.
So I rolled onto my back, an act that took way more effort than it should have. I tested the strength of my sleeper once again. Even though I had behaved myself last night and let Kayla dress me up like her own private doll, I guess she or Seth must have sensed some rebellion in me.
The sleeper makes it so much harder to move. If I had on anything else, I could have lifted one leg over the bars, grabbed the top rail, and slipped over the side. Granted, I wasn’t a gymnast or anything, but I didn’t need to be. The bars couldn’t have been more than four feet tall. Yet in my current condition, four feet might as well have been four hundred.
No, I think to myself, I could do this. I had to do it.
I try to extend my fingers and manage to get a tiny bit of wiggle room. I lack any real manual dexterity, but the fabric stretches just enough to let me grasp the bars. So I reach up and take hold. The sleeper’s material tries to keep me from making it, but I pull hard and feel the heat build up around my skin. Between my diaper and the sleeper, almost all of my body heat is trapped. I have to make this work; otherwise my babysitters would figure out that I tried to get away.
Then they would punish me. I don’t know how, but I’m sure I won’t like it.
With a hiss of effort, I start to pull myself up. I try to heave myself higher. The muscles along my arms groan with effort. A sheen of sweat breaks out along my forehead and down the back of my neck. I make it halfway up. I try to kick off the mattress. I make it another couple of inches before my hands give way and I plop back down against my mattress.
Breathing hard, I stare back through the bars to the door. If I can just get there and crawl outside, I could find someone to help me. Leaving a house shouldn’t be difficult! Only, they had me dressed like a baby, reduced to the movements of a toddler.
Less than a toddler, I realize, fury burning through my thoughts. Seriously, a toddler could try to walk. A toddler probably couldn’t have worked her way out of the crib. But me? No, they don’t need to add a top to my baby cage. Why bother when I can’t get over the bars?
Forcing my legs to be stronger, I sit up and grip the top of the crib again. The sleeper makes every motion nearly impossible. They designed my sleeper perfectly. The fabric is tight and durable. I’m really trapped in this thing. For a moment, I roll onto my back. It takes a bit of effort, but I manage to work my way back onto my side. My legs are bent, forcing me into a fetal position.
This is probably my babysitters’ favorite position for me. I must look so helpless and vulnerable, like a real baby girl. The thought makes my insides roil with annoyance again. No, they won’t beat me!
I reach my free arm back around my sides and stretch for the back of my neck. I know they have me locked into this thing, but I keep hoping that I might find the seam. If I could tear it apart, then I could slip out of this stupid sleeper and get away!
My body is so hot at this point. I can feel the heat as it’s trapped against my skin. It’s even worse beneath my diaper. There are so many levels there: the cotton, the plastic, and the sleeper. My hand starts to shake. I try to flex my fingers and I grip the small lock. I can feel it. Holding it like a hook, I pull. This time the strength of the sleeper is on my side. I work it and hope to hear something, any sign of encouragement. I want to hear a thread rip or the tear of fabric.
But no. Nothing happens.
The seconds blur past until I finally let go an admit defeat. I can’t break out of this thing, which means my only chance is to simply slip over the side of my crib and get away.
Wishing I could catch some kind of break, I peek through the bars and back to the window. It’s still early and dark, but it won’t be long before one of my babysitters bursts in here and starts my day as their baby doll. It’ll start off with breakfast. I’ll be forced to eat some infant’s mush or get a spanking. I’ll be tickled until I soak my diaper and then force fed with a bottle. They might make me dance or watch cartoons. Step by step, they’ll make me out to be their toy.
Another day of those games pricks me with a hint of fear. Kayla and Seth have made it very clear. They want to brainwash and train me into thinking this is normal. They want me so enmeshed in this new life that I rely entirely on my diapers and never think of trying to get away. They want to dominate and own me completely.
If I don’t get away soon, they might succeed.
That’s why I force myself back onto my feet and reach for the top of the crib again. Even if I’m stuck in the sleeper, I just have to get out of my crib. Then I can sneak back through the house and outside. It should be so simple.
As I pull against the material, I work my arms up, over my head and onto the top bar. I start to pull again. My legs press down against the mattress which helps a bit. The combined leverage lets me dangle for a second. I’m doing it! I’m so close!