Fibs and Fumbles

Chapter 9
Ch 9 Adjusting to changes

Chapter Description: Abi finally finds out why her private regions feel so weird.

Another line of saliva slipped from Abi’s mouth as she stared blankly at the wall in front of her. Her bladder had begun to ache, reminding her with irritating insistence that she would soon need to use her padding for its intended purpose.

Out of sight, her two Daddies were conversing in their native tongue—possibly even arguing, judging by the sharp cadence of their voices. She didn’t have to wait long before Daddy Eli stepped back into view.

“I probably don’t need to tell you, but we do have ways of making sure you finish your bottles without resistance.”

There was nothing Abi could really do to respond, but she managed a pathetic groan behind the gag.

“Given that this was your first indiscretion earlier, I am willing to let you prove you can behave.” Eli moved behind her, unbuckling the straps that pinned her head, then loosening the gag.

The release brought desperate relief. Her jaw ached from being held open for so long, and the inside of her mouth felt parched as most of her saliva had wound up on her bib. She clamped it shut, savouring the simple sensation, though her tongue instinctively probed the places it hadn’t been able to reach before and served her grim reminders of the feeding session.

“So,” Eli continued, speaking in the singsong tone of an adult to a child, “I’m going to unbuckle your arms, give you the bottle, and you’re going to be the baby you told so many people you wanted to be. Understand?”

Any thought of resistance had already evaporated the moment he suggested forcing the drink down her throat. Abi nodded quickly, and that was enough. He freed her arms from the restraints.

“You’ll have to hold the bottle tightly. If you stop drinking for anything other than a burp or air - you’ll be punished. If you drop the bottle without telling us - you’ll be punished. And of course, if you’d rather I feed you…” Eli smiled faintly, “…all you have to do is ask nicely.”

It hadn’t escaped her attention that he seemed to enjoy bottle-feeding her, but aside from wanting to avoid pleasing him she was desperate for even the smallest sliver of autonomy. She motioned toward the oversized bottle with her mittened hands.

Eli looked slightly disappointed but handed it over, watching closely as she adjusted her grip. Though she could barely move, or feel her fingers inside the padded mitts, she managed to press the bottle between what she guessed were her palms.

“It’s tricky,” he murmured, leaning in. “Tilt your head back, keep the bottle above ninety degrees, and suck hard. Otherwise, it won’t flow.” He guided her clumsy motions, patient but faintly patronizing. Out of the corner of her eye, Abi thought she saw Daddy Tom shake his head, apparently unimpressed at Daddy Eli’s softer approach toward her.

The first drop of formula caught her off guard. It was thick and creamy, almost cloying in its sweetness. Not wholly unpleasant, but sickly in a way that made her stomach revolt. Like the mush earlier, it wasn’t food made for an adult mouth. Still, she kept suckling, the teat lodged between her thick lips. Compared to being force-fed with her mouth clamped open, this position almost felt like a reprieve.

After a couple of minutes and a quarter of the bottle drained, pressure in her bladder grew urgent. At this point pissing her diapers was no longer a novel sensation, and whilst she knew it was inevitable, she couldn’t bring herself to voluntarily let go - not whilst the two men were so close. Too terrified to stop drinking for fear of more force-feeding, and unable to close her legs, she squirmed as best she could in place.

A few more uncomfortable minutes passed before the choice was taken from her.

Her loss of control coincided with a lull in the men’s conversation. The absence of suckling noises made the sound of release much more noticeable; the faint, but unmistakable trickling sound - a wet, humiliating hiss against the padding, alerted both men to her predicament.

“Oh, what a good girl, filling your diaper,” Daddy Eli laughed.

Closing her eyes she tried to avoid from their stares, cheeks burning as she clutched the bottle. But she couldn’t stop the flow; she continued to wet herself like an infant, the warmth spreading and the padding swelling further. The two of them spoke in their own language, their voices threaded with amusement as she finished.

“Abi, you haven’t finished your bottle,” Daddy Tom reminded her. Mortified and continuing to avoiding his gaze, she shoved the teat back into her mouth and resumed suckling. Apparently satisfied, the men returned to their conversation, leaving her alone with her thoughts as the now familiar thick formula slid down her throat.

As she got over the shame of her most recent lack of control, Abi pondered how long before she would get an opportunity to escape? They couldn’t keep restraints on her forever, could they?

She studied the wrist cuffs that held her mittens. The straps were thick leather - like those on her booties - but perhaps the material could be torn if she could find a sharp edge or free her teeth. Even if she managed that, she would still have to find a way to cut herself free while under constant supervision.

Surveillance was another problem. She’d noticed one camera in the nursery; now, scanning the open-plan living area, she spotted two more small devices in the corners. There was nowhere to hide. The idea of a single, private moment to work at her restraints felt increasingly impossible.

For a split second, Abi was dragged out of her spiralling thoughts by a sudden wave of nausea. Without warning, her grip slackened, and the oversized bottle slipped from her mittened hands. It bounced off the tray before clattering to the floor. Her gut churned - the grotesque mixture of a whole bowl of foul baby food and nearly a pint of formula on an empty stomach revolted against her. To her relief, all that escaped was a loud burp. Laughter erupted from her periphery.

Turning her head toward her Daddies, she was reminded that the camera was still trained on her. The thought made her cheeks burn hotter. How pathetic she must have looked: suckling from a bottle like an infant, then dropping it only to belch like a child. No doubt that in whatever depraved video they were compiling, that moment would now feature as some kind of babyish money shot.

“Abi…what do you say?” Daddy Tom prompted, his tone deceptively calm.

She blinked, confused. “...umm… pardon me?”

More laughter.

“No, silly girl. Where’s your bottle? Where’s baba’s bottle?”

Abi’s gaze darted to the bottle rolling on the floor, mostly empty now.

“I… Please, can you get my bottle, Daddy?” she asked, voice taut with frustration.

Daddy Eli’s smile suggested he enjoyed hearing the request. Daddy Tom, however, looked less convinced.

“No. That’s not how baby girls sound, is it? Try again.” His voice carried an unmistakable edge.

Abi’s eyes grew wider in fear “I… I…” She stammered nervously, eyes flicking between the camera and the two men, frozen in place by the threat of what might come if she got it wrong. The silence grew heavier. Daddy Tom’s face darkened, his patience thinning.

Just before Daddy Tom berated her, Abi forced the words he wanted to hear out - burying what little remained of her dignity:

“Pwease, Daddy… I dwopped my bottle.”

Even she startled at the high-pitched, childish whine that escaped her lips. It sounded absurd. She braced herself for another round of laughter, but instead Daddy Tom crouched down, picked up the bottle, and placed it back into her mittened hands. He smiled, satisfied.

“Good girl. Now, if you do want to communicate, that’s the voice we want to hear. Understand?”

Apparently, not satisfied by humiliating and infantilizing her through costumes, restraints and rituals; now they wanted her to embrace it, to willingly play the role. Abi bit her lip hard, weighing whether to unleash another furious tirade. It wasn’t enough for them to strip away her clothes, her freedom, her dignity. Now they wanted her to surrender her voice. The sound that came out of her mouth wouldn’t even belong to her anymore…but the look in Daddy Tom’s eyes convinced her that anymore protests were not likely to be tolerated. Slowly, she nodded.

The bottle was pushed back into her hands, and she dutifully raised it to her lips, resuming her suckling. She tried to shut out the image of how ridiculous she must look - and now, how she sounded.

It didn’t take long to drain the rest of the bottle. Breakfast concluded, the two men seemed to exchange an agreement before Daddy Tom stepped forward. Without a word, he released the tray, undid the final restraints and reinserted the paci-gag. Then, with a grunt of effort, he lifted her from the highchair.

It wasn’t graceful. She could feel the strain in his muscles as he hoisted her up, yet it was still staggering how easily he cradled her like a child. Abi quietly fumed at the indignity of it. His hand pressed firmly against her swollen diaper under her romper, the sodden mass squishing as he shifted her higher in his grip. Worse still, his palm lingered, squeezing her padding as if assessing it.

“Such a squishy diaper,” Daddy Tom crooned, almost playfully. “How would you like a change, baba?”

The fight had left her. She wanted it - desperately. The clammy warmth clung to her skin, the unmistakable smell of piss was starting to reach her. Yet she also knew any relief would be fleeting and doubted that she had much of a say in the matter. They would change her when it suited them, not her. Still, she tried to force out a plea around the gag.

“Yff -pweafff” she mumbled, her voice garbled by the pacifier.

Tom chuckled at the attempt. “Good girl.”

Eli moved ahead, opening the nursery door. Abi caught sight of the room beyond and panicked.

She had already seen it once, but the second viewing of the nursery knowing what to come was worse. Her mind filled with dreadful clarity as to the intent behind the contents of the room.

In her past life, mimicking the abdl community was easy enough, but understanding them was something she repeatedly failed at. Hardest of all was figuring out how sex played a role in their lives when they acted like babies, or were strapped in nappies. How many times had she written out fictional fantasy scenarios during a “change” as a mommy dom, or baby girl? Now, seeing again the vile paraphernalia adorning the room as decoration and the restraints on the changing table, she realised how vulnerable she was.

The changing station dominated the far wall, its straps laid out ready to once again ensnare her in bondage. On closer dangling cuffs on a bar attached to straps suspended from a hook in the ceiling could be identified as some form of leg restraints. As Tom carried her closer, she whined through the gag, her body instinctively gripping tightly onto him.

“Pweaff… don’ huff me… pweaff,” she squealed, the high-pitched babble spilling from her more in panic than performance.

Her plea went unanswered. Tom carried her to the table, utterly unfazed, and set her down. The surface creaked beneath her weight. The idea of being laid on a table, bound, exposed and with no way to stop them from doing what they would – again - was too much for her. Abi curled up and tried make herself small. She couldn’t bear to look at him.

Tom’s voice came steady, almost casual, as if nothing about this moment were remarkable.

“Have you changed your mind? I thought you were desperate to get out…” He gave a small shrug. “Well, I don’t mind waiting. But if so, you’ll be staying in that diaper for a long, long time.”

Breathing heavily behind the pacifier, she turned her head toward him – apparently it was enough of a signal to begin. One by one, the straps were drawn across her chest and arms, pinning her flat against the padded surface. Her body stiffened with each pull, but she stayed silent, staring upward as though the ceiling might offer her escape.

Her ankles were next. He guided them into stirrups which dangled from an elaborate ring hook and spreader mechanism before fastening them securely, leaving her legs bent and held wide, suspended in a position that made her feel more exposed than restrained.

Fingers worked at the crotch of her romper. A few unseen deft movements, and the romper was unbuttoned. She felt the swollen weight of the diaper shift and sag as it was no longer supported. Movement flickered in the corner of her vision as Daddy Eli stood close, camera already raised, its lens fixed on her.

“Lift your bum up,” Daddy Tom instructed as if he were addressing a child.

She did her best to shift her weight onto her upper body and raise her hips despite the awkward angle. First came the pops of the snaps on her plastic pants, then the clammy garment was tugged away. Relief came instantly: the suffocating heat against her skin eased, though only enough to remind her of how uncomfortable it had been.

Looking down, she saw the bloated, yellow stained front of her diaper. Daddy Tom gave it an appraising squeeze, and her cheeks - not for the first time - flared red as the camera panned slowly toward her face. Then the tapes came free, one by one, and as the swollen padding was peeled back, the strange, uncomfortable sensations from her lower body finally began to make sense.

Where she expected to see her genitals, there was something foreign instead: a tiny, smooth pink tube covering her penis and ring locked around her balls. A small padlock kept the contraption in place. It looked plastic, almost toy like, though the way it was clamped in place with no obvious way to remove it made it clear it was anything but.

Daddy Eli caught the expression on her face and chuckled.

“Well, we can’t have you getting any ideas, can we, little one? That’s a chastity device—made for naughty babies who don’t know how to behave.”

Whilst Eli explained she noticed Daddy Tom repositioning a mirror. With care, he angled it toward her so she could take in the full picture for herself. The padding pulled back, the strange plastic-and-metal cage that took away any trace of manhood and, to her shock an exceptionally large, hollow flared pink circle emanating from inside her - now covering her asshole. She wasn’t so oblivious to sex toys to mistake the butt plug, but to see it and recognise it as the source of her discomfort, the freakish size of it stretching her unnaturally, horrified her. These violations, so sexual and physically invasive, filled Abi with disgust. She was forced to watch as Daddy Tom move his hand to the plug.

“And this device…” he twisted and shook it, making Abi squeal, “…is to make sure you don’t hold anything in.”

Her breathing came hard and fast, panic clawing at her chest. She tried to writhe away, but strapped as she was, all she managed was a pitiful flailing of her legs in the air - movements that only seemed to amuse him. Her squeals turned to muffled screams. She was convinced the torment would escalate—until Daddy Eli, who had set the camera aside, seemingly snapped at him as a reprimand.

There was a brief pause. Then, with visible reluctance, Daddy Tom accepted the packet of baby wipes and the patterned diaper Eli pressed into his hands.

The reprieve was hardly comforting. Daddy Tom’s motions were brisk, careless; each swipe of the cold wipe caused her to recoil, and more than once he knocked her confined testicles, making her gasp and flinch. When at last he pulled open the fresh diaper, the thing looked absurdly large, its cheery appearance with cartoon animals and soft pastel colours only served to mock her.

“Up,” he barked, and she complied at once, desperate now to have herself covered again. But the ritual was not yet over. Cream was scooped onto his fingers and smeared thickly across her skin. His touch lingered too long, pressing and circling into her intimate regions. Only when he had satisfied himself did he pull the thick garment into place, tape it snugly shut, and layer the plastic pants and romper back over it. Moments later the buckles snapped open, and Abi found herself free of the tables bondage.

Lying there with her eyes squeezed shut, Abi tried to steady herself, but the silence was broken by the unmistakeable sound of kissing. She forced her eyes open and caught sight of the two men locked in an intimate moment just a few feet away from her, their closeness framed by her own degradation. The larger of the two was visibly aroused, confirming what Abi had feared all along: their enjoyment of her suffering was genuine.

This wasn’t just about revenge. Whatever they told themselves, they were taking deep pleasure in her humiliation, and nothing about it was for show.

She turned herself around, wishing she could disappear into the changing station, but the wet sounds of their kisses and the low murmur of whispered endearments in German filtered through the bonnet strapped to her head. Every affectionate sigh behind her drove home how utterly fucked she was—her torment was their sadistic pleasure.

For the first time since being carried to the table, Abi realized that despite the disturbing scene playing out behind her - she was momentarily unsupervised. The men were consumed with each other, and she, though restrained, had her back to them. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her mittened hands toward her face, fumbling clumsily at the gag. If she could free her mouth, she thought there was a slim chance of desperately gnawing through the material on her hands.

The effort was hopeless. The thickly padded mittens slid uselessly against the gag’s straps, offering no grip. The pacifier was wedged far too tightly, the gag pressing it in so firmly that no amount of pushing with her tongue or straining her jaw could budge it. The rubber teat stayed locked between her bloated lips, rendering her mouth useless.

Slurping and choking noises rose behind her. Abi tried to ignore it, but the sounds only grew wetter, and more obscene.

She slowly slid her mittened hands down between her thighs with the love-heart stockings still clinging to her. Quietly bracing herself, she tugged and twisted as hard as she could without injuring herself, trying to work her wrists free, but the straps bit tight, and her fingers - trapped together in the padded mitts - had no leverage to aid the situation. She couldn’t even stretch them. No matter how much she yanked, nothing gave.

The moans behind her deepened, punctuated by breathless murmurs of “ja… ja…”—a reminder that her stolen moment of investigation would soon end. Desperate, she pressed her mittens against the front of the romper, feeling blindly for the crotch buttons, but the thick padding around her hands made detecting them by touch impossible. She might as well have been trying to open them with stumps.

A wave of hopelessness washed over her. There would be no escape now. But they couldn’t keep her sealed in this one outfit forever. The romper clung damply to her skin, sweat and poor breathability turning the inside clammy and suffocating. Beads of sweat had been dripping steadily down her forehead all afternoon. They would have to bathe her eventually. They would have to wash the clothing, strip it away, and take the mitts off her hands. That would be her chance - her best chance - to spring free.

The unmistakable sounds of the larger man’s climax filled the room, punctuated by Eli’s garbled giggles. Abi lay perfectly still, relived that—for once—the sordid spectacle hadn’t drawn her directly into its orbit. She heard low whispers, then the heavy tread of the bigger man moving about and retrieving something from a draw. Spitting noises followed, then the faint gurgle of liquid pouring into a bottle. The sound turned Abi’s stomach, but she forced herself to remain frozen, desperate to steal even a few more seconds of uneasy peace by not drawing their attention and not looking at whatever cruelty they had next planned for her.

Eventually, after more muffled exchanges, it was Eli who leaned into her line of sight, his expression slightly flushed, his tone bright and giddy.

“Schatzi, are you sleepy? Well, we can put you down for a nap soon. But first, I think it’s time for another bottle.” He dangled it before her eyes, shaking the mixture so the milk swirled—its taint all too obvious.

Abi recoiled, shaking her head furiously.

“Hmm… still full from earlier?” he teased. She gave the smallest nod hoping for mercy.

“Don’t worry,” Eli cooed, setting the bottle aside. “We’ll save it until after your nap.”

Abi whimpered despite herself, the sound muffled and pitiful…much to Eli’s delight.

Moving toward her, Eli motioned for her to come to his arms. Lacking the strength of his partner, he could only lower her gently onto the floor rather than carry her. She was guided toward the large cot, where more restraints awaited. The structure was roughly the size of a wide single bed, but it resembled a metal cage more than a crib. White paint, rubber sheets, and princess-patterned covers gave it a deceptively infantile appearance. The top of the crib was equipped with a locking roof, ensuring that even if the occupant could escape the restraints, there would be no way out. The straps ran along the bed at multiple points, each fitted with unusual locking mechanisms that left the occupant with no freedom of movement whatsoever.

Daddy Tom had already prepared the crib, lowering the side before Abi had even crawled over.

“Abi, you remember all those stories you used to share? About lying in a crib, tied down, and forced to piss yourself in your sleep? Well, good news, sweetie—your dreams have come true! If you behave, we won’t always have to use the straps…but since it’s your first nap time, I think it’s only appropriate,” Daddy Tom proudly announced.

Abi recalled the vile stories she had shared with prospective daddies when catfishing and winced at her own words. She tried to push the memory aside, focusing on the situation in front of her. She didn’t want to get in the crib, but the thought of finally being alone—even restrained—was preferable to more time with her captors. Without any encouragement, she moved forward, shocking both men.

“…Well, I guess someone really does need their naptime,” Eli remarked.

Following their prompts, Abi crawled into the structure and aligned herself with the straps. Unconsciously, she sucked on her pacifier, eyes shut as the two men secured her with fresh restraints. She moved only when prompted. Before long she was spread out in the crib, facing up at the grotesque mobile dangling above her. Dildos, obscene images, and mirrors floated overhead. Occasionally, she caught her reflection, makeup smeared from crying and struggling with the gag, but her face still appeared effeminate and ridiculous with the big eyelashes, pacifier, bonnet, and curly hair. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the sight, but the the smell of plastic, rubber, and her own sweat pressed in on her, reminding her of her current state.

“It looks like someone is learning to be a good girl, huh?” Daddy Tom said, seemingly impressed by her obedience.

She nodded, desperate to satisfy him so they would leave sooner. Appearing content with her docility, both men proceeded to secure the crib. She watched as the side was raised, various latches clicked into place, and a key turned. Daddy Eli flicked on a nightlight shaped like a bear, casting a warm, distorted glow across the room that made shadows dance unnaturally on the walls. The two men moved toward the door and switched off the overhead lights, leaving the soft glow of the nightlight to illuminate her small, restrained form.

“Good night, princess…sweet dreams,” they called as they left, shutting the door behind them. The sounds of locks turning and muffled conversation faded. Finally away from them, in the dim glow, Jack allowed himself a quiet breath. He was alone at last.