The Trade

Nothing particular great to read here, but I suppose it’s not half bad. May continue, may not. Already have a little more written.

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They called it “The Trade,” if you were privvy enough to be on their supply or demand lists. It had grown more in popularity in recent times, but everyone, even most media outlets remained skeptical of it’s true nature. Sex slaves were and have always been big business. Hundreds and thousands of men and women go missing, even children at times too. While some can end at the hand of a killer or be whisked away into a new life and identity with a jealous parent many end up servicing humans in the darkest of ways.

But I wasn’t to be used on such terms.

It was prom night, years ago now. I think by my estimation I’ve been here for at least five. Though I’ve stopped bothering to accurately count long ago. I remember getting into the limo with my date for an after dance party. The next thing I know I awoke in a diaper and footed pajamas, surrounded by bars in a nursery that was just perfect for a baby girl. But the baby in this case was me, and I was seventeen!

I began to cry, unaware of what was going on. A woman entered the room and cooed at me, asking me if I needed a diaper change. I protested, saying that I did not need a diaper and wanted to know what was going on. She explained that she and her husband wanted another daughter and had adopted me, a teen baby so they could always have a little one to take care of. Almost like a diapered pet, if you will. I told her that I didn’t know what a teen baby was, or where you could get one, but I was certainly not going to stand for being treated as if I was a toddler.

She retorted with a bit of anger, saying that they had adopted me under the belief I was a teen baby and so that is who I was going to be now. I got really upset and told her that I’d call the police but was told that there would be no proof as I was a minor still, and would be here until I was twenty five. “But you won’t make it to that age without DNA Resets, so don’t count on getting out of this nursery anytime soon,” she said. She then reached behind the crib and brought up top bars, locking them down so I couldn’t escape. There I sat, in pink fuzzy pajamas and a padded behind with no way out.

Reaching into the pocket of her dress she pulled out a colorful walkie talkie. “I’ve got the baby monitor on me, so when you decide to behave or if you need a diaper change you can cry for mommy. But I’ll only come when you accept your new life. You’re no longer where you think you are, and there’s no way out of this rabbit hole.”

I laid back down, tears beginning to stream from my eyes. What about my friends? My family? My boyfriend…my life! How did I get here? How was I going to get out of here?

I had so many questions, so much anger…but mostly, I was afraid. I was afraid that I would never see my family again and that these crazy people were going to eventual kill me. But that wasn’t going to be the case.

Nearly the first twenty four hours were spent locked up in the crib. I was trying to exert more will than I had previously known myself to have, refusing to use the bathroom in my pants. Or footed sleeper, as it was. I finally began to scream accusing her of being a sick demented bitch, then threatened to undo the footed sleeper and take off the diaper. She smirked at me, and then dared that I do it. Unbeknownst to her I was in gymnastics up til I was fourteen and still practiced regularly, so I’m an especially limber girl. I managed to get the zipper halfway down before she produced a remote from her pocket.

“What’s your name, little girl?” She asked, with a mischievous grin across her face.

“L–Laura” I said, wondering why she felt so confident.

“Well Laura I didn’t want to use this so early on, but I guess you need to know who has the upper hand.” I watched as she pressed down on the remote and immediately I began to have convulsions. My brain felt like it was on fire, a sustained censory overload shot through my spine and suddenly I felt both my bladder and bowels evacuate. “Sorry about that, it takes a few tries before it calibrates. By the third or fourth time it should be much more pleasant.” Dropping the remote control back into her dress she crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, does lil Laura want her diaper changed?”

I didn’t know how I could still be crying, I was so parched. But I couldn’t let her win. “Fuck you!”

The woman shook her head and sighed. “Laura, it’s not polite for a little lady to say such naughty words to their mothers.”

I had begun to heave and breathe heavily, almost violently. Out of no where I screamed at the top of my lungs. “You’re not my mother!” There was that control again, and I braced for the worst shock in my life. But it didn’t happen. In fact, I found myself paralyzed.

“This device has a few uses. You won’t be able to move for awhile, so try to relax and go with it.” She unlocked the crib top, swung it down and moved the bars towards the floor. Walking towards a changing table just my size, filled with various disposable diapers, and after several minutes of feeling my body involuntarily moved I had been stripped and brought to a point where my diaper could be changed. She tended to the ordeal as if I was a toddler, commenting on how much of a messy diaper I made. After several minutes I was back in the crib bed proper, freshly powdered and plastic panted. There was a chain now around my waist, a lock fastened in the back to keep me in my new mother approved bathroom habits. And then there were the mittens, locked around my wrists so I couldn’t really manipulate anything too intricately. “I’m going to re-initiate your nervous system, but when I do you better not get figidity young lady, understand?” I wanted to say something–but obviously that was out of the question.

Finally free again to move I recoiled away from her by instinct, although my bare breasts had been exposed to her for minutes already.

“Here,” the woman said as she motioned me to lift my arms. I did, and found myself now sitting in a pink satin night gown. “Are you thirsty?”

Saying nothing I meekly nodded. The woman smiled and held up her finger. “Just a few minutes, I’ll be right back.”

I waited there on the edge of the crib bed, bewildered. I was totally, absolutely, one hundred percent fucked.


The woman returned with a bottle of formula some ten minutes later, slightly heated for maximum affect. I had taken to exploring my new surroundings free of crib bars, unused to the extra padding between my legs and the rustle of plastic pants as I walked. There was everything a little girl could want here, from an E Z Bake Oven to Barbies and Playskool kitchen. “Come on baby girl, it’s past midnight. Time for you to go back to sleep.”

Letting the woman take my hand she lead me back to the crib and I hopped back up, the rustling of plastic pants and the smoothness of the satin feeling strange on my body. Because of being unable to really grasp anything I felt a firm hand push up on my butt and began settling into the bed with ease. A quick pats on my diapered bottom followed before I turned around and took the bottle handed to me. “Drink up and sleep tight, I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe you can meet your sister!”

I sighed as the crib bars were brought back. “I promise to be good, please don’t cage me.”

The woman looked down, as if to think for a few. “Maybe in a week or two sweetie, you’ve got to show me trust first.”

Sucking on the bottle in a carefree position I watched as the bars enclosed my world again. Cranking up a mobile far overhead I gawked at it languidly, still sucking down on the bottle. It was vaguely sweet, and not entirely nasty–but I couldn’t help feel as if there were something else in it because shortly after finishing the last drop I found myself falling asleep, my eyes opening and closing as the soft night light kept any monsters at bay.


Waking up the next day I felt slightly confused until I remember what had occurred. Underneath my satin nightgown were the plastic pants, opaque and snugly locked. I felt the diaper with a mittened hand and recoiled slightly as the wet material pressed against my loins. It was cold, I had done it unknowingly in my sleep.

And it was only a sign of things to come.

The woman entered shortly after bright and cheery, she pulled back curtains to a window that was adjacent to my crib. I looked out to see a tree, birds chirping and a new dawn in full swing. “Did mommy’s little princess sleep okay?”

I rubbed my eyes cursing myself for not being a morning person. It took every ounce of good in me to hold back the words that really wanted to escape my mouth, but I yawned and complained about being wet.

“Well! We can change you after you eat breakfast down stairs,” she said.

I sighed as the cage was deconstructed around me. “It’s kind of damp and cold, can’t I please be changed now?”

The woman started putting two and two together. “Oh my, did babykins wake up wet?”

Hanging my head I blushed several shades of rose and made no attempt to respond to that question, but she knew the answer and was down right pleased as punch. “That’s so cute! I didn’t think you would be bed wetting for awhile.”

I snapped, and lounged towards her throat. “You bitch! I don’t want to wet the bed!” She began to back peddle but made no effort to grab my arms—I had forgot about the remote! Seconds after remembering her secret weapon I hit the ground in convulsions as yet again my bladder excreted a warm flow and my bowels did it’s best to send something through.

That was it. I cried, cried, and cried some more. I sobbed so hard I had snot running out of my nose. There I laid in the center of some nursery, propped up on the floor with a strange woman cooing softly in my ear telling me it was going to be okay. She stuffed a pacifier in my mouth and I accepted it without thought, and then she slowly laid me on the floor as to change my diaper again.

Paralysed with by remote I laid listlessly trying not to fight whatever was being used to render me helpless. The woman proceeded to change me much as she did the night prior, my nervous system reflexively convulsing as a cold wipe was rubbed all through my intimate areas. Powdered, happily hearing tapes and finally feeling a new diaper snug around me. This time control returned sooner, and I was slowly helped up to a standing position and made to put my feet through the holes of the locking plastic pants. Still sucking my pacifier I listened to every command.

Eventually I was lead out into a hall, down some stairs, and into a high chair where a bubbly brunette fed me apple sauce and cereal making all sorts of noises. Prattling on about being so excited with having a baby sister, she told me how cute I was and how all her girlfriends couldn’t wait for the next slumber party. I wanted to gag, but was so hungry I kept taking each spoonful. “Mom, can I have a sleep over Friday?”

A man who had been sitting at the head of the table quietly drinking coffee put down his paper. “Not for awhile sweetie, your new baby sister still has to adjust.”

The woman came from behind and wiped off excess dribble from my face. My hands, still mitten bound, were not very practical for eating anyway. “That’s right. We’ll see how well she does at the store later today and maybe once she gets used to us she’ll be happy to meet your friends.”

I rolled my eyes and in between spoonfuls of apple sauce I droned out “I am so excited, I can’t wait.” While wholly sarcastic, the brunette smiled with glee.

“It’ll be so fun sissy! You’ll see! Now open wide, choo choo!” She brought up one last spoonful to my mouth and I took it most obligingly.


Despite her best efforts, the woman had a hard time convincing me I was going to appear like an everyday occurrence to random strangers as we drove to a store–TBRus, to be exact. I had taken the name to be some weird moniker for a chain perhaps once called ‘Teen Babies ‘R’ Us,’ and as we pulled into the strip mall I watched out the back seat window and found all sorts of advertisements for baby-like things in convenient adult sizes. I, at present, was wearing some sort of sun dress. It was a cotton color, a nice length to cover my diaper. We spent a couple of hours going up and down isles of infantilistic objects of youth long passed. I admit, it was fun to go baby clothes shopping–until reality sunk back in and I remembered who that baby was.

“Oh. My. Gosh! This is the cutest thing ever!” The woman held up a skirt, complete with frills. “It’s like baby pants and a skirt. Oh wow, you’re gonna look so cute in this!”

At this point, I spit out my pacifier (I had put it in so I wouldn’t be inclined to complain) and protested. “Oh no, there’s NO WAY!” Suddenly my urge to urinate became strong, and with a little effort I had voided into the diaper locked around my waist. My face had become blank, but almost reflexively I turned red again.

“Uh oh,” the woman said. She then squealed and through the skirt combo into the cart. “Looks like we’ll get to test these out on our way home!”

God no, I thought. Please, please, please…no! “No–wait! Please…tomorrow! Not in public!”

A few passer-bys stopped and stared, and I promptly put my pacifier back in. The woman looked over at the voyeuristic strangers and faked a laugh. “She’s a little picky with her outfits–you know how little girls are.”

Nodding and verbally agreeing the two onlookers sauntered off.

After standing silently next to the cart through the check out lane the cashier had smiled at my appearance. “Someone’s one lucky baby girl! Look at all this cute new stuff!”

I bowed my head trying to not react, the woman mentioning how shy I tended to be. The cashier thought that made me extra cute and cooed at me, waving good bye as I toddled off towards the exit. Before the bags of new stuff was loaded I would be changed in the back of the van, sporting my new pink fleece skirt that had lots of lovely ruffles protruding out just in case anyone couldn’t tell by the diaper brim poking out that I wasn’t one to visit the potty too often. With a rockin’ pink Hello Kitty cotton top, I sat quietly in the back sucking on the pacifier trying not to open my big mouth.

Here I was, in just a span of 48 hours reduced to riding in the back of a minivan sucking on a pacifier, outfitted in the most youthful looking clothes around–complete with a diapered bottom. Boy oh boy, I felt as young as ever! Hah.

We pulled into the garage and I feeling especially nice helped carry the bags into my nursery, and even helped the woman unpack them. As I finished hanging up the last article of clothing in the bag–another dress–apparently it’s warm year round here–I closed the door and stared at my pacifier sucking self in the mirror.

I stood there dazed, reaching my hand towards my reflection wondering exactly how this had happened and what I could do about it. I cringed as pressure built in the bowels down below, then looked over to the woman who was humming a song as she was gathering up the bags and placing them into each other. I had to go number two…but couldn’t, not like this. It was hard enough to wet myself. “Uhh…I need help. Please, let me use the toilet.”

The woman looked over with a concerned look. “Mommy told you sweetie you’re in diapers for now on, go there.”

Crying, I pleaded again explaining that I could barely wet myself much less fill my pants with poop. She sighed and reached into her pocket for the remote. “Do you want me to use this? The more we do the easier it gets.”

I shook my head, wiping tears from my face. “No, just…just leave me alone.”

She patted my head. “Okay sweetie, remember to call for Mommy when you’re done.”

Finally, alone, I had to think fast, because I was not about to fill my pants. I looked over to the window, and to the tree. In desperation, I tried to climb on top of some Playskool toys and push out the screen. As I exerted force enough to push said screen out, I felt my bowels give way and the back of my skirt fill. “Noooooooo!”

Re: The Trade

I think this is an excellent story. Please continue :slight_smile:

Re: The Trade

You’re an excellent writer. The plot concept is not entirely original (then again, what is?), but I trust your ability to make it uniquely yours. I do recommend continuing it!

Re: The Trade

Thanks for the responses. It’s nothing new, but it just sorta came out over the course of a couple of days. I do a lot of writing, just not usually this type. Glad you guys like it. I think I finished it yesterday, but I’ll post a bit at a time because I’m not done editing. If I get more edited I’ll post; I constantly re-read and write in VI or other small text editors.

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Needless to say, the woman wasn’t pleased. She changed my diaper quickly and expertly–making sure to deliver a few bottom smacks in the process. I then found myself remitted to mittens yet again, sitting down stairs in a play pen that would trigger paralysis if I attempted to leave it. I sat through my third episode of Lazy Town, idly tapping my foot and coloring a Blue’s Clues scene. The crayons weren’t the small normal size–no, they were huge…designed for lots of coloring or people with poor motor skills. Like a toddler…but it came in handy having mittens. Damned mittens.

It wasn’t before long after Lazy Town finished and another toddler-loved show began that the bubbly brunette stepped through the front door with two of her friends in tow. “Oh my gosh, she’s so cute!” A red head sat down a backpack and rushed towards me. Instinctively, although one may sometimes not admit having such things, I was standing up and backing away.

“Tera, you’re freaking her out!” There was that brunette again, trying to help me. I watched curiously, although still kind of angry, at her attempt to make me feel comfortable. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m Darla, your sissy.” Perhaps it was because she was looking so heart-felt, or maybe it was temporary insanity–whatever the reason, I approached her.

She smiled and reached out to hug me, pulling me up over the bars. “No, don’t,” I had begun to protest. But it was too late. As my head left the confines of the pen I became like a limp sack of potatoes, halfway in her arms, but now falling towards the rail. I bumped my head on the padding, it didn’t hurt too much but I just sort of laid there dazed even though I was still in the playpen, so I was subject to moving under my own free will.

You never really know how much of a shit kicking you can take until you’ve had enough. I know, I’m a girl, and as a full fledged member of the fairer sex it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to. But this wasn’t a party, and I really didn’t want to cry. I had done it too much, too openly. There wasn’t anywhere private for me though, not even my own body. So here I was, stark raving mad but utterly convinced of defeat. When you slowly lose control of yourself at a party with too many drinks, or running over black ice and suddenly feeling no traction for your tires, you can run the gamut of emotions in a split second. Even profound hangovers tend to make you question what you are doing with your life, if you’ve somehow lost control over yourself one too many times.

But this…this was a whole new level of loss. This wasn’t a glass of milk, a balloon you lost hold of, or even a puppy that had run away. No, this was down right torture. It was the gradual desensitisation of any semblance of having control. And it was absolute bullshit. Whoever “adopted” me was rightly aware of the nature of their purchase–unless every kid came with a remote control these days. But you’d think a manual would be published first.

There I was, lying down on my back staring up into space as deafening silenced roared through the room. You know the kind…everyone’s mingling, then someone begins to shout and quarrel or a really amusing drunk does something utterly stupid, yet awesomely amazing and everyone just stops and stares, wonderment in their eyes.

It seemed like an eternity. I was in a play pen wearing a hello kitty t-shirt not fit for more than a playful thirteen year old, and a pair of ruffliscious plastic pants with a built in skirt. Never mind the diaper underneath. Oh, and when I wanted to complain I had found it most convenient to suck on my pacifier. This wasn’t what I had in mind after graduating high school. If I were Valedictorian my farewell speech would not include diapers and pacifiers unless I was speaking of the joys of parenting. I had no clue what I was to do, but two things were clear: I had been drugged by someone, chipped, and brought forth to some distant land. And secondly, I could only wait for a proper time to make my escape. I had to build trust with these people, to take on the roll with glee lying through my teeth. Or better put, pacifier.

Realizing I had just uncoiled the raw truth that I was set up in advanced to be here by someone I knew (one is to believe, though I hoped it wasn’t true.) and the fact my only option was to comply I really didn’t feel much like the seventeen year old woman I used to be. And perhaps out of homage or tribute to my undeniable status as Pampered Princess, I slipped into a fetal position weeping, and wetting myself. That was how the silence had to end, there was just no other way.

The woman came to my aid, asking what had occurred. They explained that I had slipped and hit my head, and that I seemed fine for a few minutes until I began crying. The woman stepped into the confines of the play pen and coddled me, running her fingers through my hair. I was still crying, bubbling snot laden spit. Sometimes when you want to feel angry, you can’t. Your anger muscle has tired and nothing you can do will bring it back until it’s rested up.

“I wet myself,” was the only thing that came to mind. It was sort of a normal response, a response a three year old might have when they had been doing so well with being trained in the day time. The threat of having to wear diapers looming overhead, you try earnestly to stay dry and out of them. But unlike that ever happening to a three year old, it apparently happens to seventeen year olds just the same.

“Can I help change her?!” The girl, called Tera, asked way too enthused.

“Oh, me too!” An as yet defined blond was just as anxious.

The woman looked down at my twinkling eyes and I shook my head no, fearful of such an event ever occurring. Perhaps she wasn’t totally out to break me because she went with me on this one. “Not today girls, she’s had a rough week.”

Shortly thereafter I was ceremoniously lead upstairs for a private diaper change, this time there was no fuss and I wasn’t paralyzed. It’s quite funny when your life can quickly become fraught with such little pleasures as being able to stay mobile when some strange woman needs to change the diaper she keeps you in.

“Thank you,” I said to her.

“Of course baby girl, you’ll never get diaper rash on my watch! I promise.” She smiled down at me with a radiance that could be described as love. As sick and demented as that love was, you can’t help but feel some sort of endearment. Not that I was getting any softer, it’s just not hard to notice such things.

“No, I didn’t mean that. Thanks for not letting them diaper me.”

The woman nodded. “Ah, yes, I understand. You’re still new at this.”

I tried not to glower at her, but it occurred all the same. “You knew all along I wasn’t some baby.”

The woman sighed as she taped up my new diaper. I stood up and helped her pull the skirt thing over me again. “Listen, all you should care about is that you’re in a loving household with people who will dote over you for the rest of your life.”

She handed me a bottle of formula, a little less warm than before. I could barely tell through the mittens. “You know this isn’t fair. I had a life.”

“That’s true,” the woman said leading me over towards the crib. “But like you said, you had that life. Now you have this one. The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”

I was helped up into bed again, the cage was erected around me in no time flat. She was getting good. I laid their, suckling on the teat like it was just an average afternoon. The woman had shut the window after the screen incident, locking it with some sort of key. Without the fresh breeze it was very easy to smell the powder and oils and all the trappings of babyhood, wafting in the air. Still though, not entirely unpleasant. And after awhile your sense of smell kinda deadens.

“Is she sleeping?! Can I see?!” The three girls were passing by my nursery presumably towards Darla’s room. They opened up the door ever so slowly, I stared at them wide eyed. But soon, my eye lids were feeling heavy again and I wanted to sleep. I dropped the bottle, found the pacifier, snuggled a stuffed koala, and pulled a blanket over me.

The girls cooed but staid outside of the nursery, their ability to touch me from that far away was nil so I wasn’t edgy this time. In fact, I relished my nursery as I laid there suckling away at the paci. Even the crib cage, which was once my oppressor was now my saviour. They weren’t going to bother me while I was sleeping.


I awoke later in the evening, but refused to come down to eat dinner. After the battle of wills, the woman politely agreed to disagree with me and paralyzed my sudden diet-stricken self. “Now,” she said as the approached. “I can either get the girls or your father to help me carry you to your high chair, or you can come with me. Your choice.” She relinquished control, and I moved to the floor as quickly as possible. “That’s much easier, huh?”

She patted my bottom a few times as we travelled down stairs, and eventually I found myself eating pizza with the help of any particular girl. The blond was named Gwen, I learned. While this was humiliating, it was better than being changed by them. Also, those damned mittens.

After dinner shortly came a bath for me, and an unyielding adult washing me as if I were but a babe. It was the more taxing events of my life, but I had to wonder if I had a “rough week” exactly how long I had been out before awaking in the crib two nights ago. It dawned on me that getting chipped may not be your garden variety in-and-out Emergency Room procedure, besides the fact a client (in this case, a crazy family…who are otherwise sane, it seemed.) to pick me out as the one they would wilfully take home and baby.“How long was I here before I came to? Where did you adopt me?”

The woman finished rubbing no-cry baby shampoo into my scalp (a very pleasurable experience, I’ll admit. I always love it when I get my hair styled.) and seemed adrift as if deciding what she was supposed to say. Obviously, it wasn’t supposed to be the complete truth. “You arrived here that night, you were in a hospital out for about two days and in line for rift tripping. Once your turn was up, you came through and we were waiting practically on the other side.”

“Why me? Doesn’t it bother you I have parents somewhere crying their eyes out unaware of the whereabouts of their only daughter?” I sat still as water came rolling over my head.

The woman smiled. “We picked you out three weeks in advanced, then they took care of getting you for us. And I’m not bothered really, they don’t love you as much as I do.”

This woman was nuts. She didn’t know my mother, and her husband was co-conspirator in grand theft me.

I would try and fall asleep that night, fitfully. Even after I finished the formula, which I swear is spiked with sedatives. Who did this to me? My boyfriend? Some girl who had it out for me? A best friend with an absurdly horrible sense of humor? My…parents? The list of suspects were numerous, although it could have been a completely random event somehow.

I just wanted to know. And I wanted them to pay. I wanted them to know what it was like to be subjected to the trappings of toddlerdom once again. Do you think it was funny now? Was it worth the money you earned as a finders fee? Can it buy your way back out of diapers? I was livid, again. Seems like that anger muscle had rested plenty enough.

It almost propelled enough adrenaline to counteract the sedatives. I imagined myself as the female hulk, growing stronger and greener by the second. Any minute the satin night gown she had put me back in would shred, as well as the locking plastic pants. I don’t know why those were there, it wasn’t like I had actually tried to undiaper myself since the first incident. Having the power to electronically evacuate my bowels really puts a damper on being out of them, although the look on her face as crap stains the carpet might be worth it. It was a smile-inducing thought…a maniacal smile, at that. But only a smile.

I did find myself voiding easier each time, at least in the pee department. I imagined number two wasn’t far behind. And that scared me…would it eventually become such an intimate and natural response that I would find myself wet or messy wondering when it had happened? How likely was it that big girl pants were in my future again? The thought careened through my mind, bouncing from face to suspicious face. Who were you? Who did this to me?

I ejected the bottle through the crib bars well enough, it hit a pink lamp knocking it to the nursery floor with a carpet dampened thud. I threw out the pacifier, the kola bear, and anything else that wasn’t productive to a good nights sleep. I tried to tear at the plastic pants, but that was no use. Oh, those god dammed mittens. Rising to my knees I grabbed the top of the crib cage and rattled as hard as I could. “This is crazy! You guys are sick people, you need help!” The woman was hearing all this through the baby monitor and it wasn’t before long she took the opportunity to press the damned remote. How far did that thing go, anyway?

I was convulsing, crapping, peeing…foaming. I sat back up and rattled more. “You’ve got to let me go!” Another convulsion, this time slighter. I still felt my sphincters relax, quiver…buzz. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. You know that feeling–trying to make it to the toilet, only to find your body has other things in mind. It’s just a weird feeling.

Finally, after she figured out that I wasn’t being shocked to hell any longer by poorly calibrated equipment I dropped like dead weight on to my side in a none too comfortable position. I would remain there for at least an hour. Within that hour, it seemed like every five minutes or so–I’d be subjected to more sphincter contractions. It could have been her, but it felt all too well timed for it to be haphazard. Did that thing have an auto switch?

She entered my nursery and made haste changing me, then movement came back. “I hope you’re going to behave yourself young lady,” she said as she popped the pacifier back in my mouth.

I laid back and took it out. “I’ll never forgive you.” There it was again, spasms down below. “And can you turn off that timer?!”

The woman furrowed her brows. “Oh, yes, the chip calibrated. Now that you aren’t being shocked, it’s contracting every five minutes. It’ll continue to do that until the muscles are too weak to respond.”

Turning over, I couldn’t look at her face any more. I couldn’t go to sleep with my body acting this way. And it was only a matter of time before my bladder was the size of a gum ball and I would be sitting down in my own crap without warning. Yep, you guessed it…I cried. Silently, at first. Then sobbed.

The woman sat down and motioned for me to sit on her lap. I did, she produced a bottle of milk and slipped the nipple into my mouth. I began to feel sleepy yet again, even with those damned contractions. I stared off vacantly in space, then closed my eyes. I’m not sure what happened much after, for I awoke the next day wet and without a memory as to being tucked back in. I had dreamed that night that I was valedictorian, but ran away mid speech as pee ran down my leg. Laughter had erupted around me just before I had come to.

Re: The Trade

Here’s the rest of it. Sorry for cursing, hope it’s not too harsh for some. I’ll edit if it is.

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As one might imagine with such regular reverse keggaling it didn’t take long for those muscles to eventually stop, or perhaps twinge slightly every once in awhile. Usually, though, I would now find my diaper growing wet and unable to stop it. As time wore on I would wet or mess in rather large quantities, but now I’m way passed the butt in the air stage or the baring down vacant stare. Now the wettings are smaller, more frequent. And exponentially less noticeable, just as the messing. Six months in I was now quite complacent with diaperings, and even mitten free.

During this time I have endured lots of diaperings by lots of people, and now I wasn’t at all spooked by walking around a store in that cute Hello Kitty skirt combo. I also attended a summer camp just for teen babies, who apparently make up a wide demographic on the population pie chart. I spent most of the time in the day room, watching random stuff on television. It became even more random when no one was around and I had discovered the v-chip pin hidden oh so cleverly on the inside panel of the battery compartment.

The staff encouraged me to join in during productions, arts and crafts, you name it. They made sure I was with the group during nap time. Most of the kids here were unlike me…in fact, I had yet to find a single misanthropic grand theft person case. So, as you might imagine, being the only angrily diapered person there was quite isolating.

I learned a lot through the television. Your culture comes clear through what you choose to entertain yourself with or the news you generate. Turns out, teen babies were overwhelmingly common. In fact I had yet to see an undiapered teen or child, except for this one show. But that kid’s always the odd one out, and it’s apparently funny to not like being babied. Sort of some weird ancient asian meme that doesn’t really make sense but then again it kinda does if you’re standing in a group of people just as confused as you are.

Also, lots of ads for adopting children. And if you saw through thinly veiled wording you’d wonder if this wasn’t the same agency that conjured me through the gates of hell and into the jaws of a doting mother plugging my mouth with a bottle as she sings a lullaby to me. Normally, I’d be the kind of girl to just roll over and admit defeat. After all, my mother was French. Worse still, my father was Italian. It’s one of those ironic factoids no sane person comes up with until they’ve accidentally inhaled. Puff, puff, cough, far out man.

But, at this stage of the story I’m still edgy underneath it all. Seething with stress, marinating in madness. Obviously, things change somewhere down the line for the better. I am writing this to share with anyone who will listen, so some freedoms are gained. Or perhaps I did break free. But I’m jumping ahead and spoilers are bad fodder for backtracking.

Slightly halfway through the three week stint of baby camp came this little ray of bleach blond stupid sunshine wondering why I was always off by myself. She even implied the other kids thought something was wrong with me. I told her to mind her own business and she questioned why I was deliberately pushing everyone away.

At this point I told her she should have gone to psychology school so she could have people pay her to be nosey, and I stood up, now walking away out towards a bench. No one was around, and she followed me.

“Look, I don’t know what the problem is but you’re just plain rude. I just want to get to know more about you.” There she was, still following me around. Was she the paparazzi or something?

I didn’t know how to react. You see, my condition from the neck up wasn’t what it used to be. So…I punched her. I mean cold cocked right in the face, giving her a black eye and a bloody nose. I stared at my hand and felt my knuckles, the rush was so exhilarating but I hadn’t seen it coming. Oh well, if people think I’m some psycho I’ll give it to them. “There, go tell all your little girl friends and boy friends you don’t need to know anything about me!” Trampling off it wasn’t before long that I was cornered by the camp staff, questioned, then detained only to be escorted to social services the next day.

I think I heard something about a lawsuit.

I don’t know what was going through my mind then, but this is where I met a guy named Greg who was to be my counsellor. He was the kind of middle aged guy you might consider a creeper if put into the wrong context. But oddly enough he was so mellow his happy ass was pretty tolerable to be around. I was asked a series of questions, even shown those ink blot pictures where you’re supposed to guess what they were. Supposedly there’s no wrong answer, but I could never be too sure. I usually shrug and say it looks like someone spilt coffee on a piece of paper. Really dark coffee, even.

That’s what I did then, and the dude didn’t even budge. He then asked how I was feeling and I told him that with all due respect it was the most banal question ever uttered by anyone ever. At this point Greg sits his pad of paper down and leans forward towards me. “Laura, this isn’t going to work if you don’t want my help.”

So, in roughly ten minutes I expressed my discontent for the last few months. But he was unaffected by my plight, only concerned that I was misbehaving and that was bad so if I continued to misbehave they were going to have to do something with me.

My parents were flippant upon picking me up. The doctor prescribed these antidepressants for yours truly, which turned out to taste a lot like Flintstones chewables. It didn’t really help, but I was more determined than ever to escape. Not to mention find out who did this to me.

When I got home the baby treatment only seemed to pick up, near to the point of seeming forced. I mean, forced by the parents. They were putting in more effort than they normally would, and doing so with a conscious reasoning behind it. Oh, and the mittens returned. That way if I wanted to punch someone again at least it would be an awkward manoeuvre.

So Greg and I became buddies. I saw him once a week for a period, then I saw him every other two. He even tried to get me to go to these functions they held for teen babies. Like supervised bowling alley sleep overs. I respectfully told him to shove the idea up his ass.

“And how is Laura feeling today?” He smiled bright, I sat coiled like a cobra.

“Fine.” I kicked at his desk accidentally, guess I was nervous. Why, I had no clue. And today I happened to be in the baby blue version of that Hello kitty outfit, except the top is Blue’s Clues. Cute, really. Not on me, though.

“Is the medication helping you?” He watched as I shrugged. “Should I up the dose?” Another shrug. “Well, what can I do for you?”

“Can ya overdose me on it? I mean either like put me out of my misery or make me so stupefied I’m drooling?” Oh, damn that mouth of mine.

Greg grew concerned. “You’re not having feelings of suicide are you?”

I shook my head. “Of course not, I wouldn’t give you the pleasure.” I smiled. It was one of those mischievous smiles, but the one you’re only half into. “Tell me, do you and your people get off on humiliating teens and forcing them to suck down juice through sippy cups?”

Dear Greg was looking a little dishevelled. “Well, that’s not really how I see it–and you’re deflecting again, why do you think we do what we do?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a pile of dead babies in your garage or something.”

The color drained from our friend Greg’s face. Not in that way you’ve been discovered, but in that way you wonder if a trash can wouldn’t be an appropriate place to throw up in. He stood up and excused himself, then minutes later the woman stormed into his office and grabbed me up by the wrist.

“He doesn’t want to see you any more, congratulations.” She began pulling me quickly through the crowded social services office, wondering what she was going to do with me. “I swear to god demon child if you don’t shut up I’ll lock that pacifier into your mouth and shove you into your crib, lock that too, and throw away the key until you beg dear Mommy to let you out through the muffled cries of your pacifier.”

That was it. I stopped moving and she turned around, I wanted to try and do the guy punch thing again. But that was a bad tactic, so I grabbed her purse and ran off. I threw it over the railing, although I really wanted to find that remote and smash it. At least it’d take her awhile to catch up with it. In the mean time I was waddling like a bat out of hell.

I didn’t know where I was going or what I was to do, but on my way down the third flight of stairs I got clothes lined by some security guard. That was the end of that.


So far, so bad. That stunt landed me in a mental hospital and solitary confinement. Greg pressed my suicidal thoughts, and I told him to go to hell. He decided I needed to go to the funny farm. It was nice, actually, to have reprieve from the babying. I even got to change myself! Again, the simple pleasures in life.

I kinda wanted to act up enough to stay in, but playing candy land with missing pieces with a guy who always has that one eye staring dead center at you while the other looks around the room just wasn’t my choice of vocations in the long term. So I had to be good in order to get out, then go home to be subjected to more toddler torture and look for an escape route again.

My doctor, a nice lady–about the same age as Greg (I almost missed him), Marissa had tried to talk to me in every conceivable fashion, but even the dead baby thing didn’t get her. My psycho act wasn’t working any more. I had become too relaxed. “All I want to know is who did this to me…I want out…I want to go back to my family,” I explained. I wept openly, the first time in weeks. It felt great.

She didn’t hug me. She kept her professional distance. Kinda why I missed Greg.

“Laura you don’t need to know that,” she insisted. Everyone had insisted.

I yanked at my hair. “You don’t fucking know what it’s like,” I screamed. “No one does!”

Still no hug, but a stack of papers were foisted into my field of vision. There was my adoption paperwork. Both my parents signatures on the contract. Both. And if they were forged it was a pretty accurate presentation. “What the hell?”

Marissa leaned forward to grab my hand delicately, I jerked away. “Laura, there’s an explanation…”

I threw the papers across the room. “Oh yeah? What was that? My parents wanted a pool in the back yard and decided to sell me for investment capital?!”
Abandoned, by my own parents. Not my mom or my dad, but both.

“Your dad had a gambling problem…he borrowed some money and owed. It was you or your whole family, and they obliged for fear of all your lives.” She leaned back and watched me quiver.

“Where are they now? Can’t they get me back?” I watched as Marissa shook her head.

“Sorry sweetie, as far as we know they entered a witness protection program after sitting on the stand for a case against the loan shark.” She stood up and rounded her desk to hug me.

I was broken. This wasn’t fetal position lost, this was down right betrayal–and useless betrayal at that, they’re safe now and I’m still in diapers. So that was it. Not only was I here by my parents will, I was here for no reason. And quite well stuck–they didn’t want me. One hundred percent…well, you know.


So the woman and the man and I seshed a couple of times, discussing the overt treatment I was receiving and so on. They promised to ease off, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. Also, I really couldn’t care any more. If I wasn’t suicidal upon entering, I was now.

Later one night after my last session, I was to be released back into the wild. The thought meant nothing, I had nothing really to go home to except a nursery I didn’t want but actually had begun to miss truth be told. There I was in the back of the minivan in pajamas, though obviously diapered. Marissa had entrusted me with my prescription in a gesture meant to give me more adult responsibility. While the parents were busy telling me that everything was going to be different now I slyly popped open the bottle of Prozac for Kids Chewables and downed it.

After several minutes my stomach began to gurgle and I felt woozy, almost as if I were going to puke. I passed out before that, my blood pressure dropping to a lower number by the minute. The parents thought I was asleep until the empty bottle fell from my hands. They U-Turned to a hospital and had my stomach pumped, I ended up on suicide watch when I came to again.

I suppose before the ugly truth was presented to me I might have settled down if the babying dropped to line noise. But after being abandoned it just didn’t seem worth it any more.

Fate took another direction for me. On the third day of watch I fell asleep, when I awoke the next morning I was in some sort of black harness thing, a feeding tube straight to my mouth was the only sensation besides the air hitting my uncovered nostrils. I couldn’t see until a video began to play in front of my eyes, it turned out to be that odd show “Mikey Doesn’t Like It”-- except watching several episodes, unable to move, you eventually find out he tries being a baby for a weekend and loves it so much he doesn’t stop.

What an unrealistic show.

Then there were these interviews of people like me–somehow they always ended up saying they’re glad they were adopted. I’d still call it kidnapping. The settings and scenes tended to be different. Not everyone had an unhappy prom. But the results generally were the same, and they encouraged everyone who was facing the hardships of their diapered reality to just relax and go on with life the best you can, it’s really great anyway. No more pesky running off to the bathroom, and you didn’t even have to put in the effort to feed yourself if you weren’t inclined. In a way, I was special, or so they wanted me to believe.

At first when faced with the realization someone has incapacitated you for brainwashing purposes kicks in, you’re pissed. But if you have any will left by the second week, you’re probably insane anyway. I know I was by then. Hours of shows ticked by, of programming. Mush would come down the tube, I’d swallow. Then liquid. Then mush. A diaper change but you’re still watching videos. If I tried to yell they end up giving me more mush or liquid, I’m way too busy putting it into my stomach to scream.

Just when I had begun to assume the hospital was a dream and I had passed on to Hell for real, I awoke one day in a familiar place. My crib–but the lid wasn’t latched. At first I was disoriented–I’m not the kind of girl to wake up in strange places often. But I guess I am now. I was happy to be free but could barely move. It was day light out, but the curtains covered much of the light. I was down for a nap. The woman came in humming a song, noting I’m awake and offered me some cookies and juice. In a sippy cup, admittedly, but I got to feed myself. It was a small victory. “Thank you, Mommy.”

That’s right, I finally gave The Woman satisfaction. I called her Mom.

Re: The Trade

End didn’t turn out how I preferred, but it was a good story nevertheless.

Re: The Trade

Thanks WriteAndLeft…how would you have liked to see it end? ???

Re: The Trade

I was kind of hoping she would eventually get away. Don’t change on my account. There are award winning stories that don’t have a HEA (happily ever after) ending. I prefer HEA. A story doesn’t need a HEA ending to be good.

Re: The Trade

s’alright. I may add more or do another similar story, but when that may occur I dunno.

Re: The Trade

I loved the story, I thought she would get away for good, but as a whole the story is very well executed.

Re: The Trade

I was sketchy on this story after part 1, where the non-consentual “adoption” was pushing my buttons. I like in the remaining parts seeing Laura try to overcome her captors; like WriteAndLeft I was expecting/hoping she’d escape and get back to her own life. I like overcoming the odds, so Laura giving in after they go Clockwork Orange on her… damn. But definitely it’s a valid ending, so don’t change it on my account. I think you did a good job with it.

Re: The Trade

Thanks guys. Like I said, may revisit the theme again from a different perspective. Glad you liked it, even with it’s short comings.

Re: The Trade

Not bad, the one I didn’t like was that the ending seams rushed a bit.