by: Thediapereddevil | Story In Progress | Last updated Jun 1, 2025
Chapter Description: Jack awakes and he's in for some horrible surprises. His new "Daddy" is eager to explain. Tags: ABDL, Diapers, Kidnapping, Forced Feminization, Forced Regression, Bondage, Body Modification, and Humiliation.
Something foul-smelling jolted Jack awake. His eyes burned from the sudden brightness of the room, and as he instinctively inhaled, he panicked as he felt an item lodged in his mouth. Disoriented, he tried to raise his hands to his face, only to discover they were completely restrained as, apparently, was the rest of his body. He couldn’t even unclench his fingers.
Blinking
furiously, he breathed hard and fast through his nose whilst he tried to make
sense of his surroundings. He heard movement - someone else was nearby.
“Aww, look
at the little baby, she’s finally awake!”
Jack
turned toward the voice, squinting at the figure standing close to him.
“Well,
nearly anyway. I’ll give you a minute,” the man spoke with a flamboyant,
Germanic accent, but was obscured by shadow.
As the
fuzziness began to fade from Jack’s vision, he noticed a ringlet of hair
hanging in front of his face, partially obscuring his view. He tried to move,
to speak, but whatever was lodged in his mouth acted as an effective gag.
He still felt
disorientated. His mind felt foggy, like he was surfacing from a deep, drugged
sleep. Still, he tried to piece together how he’d ended up here - wherever here
was. Fragments of memory flittered back to him: the walk to the park, the car
ride…but everything after that was a blur.
Jack began
to look around at what little he could see from his current position. The room
was dim, lit only by a harsh, bright light directly overhead. The walls and
floor appeared to be made of dull, grey concrete, but the rest of the space was
difficult to make out in the gloom. He could the man opening and closing cupboard
doors, and the rattle of utensils.
He
wriggled, testing his restraints, but couldn’t budge. It felt like he was
strapped into a dentist’s chair. Something thick was wrapped tightly around his
head, and a gag of some sort was wedged into his mouth, forcing his lips into a
permanent pucker around the intruder. A stiff collar restricted the movement of
his neck, making even the act of looking down an effort. Looking down, all he
could see were thick straps crossing over his chest and some sort of glossy,
pink bodysuit clinging to his torso.
Opposite
him, a camera was mounted on a tripod, its lens angled down at his restrained
form. Watching. Recording. As he
strained against the restraints, he felt the ache and stiffness of muscles that
had been idle for too long.
“Oh,
that’s long enough. I can tell you are confused - maybe this will help.”
The man
moved behind him and flicked a switch. With a mechanical whir, the chair
shifted, slowly raising Jack into an upright position. A moment later, the man
disappeared back into the shadows, only to return wheeling over a large mirror.
Jack
stared, horrified.
Confirming
his suspicions, he could now see that he was strapped into what looked like a
medical chair, restrained at multiple points along his arms, legs, and torso.
But far more shocking was what lay beneath the straps - he had been transformed
into something that, to his horror, resembled a twisted version of a baby doll.
Bizarre pink PVC baby booties with white
plastic frills encased his feet. Pink leather straps wrapped around his ankles,
keeping the booties secured, and tiny padlocks ensured they could not be
removed. Pale rose stockings adorned with little love hearts climbed up his
legs, ending at his upper thighs. Close to his privates, a pair of
semi-translucent plastic pants peeked out from beneath a glossy pink PVC
romper.
The romper covered his body from his chest
down to his groin, but it bulged awkwardly at the crotch, forcing his legs
apart. He didn’t need to see what lay underneath - he knew that in addition to
the plastic pants, he’d been thickly diapered. The PVC clung to his form with a
stiff sheen, the bright pink material adorned at the centre with a white love
heart, boldly lettered in pastel: "BABY
SLAVE." White plastic
frills jutted from the cuffs, and the sleeves puffed outward like something
from an outdated princess costume.
His hairless arms, ended in mittens made of
the same pink PVC and white frills. Like his booties, these too were locked on
with leather straps and small padlocks. He tried once again to flex his fingers
but found his hands immobilized - clenched into soft, useless fists, padded and
stuffed to render them completely ineffective.
Around his neck, a pink leather collar
decorated with heart motifs was fastened snugly. It was embossed with pastel
baby blocks that spelled out the word "ABI".
But by far the most shocking discovery was
his face. A huge pacifier gag, glittery pink and festooned with sparkling
decorations, was strapped tightly over his mouth. The leather straps securing
it mirrored those of his ankle and wrist restraints. Behind the bulb, he could
just glimpse the outline of his lips dyed a pastel pink and feeling unnaturally
sore and bloated. His entire face was covered in an exaggerated layer of
makeup: bright blush smeared across his cheeks and nose, fake freckles dotted
haphazardly over his skin, and thick false eyelashes glued awkwardly to his
lids. His eyebrows were gone - shaved clean - and replaced with drawn-on
arches.
The ringlets he had noticed earlier were seemingly
part of his own hair, styled into bouncy curls, though he couldn't tell how
much was real under the oversized PVC baby bonnet that now crowned his head.
Jack didn’t just look like a baby…he looked like a joke. A doll. A
toy.
He tried
to scream, to shout through the pacifier, muffled, panicked, frantic. Mewling
noises escaped, but they only drew delighted laughter from the shadows.
“Oh yes,
this is good… Abi’s first tantrum...” the man cooed as he strolled over to the
tripod and detached the camera, his voice lilting with theatrical amusement.
“Ja, we’re
going to have to expect a few of these as Abi adjusts to her new lifestyle,” he
added, circling Jack slowly, angling the camera to zoom in on his tear-streaked
face.
Jack was
trembling, his body wracked with sobs. Genuine terror bled through the muffled
cries and squeals escaping his gag. He couldn’t stop shaking. As the man moved
under the overhead light, Jack finally got a clearer look at him.
He was
tall and slender, with short-cropped hair streaked with bleach-blonde
highlights and long manicured nails for a man. He wore a tight, faded black
T-shirt that clung to his frame and showed off the tattoos on his arms. His
skinny jeans were worn and frayed, chains dangling casually from the pockets.
Piercings decorated his nose and ears, and his eyebrows were carefully shaped
and trimmed. Though his face was softened by light makeup, signs of age still
peeked through: crow’s feet, tired eyes, deepening smile lines. There was
nothing overtly remarkable about his alternative style in isolation, but
something about him radiated a kind of sinister eccentricity.
There was
something strangely soft about his features - features that, in a different
context, Jack might have found gentle. But the way he grinned, the glint in his
eye, the sickly-sweet mockery in his tone - it all twisted his appearance into
something sinister. He looked unhinged. Predatory. Psychotic.
“Oh,
crying? Poor Abi is crying,” the man taunted in a sing-song tone. “It’s okay,
it’s okay, little girl. You’ve been asleep for a while - we expected this to be
emotional.”
Jack
couldn’t contain it anymore. He was bawling, his gag muffling the choked sobs
that wracked his chest. His mind spiralled as he stared at his reflection,
listened to this lunatic, and tried to comprehend the full weight of what was
happening. It was all so deeply wrong.
Adding to
it all he was keenly aware that body didn’t feel right.
He was
sore all over - as if he’d been unconscious for days. His limbs ached, his
muscles felt weak and foreign, and there was a strange numbness to his lips.
Worse still were the unfamiliar sensations emerging from below. His penis and
testicles felt strange, as if they were confined and there was an aching
pressure inside him, a dull, stretched discomfort from his rear. He didn’t know
what had been done to him, but everything felt so messed up.
As Jack
squirmed helplessly, the man placed the camera back onto the tripod, apparently
satisfied with his close-ups.
“Abi, you
must be so confused…” he said with a long, theatrical sigh, his voice laced
with exaggerated sympathy.
“…You
probably noticed, I am not the Daddy you met, he’s just getting things ready
for you. Daddy Tom will be back soon though. You can call me Daddy Eli. And
aren’t you just the luckiest little girl to have two daddies? I know, I know… we had to be a tiny bit
deceitful. But really, Schnucki, were you not doing the same to others? Lying,
manipulating, hurting people?” He turned toward the camera and muttered
something in German, followed by an insincere laugh.
His gaze
snapped back to Jack.
“Well, let
me make this clear: from this moment on, your daddies are everything.
Your world. Your keepers. Your masters.” The sarcastic teasing tone had stopped,
replaced by a cold, controlling voice. Jack kept his eyes shut as ‘Daddy’
Eli talked, hoping this was all a nightmare.
Eli,
noticing Jack’s refusal to look at him, stepped forward and seized his jaw with
manicured fingers, squeezing hard enough to make him wince, forcing him to face
him.
“We decide
when you eat. When you sleep. When you wake up. What goes in your mouth, and
what comes out. How you spend every single second of your day. Who you are.
Everything. You don’t function without us anymore.” He was only a few
centimetres from Jacks face as he delivered those words, pausing at the end to
let them sink in. Jack whimpered with a pitiful, guttural sound.
“Now what
about you? You were such a bad, rotten little thing. A disgusting….” The man
briefly released his face as he broke off into what Jack could only guess were
slurs from the venomous tone delivered in his native tongue.
“Now
though…now you get to start fresh. As Baby Abi.” He said the name like he was
delivering a sentence.
He reached
down, gripping Jack’s jaw once more, this time turning his face toward the
mirror.
“We even
dressed you for your debut. Isn’t that precious?” His voice mocked empathy, but
his nails dug into Jacks cheeks as he spoke.
“From now
on, I decide how you’re presented to the world. Get used to this look,
sweetheart. Because this?” He tapped the mirror glass with one finger. “This is
your truth now. And I think you know that. Look closer - does it seem…
familiar?”
Jack
stared at the reflection. Somewhere in the frazzled corners of his mind, the
outfit sparked recognition. One of the many rompers he’d claimed to want. One
of the many lies he’d told to get what he wanted. Now, he was wearing it.
“Ja, don’t
worry we have a good idea of all the outfits you picked out. You are probably also
feeling a bit sore under your padding huh? Don’t worry about that we can talk
about it when you get a change, but you will have to prove you can behave to
earn one.” After months in the community Jack could guess what the man wanted.
He struggled to comprehend what he meant about the soreness though.
“You know, I was pleased to see you kept your
hair long. It makes it so much easier to bring Abi - the new you - to life. I
hope you like what I’ve done with it…”
The man slowly began undoing the straps beneath Jack’s chin, releasing the
ridiculous bonnet that had kept his head bound. As soon as it came free, Jack’s
hair seemed to spring loose from its confined state.
The humiliations kept coming. With slow,
almost tender movements, the man ran his fingers through Jack’s curls,
smoothing and arranging them like he was playing dress-up with a doll.
“…Ah, bonnet head. Honestly, your hair is
such a pleasure to work with. I’m going to enjoy trying out all sorts of styles
on you. For now, a little perm felt most appropriate. Cute, no?”
Jack stared at his reflection, horrified. He
saw a hollow mockery of a man turned into something soft and obscene. His
masculinity erased with nothing but a makeover, a hairstyle, and that absurd
outfit.
“Don’t worry, I’m a real professional.” the
man continued cheerfully. “I’ll make sure you always look beautiful. You’ve got
a good foundation to work from…though there’s always room for improvement.”
He moved back to Jack’s head, fingers finding the buckles of the pacifier gag.
Jack felt the tight straps begin to loosen.
“Ja, I think you might be a bit sore,” the
man added, “but just in case - if I hear anything but widdle baby talk,
this goes right back in.”
His patronising tone made it clear: he knew Jack wasn’t going to comply, but he’d
enjoy the performance no less.
As the gag was finally eased from his mouth,
Jack caught sight of the pacifier bulb. It was ridiculously oversized, even more
so than the last one he’d been forced to use, and now glistened with saliva.
The man held it up triumphantly, letting Jack see just how absurd it looked.
But the real shock hit a moment later. Jack
caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, of his lips, and recoiled. They had
swollen to nearly double their size, and were dyed a soft, unnatural pastel
pink.
Up until now, the makeover, the hair, and the outfit all felt like part of some
twisted performance, something he could escape eventually. But this… this
seemed permanent. The pain, the soreness around his mouth, it wasn’t just from
the gag.
His lips looked like pillows. Artificial.
Embarrassingly huge.
Something had been done to him.
His reflection stared back, unblinking. A
stranger’s face in his skin.
Such was
the shock Jack was in, that any attempts to coherently plead with the man went
out of the window. It was the last straw. Everything hurt. The stifling outfit
clung to him tightly, suffocating and hot. His limbs throbbed with pain every
time he tried to struggle against the restraints. His jaw was stiff, his lips
radiated a dull, pulsing ache, and his head felt foreign - weighted down by
long eyelashes and the unnatural bounce of styled curls. And then there were
the awful, unfamiliar sensations coming from his groin and rectum - an
ever-present reminder that something had been done to him, something invasive
and humiliating.
For the
next minute, Jack wasn’t really present as he fell into an impotent tantrum.
He
screamed. He sobbed. He wailed and begged incoherently, the word “please”
spilling from his mouth over and over between gasping, choked cries.
Just
moments ago, he’d tried to think of what he could say - how to reason with the
man, how to curse him, threaten him, bargain. But now? None of that was left.
Were his
lips permanently altered? What else had they done to him? What else were they
planning?
Even Eli
was caught off guard. He had expected rage, some pleading, maybe a few tears- but
this complete, uncontrollable collapse? He had perhaps underestimated just how
deeply mortified “Abi” would be at seeing her new look.
"Eesh, we’ll have to cut this," Eli
muttered as he walked over to the camera. Abi continued to sob, her face
streaked with snot and smeared makeup, saliva dripping from her lips. The man
noticed she was struggling to close her mouth properly; her speech was slurred,
her jaw slack. Her voice, still unmistakably male, grated harshly - but that,
he thought, could be worn down with time.
“Ja, okay Abi, I expected all of this. Well…
maybe not something quite this pathetic.” He spoke casually, almost amused, his
voice rising over her broken murmurs. She was crying more softly now, mumbling
about her lips, her face. He figured he’d let her burn it all out before
silencing her again with the pacifier.
“Wow. You’re really going to fall apart over
a perm and a bit of filler, huh baby? My god.” He chuckled, but there was no
warmth in it. “You need to understand something - you're going to be here for a
long time. This? This is nothing. I know everything you’ve promised people. Every
little manipulation, every lie. We’re going to make all of it real. And if you
don’t play along… things will get worse.”
His tone was flat, matter-of-fact.
Abi tried to listen, tried to quiet herself,
to swallow her sobs and find some thread of control. She wanted to speak - needed to - but Eli
had already turned his back, fussing with something just out of sight.
After a few long seconds and a few shallow
breaths, she managed to rasp a question:
“W-where… am I?”
Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper,
her throat raw and dry. Eli turned to her then, and just for a fleeting moment,
something like pity flickered across his face. But it was gone just as quickly.
Mercy, whatever version she had been hoping
for, was not on the table.
He returned holding a baby bottle filled with
clear liquid. Abi eyed it with suspicion. Faint memories stirred - something
about the moments before she blacked out.
“You’re dehydrated. Don’t fight it. It’s just
water,” he said evenly.
He could see her hesitate, could sense the
doubt in her wide, wet eyes. But when he raised the bottle to her lips, she
didn’t resist. Despite everything, despite the fear tightening in her chest,
she opened her mouth and accepted the nipple without a word.
“Good
girl. Since you played nice, I’ll answer your question just this once…”
The man held the bottle steady as Abi suckled, desperate to quench her thirst.
“You are
far, far away from your home. In the middle of nowhere, miles from anyone who might
know you, or who might care if you vanished. Where exactly doesn’t matter. What
does matter is that you forget any foolish hope of running or crawling away.
You’re surrounded by fields, forests, and hills. No neighbours to hear you
shout, scream, or cry. You're not going anywhere. And no one is coming to save
you.”
He spoke
with chilling calm. The only sounds were Abi’s soft gulps through the long teat
of the bottle and the quiet rustling of her restraints. She just sat there,
drinking, tears still streaming silently down her cheeks.
It wasn’t
the reaction Eli had expected.
When they
first learned who Jack was, they'd assumed they’d need to break him. Swearing,
biting, kicking, screaming…they were ready for a fight. But now, looking down
at the trembling figure before him - Abi, sucking obediently at the bottle,
avoiding his gaze, crying uncontrollably - he found himself caught with
conflicting emotions.
Part of
him was disappointed. Her earlier outburst had been spectacular, a raw,
explosive tantrum. But now? Was she already submitting? And this was just the
beginning. How would she react once they really started to mess with her?
And yet…
in this moment, something about her struck him. There was something almost
delicate, and beautiful about her - at least, before the snot and screeching.
Not his usual type, no, but he couldn’t deny a flicker of attraction.
They
hadn’t expected Jack to agree to the car ride, let alone drink the drugged
bottle. Both Thomas and he had quietly wondered whether the young man was
feeling genuine guilt, especially as they discussed their “success” on the
phone with him strapped in the backseat, half lucid and whining.
It didn’t
matter. They had made a pact long before this: Jack’s conscience, his
apologies, his state of mind didn’t matter. None of it changed what he’d done,
or who they believed he really was. They would carry on with their revenge, no
matter how accepting or guilt ridden he was.
After Jack passed out, the operation moved
quickly. Thomas carried out the kidnapping with cold efficiency: swapping
number plates, switching vehicles with a prepped getaway car, and carefully
fitting Jack into a custom compartment beneath the rear seats, padded to avoid
detection.
Then came the long journey home.
Surprisingly, the ferry crossing and
subsequent border checks passed without incident. But for Eli, the wait was
agonising - the silence stretching endlessly as he paced, dreading the worst,
until finally the call came: the all-clear.
By the time Thomas arrived at the house,
everything was in place. Every lock, every camera, every prop they’d need to
begin the transformation.
In just over a day, his partner had turned
weeks of planning into reality and delivered the object of their hateful
obsession, drugged, helpless, and ready to be remade.
Now, as Eli
watched the girl in front of him - not Jack, Abi - drain the bottle
without protest, he felt a strange stillness settle over him. She wasn’t
fighting. Just soft, shuddering breaths between gulps of water. After all that
planning, all those elaborate contingencies, she was… compliant.
She
looks almost peaceful like this,
he thought, tilting his head. The flushed cheeks. The pink lips. The lowered
gaze. She looked like the beginning of the doll they wanted. Not yet perfect.
Not yet finished. But close.
Still, he
reminded himself, appearances could deceive. He exchanged the empty bottle for
another and watched her take it without hesitation.
Compliant
or not, she hadn’t yet seen what they truly had in store.
Better to
stay vigilant.
“My, my,
you’re going to be filling that big diaper in no time, huh?”
Jack
stared up at him. The tears had slowed, the sobbing faded, replaced by shallow
breaths as he suckled the last of the water. He hadn’t cared what the drink was
in, whether it be a baby bottle, a sippy cup, whatever - nor whether it was
drugged. He had been too desperate, too parched to resist. But now, with his
thirst momentarily quenched, he felt the fog in his head beginning to lift.
He’d been
kidnapped. Drugged. Presumably smuggled into another country or equally far
away. Transformed into some infantilized parody of himself by a man who treated
his pleading like the babble of a toddler. It was deranged. All of it.
And it
wasn’t over. Not even close.
Jack
couldn’t begin to understand how this had all spun out of control, or how some
lost money had led to this. It was psychotic. Still despite his current
weakened and ensnared state he had the presence of mind to now try and stay
calm. He had to think clearly. Assess the full extent of the hell he was
trapped in. Because if he didn’t, if he lost himself again, they’d win. And
whatever this man had planned for him next… he had to find a way out before this
went further.
Fibs and Fumbles
by: Thediapereddevil | Story In Progress | Last updated Jun 1, 2025
Stories of Age/Time Transformation