Fibs and Fumbles

Chapter 8
Ch 8 Welcome to your new home

Chapter Description: "Abi" is shown around her new home and is forced to endure a traumatic first feeding time. Tags: ABDL, Diapers, Kidnapping, Forced Feminization, Forced Regression, Bondage, Body Modification, Forced Feeding and Humiliation

Abi had never felt so weak or ridiculous as when she was carried out of the basement.

She fought to suppress the intrusive, futile thoughts of resistance to express the frustration churning inside her. If she could just spit out the pacifier, maybe she could sink her teeth into the man. If her hands were free of the mittens, she might try to claw at him. But in her restrained state, with her comparatively slight frame, all she could do was cling to him with her arms around him, and his hands on her padded rear and back.

Emerging from the basement, Abi was given a tour of her new prison. She assumed they had entered the foyer, as she caught a fleeting glimpse of what looked like the front door over the broad shoulder of her now heavily breathing Daddy. It was difficult to make sense of her surroundings, given her complete lack of control over her movement and position, but she gathered that the basement access was only a few metres from the main entrance, separated by a narrow hallway.

From there, they carried her down the hall, past a staircase leading upward, and into a large open-plan living space. Twisting in his grip, trying to orient herself, Abi’s attention was immediately drawn to a massive, fenced enclosure filled with oversized toys and stuffed animals - her new playpen, Daddy Eli cheerfully announced.

It wasn’t wholly unexpected. Given the performance so far, she had guessed that they might’ve invested in the kind of abdl fantasist furnishings she’d researched in her previous life. However, seeing it in person, as part of her new reality, was still a shock.  The fully equipped, adult-sized playpen instilled in her a sense of foreboding for what was to come.

Daddy Eli had reverted to teasing Abi again, gleefully zooming in with the camera—alternating between her stunned expression and lingering shots of her plush “playmates.” She couldn’t understand his German entirely, but some words stood out. Notably, the giant stuffed “Teddybär” propped up in the corner seemed to delight both men.

Balancing awkwardly in Daddy Tom’s arms, Abi tried to steal glances away from the circus in front of her.  The open space seemed to encompass a living room, dining area, and kitchen in one seamless layout. Much of the living room had been sacrificed for Abby’s playpen, but the combined area was still expansive. Within the remaining space was a fireplace, built in storage, closed door, and elevated windows (which Abi noted appeared sturdy and contained locking mechanisms). The finishes gave the room a traditional charm, but the area had seemingly been renovated recently. Unfortunately, the open plan offered no refuge. It was the perfect setup for constant supervision. Privacy, it seemed, would be a luxury she no longer had.

Daddy Tom was finally starting to show signs of fatigue as he nudged Elias to move on. They drifted toward the dining area, which might have been tasteful if not for the monstrous highchair stationed at one end of the table.  It could have passed for a like for like babies’ highchair were it not for the ominous adaptations allowing the user to be restrained, the extended back and the bolted feet preventing it from tipping over. Daddy Eli took particular joy in demonstrating the restraints, proudly describing their purpose for “naughty babies.” Almost as if reacting to the apparatus, Abi’s stomach grumbled. As much as she dreaded the humiliation of being fed like a toddler, she couldn’t deny her hunger. She was half-starved. And she knew, with a sinking certainty, that it was only a matter of time before they tested the chair.

Apparently, at this point in the tour, the theatrics of carrying Abi were no longer deemed necessary. With very little warning, she felt herself being lowered to the ground. Instinctively, she tried to stand - only to immediately dangle from Daddy Tom as the spikes in her booties reminded her, sharply, of her new place. Abi’s squirming clearly tested Daddy Tom’s strength, as evidenced by the strained look on his face. But he only chuckled, and moments later, she found herself on all fours again.

This new perspective did little to help Abi form a mental map of the house, but she at least appreciated the transition to carpeted flooring as it was far gentler on her knees. That brief comfort was quickly lost, however, as she was nudged forward onto the tiled kitchen floor section and forced to crawl between her two Daddies, who were once again exchanging jokes at her expense. The kitchen, though modern in design, retained traditional features in a clear attempt at a rustic aesthetic. A central island dominated the room, whilst two doors flanked either side of the main worktop at the back wall. Abi felt a push against her damp, padded rear, steering her toward the door on the right.

Indignantly, she shuffled forward as Daddy Tom opened it, revealing a compact utility room. For a moment, Abi was confused …until her eyes settled on the further, unmistakable detail: a bright pink door with a floral nameplate that identified the next room as “The Nursery.”

As Abi looked up at the neatly painted nameplate, she felt her stomach tighten. Just like with the playpen, it wasn’t a surprise. She didn’t need to see inside to know what was waiting for her. This wasn’t just a bedroom, a space to sleep, it was a stage for ritualized humiliation. She felt the air shift as the door creaked open - too warm, too still. A familiar wave of helplessness crashed over her as every horrifying suspicion she’d dared hope was exaggerated came was confirmed.

An explosion of babyish femininity greeted Abi as the light flicked on. The walls were painted pastel pink with white stencilling that depicted a range of childish imagery. A large, cage-like crib took up half of one wall; a changing table sat against the other, and a series of drawers and cupboards filled much of the remaining space.

At first glance, the mimicry of a real nursery was impressively thorough, but as she focused on each element of the room the illusion quickly unravelled. Almost everywhere she looked she found a far more sinister undertone to the room. Both the crib and changing table were fitted with visible locks and restraints. A bouncer in the centre of the room included wrist cuffs, and a mobile dangling over the crib, while seemingly innocent at first, was adorned with disturbing adult imagery and devices upon closer inspection. A massive rocking horse in the corner had obscene-looking adult toys built into the saddle. Spanking implements hung neatly beside a large, colourful behaviour chart, decorated in a mockingly childish style.

The only natural light came from a few small, elevated windows, each with visible metal bars outside. What appeared to be a multidirectional camera could be seen in one corner of the room, with other wired gadgets presumably for spying on the occupant nearby. Though the room was scented with the smell of baby powder, an underlying trace of fresh paint lingered in the air. Abi guessed the nursery had been recently renovated, likely for one purpose alone - to torment and torture her.

“How do you like your new room, Abi? Comfy, no?” Daddy Eli shoved the camera in her face, catching the resigned look in her eyes.

Shifting from all fours into a kneeling position, Abi felt her soggy diaper squish unpleasantly beneath her. She knew this was another attempt to provoke a reaction, but all she could manage was a tired sigh from behind the pacifier…much to Eli’s disappointment.

“Hmph. After all the effort we put in? What an unappreciative little—”

“She’s probably just hungry,” Daddy Tom interjected smoothly.

“Does Abi want some din-dins?...” The rest of the sentence spilled out in German, none of which she understood past the infantilising phrase, but it was clearly rhetorical. It was easy enough to predict that they would soon strap her to the highchair for the first of many indignities that they planned to inflict upon her outside of the basement.

Abi glanced around the room again, then back up at the two men towering over her. Despite still coming to terms with the shock of her kidnapping and her new environment, the clear inescapable nature of her predicament forced her to conceive a strategy.

Don’t give them what they want.

No squealing. No squirming. No crying.

Play dumb. Give them nothing.

Bore them.

With that decision made, she looked up at Daddy Tom, her expression dull and uncaring, the pacifier dangling loosely from her lips. Her eyes conveyed only apathy.

The two men exchanged glances, their faces creasing in mild confusion. They leaned in close, muttering something between themselves.

Apparently, the dissociated look Abi wore had given her new caregivers a sense of urgency about the food, perhaps assuming she was actually starving. It wasn’t long before Abi found herself lifted again, this time with more of a resigned groan than a struggle. Her small, futile protests melted away quickly as she thought back to her new coping mechanism. Like a ragdoll, she allowed herself to be carried toward the towering highchair that awaited her.

The sensation of being hoisted into the strange contraption was surreal. Abi’s legs dangled awkwardly as the men guided her carefully into place, her body limp and uncooperative.  It was clear neither Daddy was willing to take any chances with potential outbursts. The front of the chair slotted into place after they had gotten her in position. She barely resisted as thick leather straps were tightened across her thighs and calves, pinning her legs firmly. Her arms were next, secured to the armrests by wide restraints that bit into her skin. Her wrists remained encased in padded mittens, locked shut, rendering her hands useless.

Despite her determination to appear indifferent and he newfound philosophy, Abi’s breathing quickened behind the pacifier gag. Her present situation dragged her back to that horrifying moment barely hours before…waking up strapped to a clinical chair in a cold, unfamiliar room. The sterile smell, the harsh overhead light, the blurred face of her kidnapper lurking in the shadows and the mirror. The panic that had clawed at her chest, the desperate attempts to struggle free - only to be met with unyielding restraint. The trauma was relived as she felt her heart pounding in her ears, breaths becoming still more shallow and rapid. Suddenly, Abi felt tears welling as she struggled with the overwhelming loss of control and autonomy.

Daddy Eli picked up the camera but hesitated, watching their new charge begin to cry. Daddy Tom, already busy pulling bottles and containers of food from cupboards, remained oblivious to the soft, stifled sobs escaping Abi’s trembling frame.

She looked so broken, Elias thought, and not for the first time, he felt an unexpected twinge of pity. A part of him longed to offer comfort, though the twisted nature of their plan left no room for kindness. Yet, a small, irrational hope flickered that maybe, in time, she would accept or even find some strange solace in what awaited her.

“Abi, if you’re a good girl, we won’t need to use any more restraints. You haven’t eaten in a while, but you’ll have to get used to your new diet. No exceptions. Remember: no adult talk, and no questions.” Daddy Eli’s voice was firm, but the look of his face betrayed him as he softly wiped the tears from her cheeks with a cloth.

A few seconds later, the pacifier gag was removed and clipped onto her outfit just as Abi had managed to catch her breath and regain a fragile hold on herself. So much for not giving them the satisfaction, she thought bitterly, frustrated by her own crumbling resolve.

Partly out of obedience, partly out of a desperate need to hold onto whatever control she could, Abi kept silent, swallowing the terror and tears that still threatened to spill. The restraints were constrictive and unrelenting, making it impossible for her to turn toward the source of the sound of jars being opened, utensils clinking. With her arms completely immobilized, it dawned on her that she would be fed directly by her new Daddies. That humiliating reality was reinforced as Daddy Eli reappeared with a bib, which he swiftly wrapped around her neck. It was decorated with pink unicorns, the same kind of saccharine motif that seemed to dominate her new world.

Daddy Tom, apparently satisfied that everything was ready, soon came into view carrying a huge cereal bowl filled with what looked like brown mush, along with two oversized baby bottles - one filled with water, the other with milk. The bottles were comically large, designed to resemble the real thing, complete with exaggerated rubber teats.

The clatter from the kitchen had sharpened Abi’s awareness of just how hungry she was, but now, faced with the lumpy, unpleasant-looking and smelling mixture in the bowl, she found her appetite stunted. Involuntarily, she scrunched her face in distaste, which drew laughter from both Daddies.

“Awww, is Abi upset about her new diet?” Daddy Tom teased. “Well, for now, this is what you get for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If you can prove you can eat everything up and drink your formula without fuss, maybe you’ll earn some treats. If not…” His tone darkened just slightly. “We have other ways of making sure you’re fed.”

Abi could identify the slop as baby food, but the mention of drinking what must have been over half a litre of formula made her stomach sink. Daddy Tom, evidently claiming the right to the first feeding, dipped a spoon into the mush and gave it a swirl. Muttering something gleefully in German, what Abi assumed was the equivalent of “here comes the airplane”, he moved it toward her lips with a look of expectation.

Driven by hunger and wary of provoking her captors, Abi begrudgingly opened her mouth and accepted her first spoonful of baby food since infancy.

The texture was worse than expected, wet and gluey, coating her tongue like paste. She’d anticipated something bland and soft, but not this unchewable, slimy mixture. As the taste hit her, her revulsion was immediate and visible. She instinctively turned her head away, only to see Daddy Eli once again standing ready with the camera, capturing her first dinnertime with her new Daddies.

Remembering earlier threats, Abi forced herself to swallow the foul mouthful, gagging slightly as it slid down her throat. But no sooner had she cleared it than another spoonful was already waiting. Her lips clamped shut in defiance. She couldn’t fathom how actual babies ate this disgusting gloop.

As if reading her thoughts, Daddy Tom spoke again.

“Abi, remember: - if you’re a good girl, the food will get better,” Daddy Tom cooed, his tone warm but controlling. “Right now, I was very concerned my little girl hadn’t eaten in a while, so I’ve filled up your bowl with a day’s worth of food. Admittedly, some of the flavours might not go so well together, but if you can behave, next time won’t be so bad. And maybe,” he added with a patronising wink, “we can get you a nice diaper change?”

Abi wished she could pinch her nose or push the bowl away. But even in her disgust, she recognised the implication. This didn’t have to be a regular occurrence. That was the only leverage she had: play along, and maybe, just maybe, they’d go easier on her next time.

She forced herself to endure several more spoonful’s, each one more revolting than the last. Her body betrayed her with retching sounds, and her stomach threatened to rebel. Eventually she once again clamped her mouth shut, silently refusing to eat more.

“Uh oh, Abi,” Daddy Tom said in a singsong voice, spoon hovering in the air. “Are you being a naughty girl?” He smiled as if he knew she’d give up. To his surprise Abi shook her head and then stared toward the baby bottle filled with water sitting on the tray in front of her. She looked at it, then back at Tom, silently pleading.

His eyes narrowed in curiosity. “Do you want your bottle, baby?”

For once, it didn’t seem rhetorical. The question hung in the air like bait.

Abi hesitated, the words forming in her throat, but struggling to say them. Her voice, when it came, was barely audible.

“…Bottle… please… Daddy.”

The humiliation of saying it made her cheeks burn. It was the first time she had used the title willingly and even though she loathed herself for it, she knew what they’d see in it. Compliance. Acceptance.

From the side, Daddy Eli let out an exaggerated “Awww,” the camera whirring softly as he zoomed in on her flushed face.

“Well,” Daddy Tom grinned, “since you asked so nicely, I’m sure Daddy Eli can get you your bottle.”

Daddy Eli was of course happy to oblige. He set the camera down to continue recording her before picking up the bottle. Once again, Abi found herself dutifully accepting a bottle from Daddy Eli, and once again, Eli gazed down at his creation with more affection than he thought possible. Just as Abi began adjusting to the awkward effort required to drink from the oversized teat, she felt Daddy Tom's hand pressing against her padded crotch.

Somehow, it felt even more violating here in a domestic setting than it had in the basement. Unprepared, Abi instinctively tried to close her legs, but the restraints made resistance impossible. She was left with no option but to endure it: the hand pressing, rubbing, as if this humiliating contact were the most natural thing in the world, all while she sucked helplessly on a bottle held for her like a baby.

The sensations were unnerving and brought back the uncomfortable awareness of the unnatural bulk strapped between her legs, the confined feeling surrounding her genitals and the dull ache coming from her rear.  The perverse nature of the act sparked a new wave of resentment in her - an impotent fury at the man who was clearly deriving pleasure from her discomfort. Images flashed through her mind: the nursery, the restraints, the saddle of the rocking horse, the adult toys on the mobile, the basement…They weren’t just props. They were tools.

Anger welled inside of her, but she forced herself to focus on the bottle, suckling steadily and wordlessly to rinse the lingering taste of baby food from her mouth, and to endure the invasive contact in silence.  As she felt he thirst gradually fade though, she saw out of the corner of her eye that Daddy Tom had moved his spare hand down to his own crotch. The confirmation of her fears about the sexual nature of the touching took away the last remnants of her ability to dissociate from what was happening. With a sudden jerk, she yanked her head away from the oversized bottle as best she could, gasping around the teat.

For a moment, the room hung in silence.

Daddy Tom’s expression flickered with disappointment, but he seemed to misread her reaction as simple fatigue from the effort required to drink. Without comment, he wiped his hands, loaded up another heaping spoonful of the mush, and leaned in to resume the feeding.

“Open up,” he said, voice faux-cheerful again.

Something shifted in Abi. Despite her restrained, helpless state her eyes had hardened into a cold stare. She looked up at him now not with fear, but with quiet, seething contempt. And yet, she opened her mouth.

Although initially taken aback at the look she gave him, Tom took it as a sign of submission. He loaded up the spoon, inserted it…only for Abi to spit the entire mouthful directly at his face as soon as it was withdrawn. The splatter hit him across his eyes. He reared back in shock, stumbling a half-step and letting out a series of what Abi assumed were German expletives.

Half blinded, Tom scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, continuing to swear violently. Across the kitchen, Daddy Eli, who had taken the opportunity to refill Abi’s bottle, jerked around at the sudden outburst, alarm flashing across his face. For a brief moment, he looked genuinely panicked, as if their operation was somehow compromised.

Abi, meanwhile, wasn’t done. Somewhere inside her, something had snapped - not in fear this time, but in fury. The humiliation, the invasive touches, the sickly sweet outfits, paraphernalia and decorations masking what she perceived as her imminent sexual assault - it boiled over. Her cheeks burned red with rage. She couldn’t move, couldn’t strike, couldn’t even run, but for the first time, she didn’t feel small.

“You’re FUCKING PERVERTS!” Abi spat furiously. “You don’t get to touch me and pretend this is justified. You’re freaks. YOU’RE FUCKING DEGENERATES! RAPIST SCU -”

She was cut off mid-scream as her head was yanked sharply backward. Metal pressed painfully between her teeth as her mouth was forced open.

In the chaos of her outburst, Daddy Eli had moved behind the highchair and snatched the backup restraint, a metal ring gag. As she continued to vent, she was helpless to stop him as he swiftly pulled the ring gag tightly into her mouth. Usually this would have been a tricky manoeuvre, but at this point her jaw was already wide open allowing for the gag to be slipped in with relative ease. Eli, rattled by her fury and disgusted by her words, showed no hesitation. He rammed the gag in and yanked the straps tight, forcing it as deep as it would go.

Abi moaned in shock and pain, her scream stifled and stretched into something guttural and incoherent. Still not satisfied, Eli buckled the final head strap behind the chair, anchoring her in place. Her head was now fixed, chin up, eyes forward, her mouth stretched wide and immobile. No turning, no speaking, only the ability to stare straight ahead.

The moment passed, leaving Abi suspended in a state of half-panic, half-humiliation. Regret, fear, and loathing surged through her: loathing for the men around her but also loathing for herself. Only minutes ago, she’d vowed to keep control - to stay composed, to bore them, to deny them satisfaction. Instead, she’d cried, screamed, lashed out…and now she sat drooling and totally incapacitated.

Daddy Tom, finishing wiping food from his face with a dish towel, turned his attention towards her with a sense of restrained anger.

“Well,” he said, “that was overdue. Daddy Eli said you actually acted like a baby in the basement, and until now I agreed. I’m glad to see there’s still some fight in you.”

He leaned in slightly.

“It’ll make your transformation that much more satisfying.”

He paused, letting the word settle.

“Yes, it’s hard to argue. Because of you, we’re perverts. Maybe degenerates. Maybe worse.” He shrugged. “But this isn’t about fantasy, and it’s not about play. This is about revenge. And you...” he tapped her bib lightly with the back of the spoon, “...you are ours to do with as we please.”

The calmness in his voice and measured tone contrasted with her tear streaked, immobilised face. She felt drool leak from her open mouth as Daddy Tom picked up a fresh spoonful of the brown mush and deposited it squarely into it. It sat on her tongue like paste, thick and cloying. She panicked for a moment, unsure how to force it down or spit it out. Then, instinct took over. She worked her tongue and throat, awkwardly guiding it down. The moment she succeeded, another spoonful was waiting.

The rhythm was relentless. Spoon, gag, swallow. A pause only when it looked like she might genuinely choke. The mess ran down her chin, onto the bib, smeared across her lips. Daddy Tom didn’t care, if anything he seemed to enjoy the messiness of the almost mechanical force-feeding process. When at last the bowl was scraped clean, he stepped back, clearly pleased with her utter inability to resist.

“Until we know we can trust you,” Daddy Eli said with a sneer, “this is how you’ll be fed from now on, our messy little baby girl. Proud of yourself?”

Abi couldn’t answer, not that she had the words even if the gag wasn’t there. The two daddies turned back to the kitchen, exchanging quiet laughter. Their conversation blurred in her ears as background noise.

Bloated, face covered in mush, and helplessly drooling onto her bib, but with neither Daddy in her eyeline Abi pathetically pulled at her restraints with no luck.

She let her head slump as far as the straps would allow, defeated.