Dumb Babies Need Diapers

Wow, you were quick, sweetie. Such a good virgin puppy! If you are not mature enough to engage in the grown-up stuffs with real Men or Women, I think everyone would agree in that you're only an overgrown child who will never be allowed to have sex and who should be kept in diapers 24/7 and babysat. while the real adults have their grown-up fun.

What do you think, my fellow perverts?

"Don't call me stinky! It's not my fault..."

“This is your new room, Hannah,” Uncle Jared is repeating. “I promise, it’s no joke. Why else do you think your aunt just helped you into that nice big diaper, hmm? Why else do you think she gave you that pretty pink dummy?”

No- no- there must be some mistake. I never wanted this- never intended for- for them to take me seriously-

“We’ve both decided this is the best solution,” he continues. His hands are around me - kind hands, true, but hands that are also sinewy and strong enough to handle any amount of resistance I might be foolish enough to give. “You know as well as I do that money’s tight. You haven’t gotten a job no matter how much we encourage you. You can’t pay for your own meals or room and board. As far as family finances go, you’re literally as dependent on us as an actual toddler.”

Oh God no- You wouldn’t… Please, I tried, I really did! I know I can find a job- I’ll pull my own weight, I promise-

“And then we remembered that snarky comment of yours - you know, about how it must be so much easier these days for special needs folks. Right? So much assistance from that new government program, you were saying. So much support. And they don’t even need to find a job in this economy, either…

“So we did some research - some fascinating research. And guess what?” His voice sounds oddly amused. “You were actually right, Hannah. All you need to do is satisfactorily demonstrate to a government inspector every month for a year that you really do qualify as a special needs person, and voilà! Enough money to live comfortably and indefinitely - as our dependent.

“So this will be your future, Hannah.” His voice is firm now with resolve, and I know there is no way any protest of mine will change it. “Your aunt and I have already invested in this setup, and you’re going to make sure we make good on this investment. From now on, you’ll be our mentally disadvantaged niece - a twenty-two year old with the mental age of a girl two decades younger. Naturally, it’s diapers for you, of course. We simply can’t have anyone thinking you’re actually able to care for yourself…”

Please, no! Not diapers- not like some little brat, waddling off to bed every night- Not pissing my pants, please- Anything else but that!

“The rest of the babyish stuff is really more for your aunt than anything,” he shrugs. “She wanted to have a kid again, and, well… since it’s up to us, we might as well make you out as someone who still loves the toddler treatment. So, yeah. Don’t worry - we’ve been coming up with plenty of ways to help you come to terms with it…

Come- to terms? What on earth does that mean?

“It’ll be quite natural and comfortable, honestly. I imagine after a few days it’ll feel natural back in diapers again.” He chuckles wryly. “A couple weeks, and I wager you’ll be waking up wet just like a cute little bedwetter. Remember waking up in a wet bed when you were little? Only it won’t be quite like that this time; between the plastic mattress pad and those diapers, your aunt’s going to make sure you and the bed stay dry… On the whole, though, my guess is that after a few months you’ll start to forget what it’s even like to dress like a grownup…

“And that’s actually before we even start trying those audio files we found online! It’s going to be really quite nice and interesting, this new life of yours… Don’t you think?”

I cast a terrified glance down at the infantile padding, the pastel toys, the stacks of diapers that are welcoming me in. You will belong here soon enough, they seem to taunt me. I want to shriek, to run, to beg for my rights as an adult. I can’t be treated this way. I can’t. I simply can’t.

But deep down, I know I have no choice. For I have no other place to go.

And so, I suckle a bit harder on the rubbery nipple within my mouth. I distastefully wriggle my newly padded rear. And I find myself morbidly wondering just how long it will take until I’m finally brainwashed into thinking that all this is actually normal…

Image Credit: ABDreams.com

Please don’t remove my caption or accreditation! As long as you don’t, may your razor never again leave you with razor burn.

Sometimes I imagine a world where a girl between 18 and 28 is always at risk of being demoted from adulthood … whether for a few weeks, or forever.  During that ten years of “probationary adulthood,” every authority figure in this world would have the authority to decide that a girl hadn’t had enough years as a child and needed to be returned to her elementary-school years … or her potty-training years … or all the way back to infancy.

If a girl’s boss thought she was being childish in a work meeting, she could be issued a short schoolgirl skirt and boxy cotton panties, which she would have to change into in front of everyone.  Her brassiere would be switched for a flimsy training bra, also in a public space, and her hair would be combed down and tied with a ribbon or pulled into pigtails.  She would be given mindless, repetitive tasks to perform and a schedule for their completion would be publicly posted … but anyone in the office could stop her from working and she’d have to listen politely and answer their questions with “yes sir” or “yes ma'am.“  Failure to complete tasks on schedule would earn a paddling.  She would never be allowed to leave her desk without direct permission. She would have to put her hand up; when someone saw and called on her, she would have to clearly and politely enunciate her request, even if she was asking to go to the bathroom.

Or if she broke some minor law – even by accident – and the officer decided that she was behaving irresponsibly, he could spank her on the side of the road or in a public shop.  He could order her to attend for a few days at a Reform Preschool set up to give strict discipline to irresponsible young ladies.  He might even issue an order that she was no longer allowed to wear adult underwear, but had to don plastic-lined girls’ panties until she learned responsibility.

If a young woman’s parents felt she wasn’t behaving maturely enough, they could obtain a court order for her to return home and submit to their authority for a second, intensive session of learning responsibility.  In some families, this would take the form of resumed homework, chores, and bedtimes; in others, she would have to endure potty training again, with extra practice of her bladder control due to a strict toileting schedule.

Teachers and professors who felt that a student wasn’t performing to her full potential could take her home and return her to a babified state in which she re-learned what it was like to be nothing but potential – a helpless infant, totally controlled by others, not even allowed to bathe herself or dress herself or choose her own foods.  A teacher on the way to school with a regressed little girl in tow, adjusting her hairbows and checking her diaper outside the classroom before settling her in a playpen in the corner for the day, would become a common sight.

Sometimes a group of close friends would even determine that one of them needed some time as a little girl again.  They’d deprive her of all her adult clothing and privileges.  She’d be locked in a room in one of their homes, a little child subject to their moods as they chose whimsical clothing for her, set whatever rules of behavior they wished, punished her severely and creatively for breaking those rules, and showed off her helpless state to other acquaintances.

The law would be abused, of course.  Complete strangers would stop girls and take them home to become their trapped little dependents, claiming to be figures of authority so they could gain a little slave to abuse.  She could go to the police, of course … but false reports would earn court-ordered spankings, and she’d have to gain access to someone to help her in the first place.

Everyone would politely treat the regressed girls like little children, ignoring any public punishments that had to be meted out, and addressing them as the little daughters of whoever held authority … but these women wouldn’t be really underage, so their sexual availability would still be assumed.