Are We There Yet?

(story was inspired by an image by BuckarooBlaster on deviantart used with permission. The system won’t let me post it as it is too big, so it is linked here https://www.deviantart.com/buckarooblaster/art/Are-We-There-Yet-849104795)

“Are we there yet?”

“We’ve barely left yet, and we still need to pick up your big sister,” the large, graying middle age man in the front seat replied without taking his eyes off the road.

“She’s not my sister!”

“Well she is now, Erica.” this time he glanced into the mirror to see her, and spoke with an edge of warning in his voice.

“And she’s not my “big” sister,” Erica muttered.

“Hey!” he growled. “That’s enough whining. Settle down and watch your cartoons or I’ll pull over and spank your bottom!”

The woman sitting beside him, herself a bit older but with her hair still blond, turned back and pointed a finger at her. “You know your new position now. Complaining won’t change it. We’ve given all you should need to be happy, you have your cartoons and your stuffy if your bored and that paci should keep you from complaining. We shouldn’t hear a peep out of you until we get there. Accept your new place or we’ll give you something to whine about.”

Erica sighed and rested her head on her hand. The cartoon flickered in front of her, but she was bored of it already. It didn’t have any real plot she could see, just flickering lights and cutesy animals. She turned to look out the window, hearing her diaper crinkle as she shifted positions. The car seat she sat in, though comfortable, came with tight straps didn’t allow for much movement, making any shift an effort. Trees ran by the car at top speed, and she imagined a figure running over their tops, jumping from branch to branch.

As it was, her “position” didn’t give her much other options. From their perspective, those cartoons were a perfect match for her- as was the diaper she was wearing, the stuffed cat in her arms, the pacifier in her mouth, and the baby bottle and diaper bag packed on either side of her car seat. The fact that her diaper was both printed and plainly visible under her yellow t shirt drove the point home. In this country, there was no point in even trying to hide her status. A skirt, shorts, or even a onesie might have implied- god forbid- that there was a reason to hide her underwear while out in public.

She remembered how excited she had been when the laws changed. It had only been about a year (she wasn’t certain as no one bothered to tell her times or dates) but felt like a life time ago.

She had a ‘normal’ life before, at least from the outside. She went to university, worked her way though and even got a job. Anyone who knew her would think she was a perfectly functioning adult, if a bit secretive. However, it was just a show. Each night when she got home to her apartment, she’d live her ‘other’ life, the one she kept hidden in a plastic box at the back of her closet. She remembered the thrill of taking out her hidden diapers, the onesies she had bought online, and her stuffed animals. She’d tape her diapers on, snuggle her stuffed rabbit, and feel another day’s worth of anxiety fade out of her stomach. She’d turn on the television to the cartoon station, then open her laptop log onto the few online sites where she could act the way she really wanted, and read the adoring, childish messages that made her feel warm inside. For years, it was the only time she felt safe, and she dreamed of one day being able to live it all for real, not having to hide it.

Then, the opportunity arose. News came of legal changes in a small European state. They began creating different types of identification, built from research into fetishists and kinks. It was more then just claiming to be interested, there were detailed personality tests which showed long term compatibility with different roles, and those who were found fitting would have “submissive”, or “pet”, or “sissy,” added to their ID’s and matched with their dominants, creating an entirely new legal classes. There was online debate as to what it would mean and why- was this actual science? Was it some confused attempt at progressiveness and accepting alternative lifestyles, or perhaps a marketing gimmick for tourists to come gawk and at people in their new roles? (since then she had encountered many of that last group) She hadn’t cared, instead, she remembered eagerly pouring over the lists until she found it- “Adult Baby.” Clicking links lead to success stories. Most of the actual information was in a language she didn’t understand, but the photos of people dressed in onesies and diapers, living as legally declared “Adult babies”, was more then enough for her.

She remembered breathlessly looking at the requirements while at work. It was all She laughed, telling herself if they were fair the box hidden in her closet and the years of online search history should qualify her. However, she wanted to make sure. She found lists of how to ‘cheat’ the test. After some searching, someone in broken English gave an answer key he promised would lead to the right identification, along with a warning she couldn’t read. She downloaded it and spent the rest of her day committing it to memory and booking plane tickets, her heart swelling with excitement. This was her chance, she thought, she’d finally live her dream!

Now, her she was, wearing just a diaper and a t-shirt, sucking a pacifier, and strapped into an oversized car seat, completely at the whim of the “mommy” and “daddy” who saw her only as a baby who had become literally to big for her britches, and as a society that both accepted her as such and legally enforced it. In a way, it was all she had wanted. However, in another it was everything she didn’t, as there was one aspect she had not considered.

Her thought was interrupted as the car stopped. She looked out the other window to see the gigantic letters she recognized as marking a university in a language which, fittingly, she couldn’t read. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

The door opened, and in bounced a bubbly, blond haired and blue eyed girl. “Girl,” Erica thought, barely out of her teens. Erica had graduated long ago and had moved onto a job, and was both older and by rights more accomplished, but in this society her ‘sister’ was the only adult in the back seat.

“Hi mom and dad!” she said.

“Hi dear! How was class?” her mother replied.

“Oh you know, same old same old. Glad to be on vacation.” She then turned to Erica. “Hi baby sis!” she said, and pecked Erica on the cheek. “Have you been a good girl today?”

“Actually, she’s been grumpy the entire ride,” “Daddy” replied.

“Oh, that’s too bad. You know my psychology proof said it sometimes takes time for them to adjust to their new positions. They’ve been fed misinformation their entire lives telling them they are something they aren’t, and its hard to undo that.” She patted Erica’s leg. “It’s ok baby sis, you’ll get there.”

“Oh, Samantha,” Erica’s “Daddy” said to her “big sister” “before we start driving would you mind checking Erica’s diaper? Its a long way and I don’t want to be stuck driving for hours smelling her again before we can change her.”

Erica shuddered. She remembered the time he was talking about. It was shortly after she had been adopted and was still overwhelmed with excitement. The idea of having to use her diapers in different situations thrilled her, and she had messed herself while they were driving on the highway, knowing it would be passed off as an accident. It had been a hot day, and it was an hour before the next rest stop.

“It doesn’t smell like it from here,” Samantha replied.
“Yes but sometimes you don’t notice at first. Just check.”
Samantha grumbled.
“What?”
“Its just… I won’t have to change her this time, will I?” she made a disgusted face. “I changed her last time, and normally when you ask me to check her its a lead in to change me.”
“You didn’t change her last time! I did!” “Mommy” replied.
“Well, its not my turn! I just don’t like changing her out in these parking lots because I have to carry her gross diapers to the garbage can, and I just had my nails done!”
“Then change her in the school bathroom.”
“I don’t want to take her all smelly through the halls! Its crowded in there and people will notice!” She made another face. “Plus I just had lunch and I’d feel sick.”

“Would you rather change her after she’s been sitting in it an hour?”

“Well…”

“Mommy” turned toward her. “You agreed to help take care of the baby this vacation, remember? That was part of the deal. That means taking care of her diapers.”
Samantha rolled her eyes, then turned a smile toward Erica. “Ok baby! Time to check your pampies!”
Now Erica looked down at the girl beside her who patted the front of her diaper, ensuring the same thing wouldn’t happen. Erica could have told them it was clean, but to them her word meant nothing on the matter.

“ALl dry! Good baby!” she said. “Now lean over so I can check you for stinkies.”

Erica glared at her.

“Now now, I don’t want to have to spank you!” she said.

Erica gave her an annoyed glance, then quickly hid it. There was no point in arguing. It was a valid threat. In this country she was well within her rights to spank Erica. The law acknowledge that strict punishment might be needed to control people in their new positions, and that despite her role her adult body could handle the pain. It was a threat she would once have been thrilled to hear, and she had deliberately tried to receive when she first arrived. That, however, was before she learned of the one thing she missed. She leaned forward and to the side as far as the straps of her car seat would allow.

“There’s a good baby,” her “big sister” spoke in a tone that was supposed to sound loving but was horribly condescending, especially coming from someone years younger then she was. Erica felt a hand reach down her back and open her diaper, then pat it before announcing what she already knew. “All clean! Well done baby girl!”

Erica forced a smile, pretending to love the condescending compliment.
The car began moving toward a location Erica didn’t know. They generally didn’t bother telling her where they were going. They began a conversation on politics which which she was not invited to share in. Despite having majored in it years ago, any addition she had would be replied with “Shh now, the grown ups are talking,” followed by a tap on the pacifier.

“Oh, Erica!” Samantha said. Erica looked at her, hoping to be involved somehow. Instead, she saw Samantha bend down to pick up her stuffed cat from the ground. “You dropped him! No wonder you are so grumpy.”

She handed her the cat. Erica grumbled and yanked the cat with a frustration she hoped would be confused with excitement. The ‘adults’ went back to the conversation, and Erica tried to follow but gave up as they switched back and forth from English and their countries language she didn’t understand, knowing that even if she could they wouldn’t consider anything she had to say intelligent or mature enough to really listen to.

Erica leaned back into her car seat. Again, it was soft and comfortable, but the backward angle and tight straps were meant for someone to fall asleep and barely move, and she felt restless. She looked at the cartoon, but couldn’t stand any more of it. Instead, she struggled forward, put her foot on the seat beside her, rested an elbow on it, and leaned into her hand to stare out the window.

This was the part she hadn’t considered- the boredom. Her treatment was NON STOP. Back home, the brief periods of babying she experienced were always thrilling. However, after days, weeks, and months of it, it was just boring. Once the thrill wore off, spankings she used to look forward to were just painful, outfits she once felt adorable in were humiliating, talks that used to give her butterflies were condescending, and messy diapers that pushed her immediately into “sub space” were just smelly and itchy. Meanwhile, her favorite adult television shows were replaced with plot less cartoons, books she used to read were replaced with ‘story time,’ and conversations she would love to add to were replaced with… well, replaced with a pacifier and an order to be quiet. Worse yet was the ‘other thing,’- once the most exciting part of being babied and tied up, now just a big tease, drawing her to actions that immediately earned her punishment. The closest thing she had to a boyfriend was the stuffed cat, and he didn’t do much to fill in when they were finally alone together.

The wake up call had been that one day driving on the highway when she had messed herself. Her head space wore off long before they could stop, and she was left squirming uncomfortably and gagging as her “family” noticeably breathed through their noses and rolled windows down. They began arguing over whose turn it was to change her diaper as she tried to sink into her chair and disappear, while simultaneously lift out of the mess. What seemed like over an hour later (She wasn’t told the time), she lived out yet another exciting daydream turned horrifying nightmare in reality. She was lead by the hand through a crowded store, passed people who blocked their noses and teased her as she passed, then into a gas station bathroom for a very public diaper change. The last of her dignity was stripped away along with her oversize romper and the tapes of her diaper, and she was lain down to be cleaned with no input of her own. She covered her face with her hands as people passed, telling herself that at least they were female.

This, pattern, she found, applied to a lot of things. A very public spanking, which she had deliberately ‘bratted’ to receive, went from being a fun idea in her mind to a painful one when the smacks didn’t stop and she realized she no longer had a safety word. The first few times she was babysat by Samantha or other college students younger then her she had broken down into fits of ecstatic giggling, now it was annoying. Being spoon fed baby food in high chairs and bottles in laps went from being silly fun to boring and slow.

Worse, she couldn’t help the feeling that somehow, in this country, it fit. She had barely known about it before hand, but if she had researched it she would have found it was one of the most educated and healthy countries in the world. Walking through the air port surrounded by people head and shoulders taller then her made her feel little as it was. She looked at her family with their gym toned bodies, advanced degrees, muli-lingual skills and high paying jobs with her jaw open, seeing people who could both physically overpower her and talk circles around her. Her ‘family’ looked at her thin, doughy and fast food fed body, community college courses picked based on ease and ‘fun,’ and series of low paying internships while living in an apartment and saw someone who couldn’t take care of herself. She hated to admit it, but even Samantha and her friends who regularly babysat Erica could speak well over her head, and, in a few particularly embarrassing moments, even correct her casual English grammer. She could tell herself that she was more accomplished as she had already worked and earned her own place, but she knew that as soon as Samantha graduated with her complex double major, beyond Erica’s understanding, she’d have an earning power beyond Erica as well. There was a strong argument she was already more responsible. Any attempt to join in adult conversation, sound intelligent, or otherwise defend her adult life was met with chuckles, ‘awwws’ and condescending heat pats, and she imagined any attempt to explain that she had cheated the test would be met with the same and people talking about her ‘silly stories’ as if she wasn’t there. From their perspective, there was now doubt she was exactly where she belonged: in diapers, cribs, high chairs, and confining car seats, with a babysitter looking after her. It all hammered in the one, clear fact: this was no longer a game, this was her life.
She heard her name, followed by instructions in the other language. Samantha leaned in and tightened her straps, and Erica was pulled back into the chair. Bondage was also something she had experimented with, but was now less fun when it was a consistent rule. Play pens were confining and didn’t leave much room for movement, high chairs were worse still, and early bedtimes in cribs left her awake for hours. Now, she was stuck in the car seat, unable to look out the window, and stuck facing the cartoons.

She sat her cat on her laps and wrapped her arms around it. She closed her eyes and tried to drift off to sleep. At least that would pass the time, and she couldn’t do much else in a seat clearly designed specifically to lull her. It was still fun to be a ‘baby’, but she wished there was a break. It was months before she could retake the test, and she considered whether she would deliberately twist it again or try to pass it as ‘normal’- that is, if she could pass it as normal if she tried. Until then, she supposed she only had one complaint- she was getting exactly, exactly what she wanted.

Oh?

That was unexpected.

they or she?

All that aside, I like the story. Far less fetishy than your normal stuff, but that doesn’t hurt it at all, it’s a nice counter to the usual tropes.

How were you trying to add it and what was the exact error message?

Also, two things.

  1. Using abdl as a tag is incredibly redundant and serves no useful purpose so I removed it.
  2. Make sure you post things in the correct location. This was in the #uncategorized section which is literally the “I don’t know where to put this” section, and I know you know where stories go :wink:

Thanks for the edits!
I’m not sure what happened with the “C-draftstyledefault…” thing. The system I normally publish my stories on first, on Deviantart, recently changed, and I’ve been noticing odd things added in or sections left out of my stories.
Also, yes, this one was less fetishy. I’m used to the images of either happy and ecstatic willing ABDLs, or ones who are humiliated, scared or upset in forced scenarios. The idea of someone being just bored with it was a fun one to work with, and I like showing how the fantasy of a full 24/7 kink lifestyle can seem fun but end up being incredibly unfulfilling once the initial thrill wears off, as Erica finds.

Hi!
Thanks for the message. The exact error link was “Sorry, that file is too big (maximum size is 4096kb). Why not upload your large file to a cloud sharing service, then paste the link?” It is fine though, I don’t mind using the link and I’m sure it will help out the artist as well.
Noted on ABDL one, that is a habit from DA.
To be honest I haven’t posted much since the forum style changed so I will defend my ignorance on the matter :stuck_out_tongue:

Hmmm, that’s not the configured filesize limit…

Odd, then. Either way, I’m fine with using the link instead if thats alright