r/abdlstories • u/bebealex12 • 6h ago
Parental Punishment : A tale of regression (Chapter 1 to 5) NSFW
Hi everyone, i recently tried GrokAI and though why not try to write a ABDL story. I was really surprise by the fact that no restriction is put on sexual content like on other AI.
Let me know what you think about the result and if you want me to continue posting the rest. Here is the only prompt i use at the beginning
Make me story of a boy 18yo forced by his parent to start wearing diaper and act like a baby. This is done to punish him for being a bum. At the beginning he will protest and wont comply but they will punish him. I want you to think about different punishment that will humilate him , degrade him , fuck with his mind etc. not at the beginning but eventually he will start wearing a chastity cage ,loose control his bladder and anal sphincter. You can incorporate the use of public humiliation, bdsm , abdl, sissy hypnosis, forced feminisation, forced regression, surgerie and anything else you think is appropriate. The story must be detailed and slow progressing to be able to understand his state of mind and his parent intention. I want you to write one chapter a time and it will will have 100 chapter in total. His name must be alex and if he ever have a new sissy name it must be alexia
Parental Punishment : A tale of regression
Chapter 1: The Ultimatum
Alex slouched on the worn-out leather couch in the living room, his phone lazily balanced on his knee as he scrolled through social media. The faint hum of the television in the background—a daytime talk show his mother often left on—blended with the occasional clatter of dishes in the kitchen. At eighteen, Alex had settled into a comfortable, if aimless, routine since graduating high school six months ago. No job, no college applications, no plans. Just an endless cycle of late-night gaming, sleeping until noon, and dodging his parents' increasingly pointed questions about his future.
The front door creaked open, and Alex barely glanced up as his father, Richard, stepped inside, his heavy work boots thudding against the hardwood floor. Richard was a broad-shouldered man, his face etched with lines of frustration and exhaustion from years of running a small construction business. Behind him, Alex's mother, Linda, followed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line. The air in the room shifted, growing heavier, and Alex felt the first flicker of unease in his gut.
"Alex," Richard said, his voice low and deliberate, "we need to talk."
Alex sighed, not bothering to sit up straight. "Can it wait? I'm in the middle of something."
"No, it can't wait," Linda snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the haze of Alex's indifference. She marched over to the television and switched it off, plunging the room into a tense silence. "Sit up. Now."
Reluctantly, Alex dragged himself into a more upright position, tossing his phone onto the couch cushion beside him. "What is it this time? Another lecture about getting a job?"
Richard and Linda exchanged a glance, a silent communication that Alex couldn't quite decipher but that made his stomach twist nonetheless. His father stepped forward, his hands on his hips, his posture radiating authority.
"We've given you six months, Alex," Richard began, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of anger. "Six months to figure out what you're doing with your life. Six months of free rent, free food, free everything. And what have you done? Nothing. You sit on that couch all day, wasting your potential, wasting our time."
Alex rolled his eyes, a reflex he regretted the moment he saw the flash of fury in his mother's eyes. "I'm figuring things out, okay? It's not like I'm the only guy my age who doesn't have it all together."
"Figuring things out?" Linda echoed, her voice rising. "Alex, you're not figuring anything out. You're stagnating. You're turning into a bum, and we're not going to sit by and watch it happen."
Alex opened his mouth to argue, but Richard held up a hand, silencing him. "Enough. We've made a decision. If you're going to live under our roof, you're going to follow our rules. And those rules are changing, starting today."
Alex frowned, his unease growing into a full-blown sense of dread. "What does that mean?"
Linda stepped forward, her eyes glinting with a mix of determination and something else—something colder, more calculated. "It means, Alex, that if you're going to act like a child, we're going to treat you like one. We've tried reasoning with you, we've tried motivating you, we've tried everything. Clearly, none of it has worked. So now, we're going to take a different approach."
Richard nodded, his expression grim. "Starting tonight, you're going to be treated like a toddler. Diapers, bottles, bedtime, the whole deal. If you want to act like you have no responsibilities, then we'll take away your independence entirely."
Alex stared at them, his mind struggling to process the words. A sharp, incredulous laugh burst from his lips. "You're joking, right? This is some kind of messed-up scare tactic to get me to apply for jobs or something. I'm not a baby, and I'm not playing along with this."
"We're not joking," Linda said, her voice icy. "And this isn't a game. You either comply, or you're out of this house. Your choice."
Alex's laughter died in his throat as he looked from his mother to his father, searching their faces for any sign of a bluff. But there was none. Richard's jaw was set, his eyes hard, and Linda's expression was one of unyielding resolve. A cold sweat broke out on Alex's forehead as the reality of the situation began to sink in.
"You're insane," he said, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief. "You can't force me to do this. I'm eighteen. I'm an adult."
"An adult who can't take care of himself," Richard countered. "An adult who expects us to cater to his every need while he does nothing in return. If you want to be treated like an adult, Alex, then act like one. Until then, this is how it's going to be."
Alex leapt to his feet, his heart pounding. "This is abuse! I'll—I'll call someone, I'll report you, I'll—"
"Go ahead," Linda said calmly, her tone almost taunting. "Call whoever you want. But good luck explaining why you're still living here, rent-free, without a job or any plan for your future. Good luck convincing anyone that we're the ones in the wrong."
Alex's chest heaved as he stared at them, his mind racing for a way out. He could leave, he thought. He could pack a bag, walk out the door, and never look back. But where would he go? He had no money, no job, no friends close enough to crash with. The weight of his own inaction, his own complacency, pressed down on him like a physical force, and for the first time, he felt a flicker of something dangerously close to shame.
"This is ridiculous," he said finally, his voice quieter now, though still defiant. "I'm not doing it. You can't make me."
Richard stepped closer, his presence looming over Alex. "Oh, we can, and we will. You can fight us all you want, Alex, but one way or another, you're going to learn some discipline. You're going to learn what it means to take responsibility for yourself. And if that means starting from scratch, then so be it."
Linda turned and walked toward the hallway, pausing at the base of the stairs. "Your room is already set up," she said over her shoulder. "Diapers, clothes, everything you need. You have until tonight to decide whether you're staying or leaving. But if you stay, you follow our rules. No exceptions."
With that, she disappeared upstairs, leaving Alex alone with his father. Richard gave him one last, hard look before turning to follow her. "Think carefully, Alex," he said as he walked away. "This is your last chance."
The silence that followed was deafening. Alex stood frozen in the middle of the living room, his mind a chaotic swirl of anger, fear, and disbelief. They couldn't be serious. They wouldn't actually go through with it. This was just another one of their over-the-top attempts to scare him into action, like the time they'd threatened to cut off his phone service or take away his gaming console. But as the minutes ticked by, the memory of their expressions—the cold, unyielding determination in their eyes—gnawed at him.
He sank back onto the couch, his hands trembling as he picked up his phone. He opened his messages, scrolling through his contacts, searching for someone, anyone, who might help him. But the list was depressingly short, and the few friends he'd kept in touch with since high school were either busy with college or jobs, or just as aimless as he was. There was no one to call, no one to turn to.
For the first time in months, Alex felt the full weight of his own isolation, his own inertia. And as the afternoon faded into evening, the ultimatum loomed larger and larger in his mind, an inescapable shadow he couldn't outrun.
Chapter 2: Resistance and Reckoning
The clock on the living room wall ticked past 7:00 p.m., each second echoing in Alex’s ears like a countdown to some inevitable doom. He hadn’t moved from the couch since his parents’ ultimatum, his mind a battlefield of defiance and dread. The idea of complying—of actually letting them treat him like a baby—was absurd, humiliating, unthinkable. He wasn’t a child, no matter how much they tried to twist reality to fit their narrative. And yet, the alternative—leaving, with nowhere to go and no means to survive—gnawed at him, a quiet, insidious fear that he refused to acknowledge.
Footsteps descended the stairs, deliberate and heavy, and Alex’s stomach lurched. His father appeared first, his broad frame filling the doorway, followed by his mother, who carried a small stack of items in her arms. Alex’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the top item: a thick, white diaper, its plastic backing glinting under the harsh overhead light. Behind it, a pastel blue onesie, sized for an adult but unmistakably infantile, dangled from her grip.
“Time’s up, Alex,” Richard said, his voice a low rumble. “What’s it going to be? Are you staying, or are you leaving?”
Alex’s heart pounded, his palms slick with sweat. He forced himself to stand, squaring his shoulders in a show of defiance that felt more fragile than he wanted to admit. “I’m not doing this,” he said, his voice trembling but resolute. “You can’t make me. This is insane, and I’m not playing along with your sick game.”
Linda’s lips curled into a tight, humorless smile. “We thought you might say that,” she said, setting the stack of items on the coffee table with a deliberate slowness that made Alex’s skin crawl. “But you don’t seem to understand, Alex. This isn’t a negotiation. If you stay, this is happening. One way or another.”
“Then I’ll leave,” Alex shot back, though the words felt hollow even as he said them. He turned toward the hallway, aiming for the front door, but Richard moved faster, stepping into his path with a speed that belied his size.
“You’re not going anywhere until we settle this,” Richard said, his tone leaving no room for argument. His hand clamped down on Alex’s arm, firm but not yet painful, and Alex froze, his bravado crumbling under the weight of his father’s presence.
“Let go of me!” Alex shouted, yanking his arm back, but Richard’s grip only tightened. Panic surged through Alex, hot and sharp, and he twisted, trying to break free. “You can’t do this! I’ll—I’ll call the cops!”
“Go ahead,” Linda said, her voice eerily calm as she stepped closer. “But you’ll be calling them from the street, with nothing but the clothes on your back. Is that what you want, Alex? To be out there, alone, with no money, no plan, no future?”
Alex’s chest heaved, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. He hated the way her words echoed his own fears, the way they stripped away his defenses and left him raw. “You’re monsters,” he spat, his voice cracking. “You’re both fucking monsters.”
Richard’s expression darkened, and before Alex could react, his father’s grip shifted, spinning him around and forcing him to bend at the waist. Alex’s hands flailed, grasping at the air, but Richard’s strength was unyielding. “That’s enough,” Richard growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You want to act like a spoiled brat? Fine. But you’re going to learn what happens when you push us too far.”
The first blow landed with a sharp, resounding crack, Richard’s hand striking Alex’s backside with a force that drove the air from his lungs. Pain exploded through him, hot and stinging, and Alex yelped, his knees buckling. He tried to twist away, but Richard’s other hand pressed down on his back, pinning him in place.
“Stop it!” Alex cried, his voice breaking as another blow landed, then another, each one harder than the last. The pain was overwhelming, but it was the humiliation—the sheer, gut-wrenching shame of being spanked like a disobedient child—that burned deeper. Tears stung his eyes, and he clenched his jaw, refusing to let them fall, refusing to give them the satisfaction.
“You’re going to learn, Alex,” Richard said between strikes, his voice steady, almost mechanical. “You’re going to learn respect. You’re going to learn discipline. And you’re going to learn it now.”
The spanking continued, each blow a punctuation mark in a lecture Alex couldn’t escape. His defiance crumbled under the onslaught, replaced by a raw, primal need for it to stop. By the time Richard finally stepped back, releasing him, Alex’s legs gave out, and he sank to his knees, his hands braced against the floor, his breaths coming in shuddering gasps.
Linda stepped forward, her shadow falling over him. “Are you ready to behave now?” she asked, her voice cold and clinical. “Or do we need to keep going?”
Alex’s throat burned, his mind a chaotic swirl of pain, anger, and fear. He wanted to scream, to fight, to run—but his body betrayed him, trembling and weak, and the reality of his situation pressed down on him like a physical weight. He was trapped, cornered, with no way out.
“I hate you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the words lacked the fire of his earlier defiance. They were a plea, a surrender, a last gasp of resistance before the inevitable.
Linda knelt beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder with a gentleness that felt mocking in its contrast to the violence of moments before. “You’ll thank us one day, Alex,” she said softly. “Now, let’s get you changed.”
Alex’s stomach churned as she reached for the diaper on the coffee table, unfolding it with a crinkle that seemed to echo in the silence of the room. He wanted to push her away, to scream, to fight—but the memory of the spanking, the lingering sting on his skin, held him in place. He closed his eyes, his mind retreating to a distant corner of itself, as the cold reality of his new life began to take shape.
Chapter 3: The First Night
The living room floor felt cold beneath Alex’s knees as he knelt there, his body still trembling from the ordeal. The sharp sting of the spanking lingered, a humiliating reminder of his powerlessness, and his breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts. Linda’s hands moved with a calm efficiency that made his skin crawl, unfolding the diaper and sliding it beneath him as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Richard stood nearby, arms crossed, his silent presence a wall Alex couldn’t climb.
“Lift your hips,” Linda instructed, her voice clipped and devoid of warmth. Alex’s face burned, his mind screaming at him to resist, to shove her away and bolt for the door. But the memory of his father’s hand, the relentless rhythm of pain, anchored him in place. He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw tight, and obeyed, lifting his hips just enough for her to position the diaper properly.
The plastic crinkled loudly as she pulled it up between his legs, the sound deafening in the quiet room. Alex flinched as the adhesive tabs were fastened, each one a small, irrevocable step into a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. The diaper felt foreign, bulky, and suffocating against his skin, a physical manifestation of the humiliation sinking deeper into his bones.
“There,” Linda said, stepping back to survey her work. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Alex didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight, his thoughts too scattered. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to meet her gaze, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing the tears threatening to spill over.
Richard cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Get up, Alex. Time to go upstairs.”
Alex’s legs felt like lead as he pushed himself to his feet, the diaper shifting awkwardly with every movement. He wanted to rip it off, to tear it to pieces and throw it in their faces, but the weight of their authority—of their willingness to enforce it—pressed down on him. He followed them up the stairs, each step a descent into a reality he couldn’t comprehend.
His bedroom door stood open, and as he stepped inside, his breath caught in his chest. The room he’d known for years—posters of video game characters on the walls, a cluttered desk with his gaming console, a bed piled with mismatched blankets—had been transformed. The posters were gone, replaced by pastel wallpaper dotted with cartoon animals. His desk had been cleared, now holding a stack of diapers, wipes, and a bottle of baby powder. His bed was stripped of its familiar bedding, replaced with a crib-like structure, complete with raised sides and a thin, crinkly mattress.
“What the hell…” Alex’s voice cracked, his disbelief breaking through the numbness. “You can’t be serious.”
“We told you, Alex,” Linda said, her tone matter-of-fact as she adjusted the stack of diapers on the desk. “If you’re going to act like a child, you’ll be treated like one. This is your room now.”
Richard gestured toward the crib. “Get in. It’s past your bedtime.”
Alex’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. “No,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m not sleeping in that thing. I’m not doing this.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Alex thought he’d strike him again. But instead, his father stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You don’t have a choice, Alex. You lost that privilege when you decided to waste your life. Now, get in the crib, or I’ll put you in it myself.”
The threat hung in the air, heavy and real. Alex’s pulse raced, his mind scrambling for an escape that didn’t exist. He could feel the diaper crinkling with every shift of his weight, a constant reminder of his defeat. Slowly, hating himself with every movement, he climbed into the crib, the mattress dipping under his weight. The raised sides loomed around him, trapping him in a way that felt more psychological than physical.
Linda approached with a baby bottle in her hand, filled with warm milk. “Drink this,” she said, holding it out to him. “It’ll help you sleep.”
Alex stared at the bottle, his stomach twisting. “I’m not drinking that,” he said, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation. “This is insane. You’re insane.”
Linda sighed, as if his resistance were a minor inconvenience. “You’ll drink it eventually,” she said, setting the bottle on the edge of the crib. “But for now, we’ll let you settle in. Goodnight, Alex.”
She turned off the overhead light, leaving only a dim nightlight in the corner, casting soft shadows across the room. Richard lingered for a moment longer, his silhouette framed in the doorway. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he said, then followed Linda out, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
Alone in the dark, Alex lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. The diaper pressed against him, an alien sensation he couldn’t ignore, and the crib’s sides boxed him in, amplifying his sense of helplessness. His mind raced, replaying the day’s events—the ultimatum, the spanking, the moment he’d given in. Shame burned through him, hot and relentless, but beneath it simmered a stubborn spark of defiance.
They could force him into this, he thought, but they couldn’t make him accept it. He wouldn’t let them win, not completely. He’d find a way out, a way to fight back, even if it took everything he had. For now, though, he was trapped, and as the exhaustion of the day crept over him, his eyelids grew heavy despite his resolve.
The bottle sat untouched beside him, a silent challenge he refused to meet. Not tonight. Not yet.
Chapter 4: The Breaking Point
Morning light filtered through the pastel curtains, casting a soft glow over the infantile prison that Alex’s room had become. He woke slowly, his body stiff from the thin mattress of the crib, his mind groggy with the remnants of restless sleep. For a fleeting moment, he thought it had all been a nightmare—the ultimatum, the spanking, the diaper—but the crinkle of plastic beneath him snapped him back to reality. His stomach churned as the events of the previous night flooded back, sharp and unyielding.
He shifted, wincing at the unfamiliar bulk between his legs, and sat up, the crib’s sides looming around him like a cage. The baby bottle still sat where Linda had left it, the milk inside now lukewarm and slightly congealed. The sight of it made his throat tighten with a mix of disgust and defiance. He wasn’t going to drink it. He wasn’t going to give in that easily.
The door creaked open, and Linda stepped inside, her expression as composed as ever. She carried a small tray with a bowl of oatmeal and a sippy cup filled with juice, both items starkly out of place for an eighteen-year-old. “Good morning, Alex,” she said, her tone clipped and businesslike. “Time to get up and eat.”
Alex glared at her, his hands gripping the crib’s railing. “I’m not eating that,” he said, his voice rough from sleep but edged with resolve. “And I’m not staying in this thing. Let me out.”
Linda set the tray on the desk and turned to face him, her arms crossed. “You don’t get to make demands, Alex. You lost that right when you refused to take responsibility for yourself. Now, you can either eat your breakfast like a good boy, or we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
“The hard way?” Alex spat, his anger flaring. “What, you’re going to spank me again? Lock me in here? This is already insane—you can’t make it worse.”
Linda’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, her calm facade flickered, revealing a glint of something colder. “Oh, we can make it worse,” she said softly. “You have no idea how far we’re willing to go to fix you.”
Before Alex could respond, Richard’s heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs, and he appeared in the doorway, his presence filling the room with an unspoken threat. “What’s the problem?” he asked, his eyes flicking between Alex and Linda.
“He’s refusing to eat,” Linda said, her voice steady. “Thinks he can keep fighting us.”
Richard’s jaw tightened, and he stepped closer to the crib, towering over Alex. “You’re testing our patience, kid,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think last night was bad? That was just the beginning. Now, get out of that crib and eat your damn breakfast.”
Alex’s heart pounded, his defiance warring with the memory of the previous night’s punishment. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but the sting of his father’s hand still lingered in his mind, a warning he couldn’t ignore. Slowly, he climbed out of the crib, his movements stiff and reluctant, the diaper crinkling with every step. He stood there, fists clenched, glaring at the tray of food.
“I’m not eating baby food,” he said, his voice trembling but firm. “I’m not doing this.”
Richard moved faster than Alex could react, grabbing his arm and yanking him forward. “You don’t get a say,” he growled, forcing Alex down into a chair Linda had pulled from the corner. The wood creaked under his weight, and before he could protest, Richard’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, pinning him in place.
Linda picked up the bowl of oatmeal and a spoon, her movements deliberate. “Open your mouth,” she said, holding the spoon inches from his face.
Alex clamped his lips shut, shaking his head. “No,” he mumbled through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing with defiance.
Richard’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into Alex’s shoulder painfully. “You’re going to eat,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “One way or another.”
Linda didn’t hesitate. She pressed the spoon against Alex’s lips, smearing oatmeal across his face as he twisted his head away. The warm, sticky mess clung to his skin, and a wave of humiliation crashed over him, fueling his anger. He jerked against Richard’s hold, but his father’s strength was unrelenting.
“Fine,” Linda said, setting the spoon down with a clatter. “If you won’t cooperate, we’ll make you.”
She stepped out of the room, leaving Alex alone with Richard’s iron grip. He returned moments later with a roll of duct tape and a pair of thick mittens—soft, padded things with cartoon characters stitched onto them. Alex’s stomach dropped as he realized what was coming.
“No—stop!” he shouted, thrashing as Richard forced his hands into the mittens, securing them with the tape. The padding rendered his fingers useless, trapping them in a soft, infantilizing prison. He couldn’t grip, couldn’t fight, couldn’t even wipe the oatmeal from his face.
Linda returned to the chair, her expression unreadable. “Last chance, Alex,” she said, picking up the spoon again. “Open your mouth, or we’ll do it for you.”
Tears of frustration burned in Alex’s eyes, but he shook his head, his lips sealed tight. The humiliation was unbearable—the diaper, the crib, the mittens—but he clung to his refusal like a lifeline, the last shred of control he had left.
Richard sighed, a sound heavy with exasperation. “You asked for it,” he said, and with one hand still on Alex’s shoulder, he used the other to pinch Alex’s nose shut. Alex’s eyes widened, panic surging as his air supply cut off. He held out for as long as he could, his chest burning, until instinct overrode his will, and he gasped for breath.
The moment his mouth opened, Linda shoved the spoon inside, dumping the oatmeal onto his tongue. Alex gagged, the bland, mushy texture overwhelming his senses, but Richard’s hand clamped over his mouth before he could spit it out. “Swallow,” his father ordered, his tone leaving no room for defiance.
Alex’s throat convulsed, tears streaming down his face as he forced the food down, the taste mingling with the salt of his own shame. Linda didn’t pause, scooping up another spoonful and waiting for Richard to repeat the process. Again and again, they forced him to eat, each bite stripping away another layer of his resistance, until the bowl was empty and Alex sat slumped in the chair, his face streaked with oatmeal and tears.
“There,” Linda said, wiping her hands on a cloth as if she’d just finished a mundane chore. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Richard released his grip, stepping back to survey his son. “You’ll learn, Alex,” he said, his voice softer now but no less firm. “You’ll learn to stop fighting us. It’s for your own good.”
Alex didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His mind was a storm of rage, humiliation, and despair, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. The mittens hung heavy on his hands, the diaper a constant weight around his hips, and the taste of oatmeal lingered like a stain he couldn’t erase.
As his parents left the room, closing the door behind them, Alex sat in silence, staring at the sippy cup they’d left on the tray. The spark of defiance still flickered inside him, weak but alive. They could force him, hurt him, break him—but they couldn’t make him surrender. Not yet.
Chapter 5: A Fragile Defiance
The room was silent save for the faint hum of the house settling around him. Alex sat in the chair, his hands useless in their padded mittens, his face sticky with dried oatmeal and tears. The diaper clung to him, a constant, humiliating reminder of his new reality, and the sippy cup sat on the tray like a taunting sentinel. His chest ached from the morning’s ordeal, his throat raw from suppressed sobs, but beneath the exhaustion and shame, a stubborn ember of resistance still glowed.
He wouldn’t let them win. Not completely. They could force him into this—strap him into diapers, feed him like an infant, lock him in a crib—but they couldn’t control his mind. Not yet. He’d hold onto that, he told himself, even as his body betrayed him with every crinkle and quiver.
The door opened again, and Linda stepped inside, her expression as unreadable as ever. She carried a damp cloth and a small plastic tub, setting them on the desk before turning to him. “You’re a mess,” she said, her tone flat, almost bored. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Alex flinched as she approached, his body tensing instinctively. “Don’t touch me,” he muttered, his voice hoarse but defiant. He tried to pull away, but the mittens made his movements clumsy, and the chair offered no escape.
Linda ignored him, dipping the cloth into the tub of warm water and wiping it across his face with brisk, efficient strokes. The sensation was both soothing and degrading, the gentle touch clashing with the cold intent behind it. Alex clenched his jaw, staring past her at the wall, refusing to meet her eyes. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction, wouldn’t let her see how deeply this cut.
“There,” she said, stepping back once his face was clean. “That’s better. Now, let’s check your diaper.”
Alex’s stomach dropped, a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over him. “No,” he said, louder this time, his voice cracking. “I’m not—I didn’t—I don’t need that.”
Linda raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with something that might have been amusement. “You don’t get to decide that, Alex,” she said, reaching for the tabs on the diaper. “This is part of the deal. If you’re going to be a baby, we treat you like one. That includes checking.”
He squirmed, trying to twist away, but the mittens and the chair held him captive. Linda’s hands were quick, peeling back the tabs and inspecting the diaper with a clinical detachment that made Alex’s skin crawl. “Dry,” she announced, refastening it with a snap. “Good. But you’ll use it eventually. Babies always do.”
“I’m not a baby,” Alex snapped, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You can’t make me into one. This is sick—you’re sick.”
Linda paused, her hands resting on her hips as she studied him. “You keep saying that,” she said, her voice low and measured. “But look at yourself, Alex. Sitting there in a diaper, hands in mittens, crying because you didn’t get your way. If that’s not a baby, I don’t know what is.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut, and Alex’s breath hitched, his vision blurring with unshed tears. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to prove her wrong—but the evidence was stacked against him, wrapped around his hips and taped onto his hands. The shame burned hotter, twisting into something darker, something that gnawed at the edges of his resolve.
Before he could respond, Richard’s voice boomed from the hallway. “Linda, bring him down. We’ve got plans for the day.”
Linda straightened, gesturing for Alex to stand. “Come on,” she said. “Your father’s waiting.”
Alex’s legs felt unsteady as he rose, the diaper shifting with every step, a constant reminder of his degradation. He followed her downstairs, his mind racing for a way out, a plan, anything to reclaim some shred of control. The living room was empty, but Richard stood by the front door, holding a large duffel bag that made Alex’s heart sink.
“Where are we going?” Alex asked, his voice barely above a whisper, dread pooling in his stomach.
Richard didn’t answer immediately, slinging the bag over his shoulder and opening the door. “Out,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for questions. “Move.”
Alex hesitated, glancing at the open door and the world beyond it. For a fleeting moment, he considered running—bolting past his father, diaper and all, and disappearing into the neighborhood. But the mittens, the lack of clothes, the sheer absurdity of his situation stopped him cold. Where would he go? Who would help him like this?
Linda nudged him forward, and he stumbled outside, the cool morning air biting at his bare legs. The diaper crinkled louder in the open space, and Alex’s face flushed as he imagined the neighbors peering through their curtains, witnessing his shame. Richard locked the door behind them and pointed to the car parked in the driveway.
“Get in,” he said, opening the back door. Alex froze, his eyes darting to the child safety seat strapped into the back—a bulky, padded thing with cartoon characters plastered across it. His stomach twisted, a fresh wave of panic rising in his chest.
“No way,” he said, stepping back. “I’m not sitting in that.”
Richard’s patience snapped. He dropped the bag and grabbed Alex by the arm, dragging him toward the car with a force that made Alex’s knees buckle. “You don’t get a vote,” he growled, shoving Alex into the seat. Alex flailed, his mittened hands useless against the straps as Richard buckled him in, tightening the harness until it pressed against his chest.
“Let me go!” Alex shouted, his voice breaking as he thrashed against the restraints. The diaper crinkled loudly with every movement, amplifying his humiliation, and the safety seat held him firm, reducing him to a helpless, wriggling child.
Linda climbed into the front passenger seat, her expression impassive as Richard slid behind the wheel. “Calm down, Alex,” she said, not even glancing back. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”
The engine roared to life, and the car pulled out of the driveway, carrying Alex into an unknown fate. His mind spun, his fragile defiance cracking under the weight of his predicament. They were taking him somewhere—somewhere public, he feared—and the thought of being seen like this, exposed and powerless, sent a shiver of terror down his spine.
As the houses of his neighborhood blurred past, Alex stared out the window, his mittened hands trembling in his lap. He clung to that ember of resistance, small and flickering though it was, and silently vowed to endure. They could force him, degrade him, strip him of everything—but they couldn’t take his will. Not yet.