I woke up and could sense things were different. I couldn’t be sure the surgery was a success but somehow I knew. I was finally incontinent, condemned to a life in diapers.
I reached down, found thick padding, prodded it with my hand and found it was wet. Exactly as expected, entirely as planned. Excited and aroused I couldn’t help myself, had to celebrate in a very private way. Pulling my hand back up I slid it down inside the diaper, elegant fingers sliding over smooth skin, reaching the soft warmth below. Lifting my hips slightly a single finger slid easily inside, the fingers either side rubbing the moist skin beneath them, my thumb moving to that special place.
Nothing happened. I could feel my hand there, but the touch was mundane, no electricity coursing through my body, no stimulation.
I circled my hips, ground against my hand, tried to force sensation, make something happen. It didn’t work. I groaned, for the wrong reasons.
That brought her into the room, pleasant smiles and happiness that I was awake. I guiltily pulled my hand free, making it obvious where it had been, making her smile.
“Exploring our handiwork?” she asked, “It’s ok, we got everything done. No problems, and although it may be tender for a few days, maybe a week, you’re fit and healthy and, well, incontinent.”
I smiled back. “Thank you! But…”
I paused, frowned and tried to work out how to ask. She cocked her head at me, a patient smile, waited for me to finish my question.
“I think I’ve lost some sensation down there.” That seemed a discreet way of putting it, and let me ask, “Is that normal?”
She grinned at me, knowing what I meant. “Oh, absolutely,” she reassured me, “We agreed we’d make you incontinent like a baby, and babies don’t have orgasms.”
I looked at her aghast. We had agreed to make me incontinent, I wanted to be as diaper dependent as a baby, cherished the intimacy and comfort of her changing me. She’d told me she wanted it too, but we’d always had a sexual relationship, diaper changes frequently taking a little longer than absolutely necessary, both of us ending up flushed and happy.
“I can’t have an orgasm?” I asked in confusion and dismay. “No more sex?”
She laughed at that. “No, I didn’t say that. You may or may not have sex, whatever your new Daddy decides.”
I sat up at that, looked at her in horror. “My new Daddy? I don’t have a Daddy! I have you.”
She shook her head slowly at me, a condescending smile as she closed her eyes before opening them again, fixing them on my own and telling me, “No, but you will do, as soon as the auction is finished. You don’t have me, you never did. I was just pretending, drawing you in so that you’d agree to the surgery. Now you’re diaper dependent, time to sell you to someone that actually wants an adult incapable of controlling their bladder and bowels.”
My mouth dropped open. She’d lied to me, manipulated me, was planning to sell me… into slavery? As someone’s pet? An adopted adult baby?
That wasn’t even the worse part. She’d just revealed something else I didn’t know, hadn’t planned, definitely didn’t want. I looked at her, opening a valve on the drip into my arm, and before I sank back into unconsciousness asked, “Bowels? You’ve taken…”
I didn’t see her nod, missed her nasty smile, was deep into a drugged sleep before she spoke. “Yes, my dear, we’ve taken your control. We’ve taken it all.”
I woke up and could sense things were different. I couldn’t be sure whether she was lying but a nasty smell meant I knew. I was doubly incontinent, condemned to a life in diapers.