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personalias83 – My ABDL Life

Dante’S Infanzia chapter 3 & 4

Written by: personalias83

Chapter 3: Definitely Not Dead.

Have you ever experienced something that caught you so off guard, you literally didn’t know what to think? You didn’t feel happy, or sad, or angry, or even confused? “Numb” or “nothing” wouldn’t even be apt descriptors. Those are still words with concepts attached to them that show some level of comprehension or cognition. The best words to describe this sensation would be “complete and utter, time-stopping, shut down.”

Sometimes that moment comes after an unexpected life-altering shock. Like your parents announcing their divorce at Thanksgiving dinner because one or both of them are gay and they’re tired of living the lie…oh, and Mom is pregnant again. Or finding out your best friend shot themselves in the face immediately after texting you “c u 2morrow”.

It usually doesn’t last too long. Emotions hate being left out of the party, and soon rush in to fill the gap; and time MUST be accounted for- so even as it stops, it’s still jogging in place, ready to sprint forward to catch up to the present. Still, that moment, that brief shut down of synapses, that mini-stroke, happened.

For Dante, this was that moment: Sitting in a giant playpen, dressed as a baby, being told that he was dead, by a girl who had just shit herself in front of him only minutes earlier. This did not compute. Dante was a processor who had just witnessed his first “2” after a lifetime of binary. Not only was it illogical, it was from completely out of left field. This did not work. This was peanut butter and mayonnaise on banana bread.

He sat there, his brain trying to make sense of the sentence. Lysa, the aforementioned deliverer of what-the-fuck-news, sat, waiting. She had repositioned herself so that she sat in with her legs criss-crossed. She pulled her short dress over knees, hiding the fresh diaper she was wearing. She yanked the bows out of her golden locks and her pig tails came undone, her hair falling to the side of her face. She wore the type of passive, uncomfortable smile of the hospital nurse having to deliver bad news to the family.

Her eyes remained immobile, patiently waiting for Dante to say something. Anything. To ask questions, to yell things at her, to break down and cry. Anything.

Midori, meanwhile, had crawled over to the other side of the playpen. She had had the brilliant idea to scoot her backside up against the mesh siding of the playpen and prop her legs up, so her legs and torso formed a rough 90 degree angle. Currently she seemed fascinated on how many different permutations of her own fingers she could fit into her mouth. The teenager was enthralled by the strings of saliva formed between her lips and fingers.

Dante wasn’t dead. How could he be dead? If he had died, he would have remembered it. He definitely didn’t feel dead. He was still breathing, seeing, hearing, talking, thinking. He was positive that he had felt his heart pounding when the first Judy in the white blouse and black skirt had put him on the padded table and he found himself paralyzed. Time for a rebuttal.

“Uh….no?”, was all that Dante could manage.

Lysa “humphed ” a laugh. “What do you mean ‘uh…no?’” she said “Oh yeah, kid, you’re dead, and not figure of speech dead. You’re ‘dead’, dead. D-E-A-D. Dead. Sooner you come to accept it, the sooner we can move on and go about our forever.”

“I’m not dead.”, Dante said firmly.

“Uh…yeah…ya are.” Lysa retorted with the certainty of someone arguing that the grass was green and the sky was blue.

“No, I’m not.” Dante replied.

“Yes, you are.,” Lysa said back.

“No I’m not,” he said.

“Yes you are,” she pressed

“No I’m not!” he spat.

“Yes you are!” she spat back.

“NO I’M NOT!” he shouted. Lysa held up her hand as if to say “stop” and she pointed sideways. The Judy with the bleach blonde hair and the nursery worker’s scrubs had come up to the side of the playpen and was peering in through the mesh . Her hands were on her hips and her left eyebrow was cocked in question.

“Dante, Lysa, are you two playing nice?” she asked in that way that parents give more as a hint than a question. Lysa silently nodded her head and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Dante copied.

“Are either of you cranky babies?” Both shook their heads. “Do you need a spanking? A time out? A nap? A milky ba-ba?” To all of these they silently answered “no”. Lysa was particularly enthusiastic on saying no to the bottle.

“Okay, you two, but play nice, or Mama Judy will have to spank.”, then she turned around and walked over to her rocking chair and sat down. Lysa let out an audible sigh of relief.

“Alright,” Lysa sighed taking her thumb out of her mouth. “Let’s try this again. But let’s be civil and try to talk like adults. I get enough of the arguing this when I talk to the real babies, especially the 2 and 3 year-olds.” She took a deep breath. “Now, exactly WHY is it so hard to believe that you’re dead?”

“Because, I didn’t wake up dead.” Dante answered matter-of-factly.. “I woke up here.”

“And here,” Lysa said gesturing all around them, “is where we go when we die.” Dante said nothing. He just sat there, not believing, absent mindedly sucking on his thumb.

“Okay,” Lysa said, chewing on her lip. “Let’s try this another way. Let me guess: You lost consciousness, and when you woke up, you were in the clothes you last remembered wearing, and you had peed and pooped yourself?” Dante nodded.

“Then”, Lysa went on, “one of those,” she jerked her head sideways indicating the worker in the rocking chair, “cleaned you up, took off all of your body hair and then dressed you up like…that.” Dante nodded again.

“Then,” she continued, “you got force fed a bottle of delicious milk, got burped, and everything seemed really good for a little while. Am I warm?” Dante continued to nod. “Then, they brought you here. That‘s what happens to about everyone who comes here.” she finished.

Dante nodded, still not really believing. Whatever this place was, dream or not, it was organized, so it didn’t exactly baffle him that they had a standard operating procedure. Of course, this was still just a bizarre pill and booze induced dream, so it didn’t matter. Time to set this nightmare chick straight.

“Look, Lysa…was it?” Dante started, putting on his most patronizing smile after taking his thumb out of his mouth. “Just because I’m in an unusual situation, doesn’t mean I’m dead. There’s a perfectly….” he pause, (reasonable wasn’t a good word for it, and logical was right out) “plausible explanation for all of this.”

“Oh really?” Lysa retorted, “how did you get here and wake up in a strange place?”

“Kidnapped,” Dante stated a little cockily. “I was pretty drunk last night; would have been easy to take me.”

“Okay, what about the wonder-women here that all look alike?” Lysa asked.

Dante shrugged, “plastic surgery and steroids.”

“The milk?” she pressed.

“Drugged.”, he smirked. Come on, that last part should have been obvious.

“These and all of this?” she gestured to their clothes and surroundings.

“There’s a market and a manufacturer for everything, these days.”

“Then what does anyone gain from all of this? Treating us like babies?” she asked. That was a tougher one. Dante didn’t have an immediate answer for that. Then it came to him.

“Porn.” he said. Lysa’s jaw dropped. “Yeah, porn,”, he went on. “There are probably hidden cameras throughout this entire building that are secretly filming us so that sickos and pervs can whack off at home on their computers.”

“That’s messed up!” Lysa exclaimed. Dante shrugged, his cocky little smile grew just a bit bigger.

“Like I said,” he shrugged, “there’s a market and a manufacturer for everything these days. Besides, I’m pretty sure this all just a really weird dream. Like I said, I was really drunk last night.”

“Oh.” Lysa said, an evil smile spreading across her face. “So we’re dreaming now, are we?” She leaned forward and crawled over to him, slowly, methodically, seductively, her hips swaying with every stride. She licked her lips as she drew nearer. She gently caressed his forearm, and leaned in, her eyes closed as if to kiss him.

Dante closed his eyes, and puckered his lips. Awww yeah! This dream was just starting to get hot! He could feel her breath on his face.

“Dori!” she said, in the same high pitched voice people use to call their pets. “Num-nums!” Pain shot through Dante’s hand as Midori- apparently having broken free from her contemplation of mouths and fingers- bit into it., his arm being held in place by Lysa’s iron grip.

Dante screamed in agony as Midori drew blood from his hand and tore at it the way a dog tears at a piece of meat. Tears ran down his cheeks unbidden as skin ripped off. Midori stopped biting and blew a raspberry at Dante as he continued to wail. Lysa released her grip and sat back, mimicking his prior smug expression.

“Yeah,” Lysa said, “I taught her to do that.”

“Midori!” The Judy in the nursery scrubs yelled as she threw open the gate to the playpen. “Not again! Bad baby! Bad baby! Mama Judy spank!” Midori was quickly picked up, spanked on her diapered bottom, and then laid back down on the playpen floor while she went limp. The nursery worker walked over and took Dante’s hand.

“Aw, poor Dante‘s got a nasty boo-boo,” she murmured as she looked at his mutilated hand. “Let me kiss and make it better.” The woman took Dante’s hand, and pressed her lips against his bloody wound. “Mwuh,” she said, making an exaggerated kissing noise. Then she took her hand and lightly wiped the blood off Dante’s hand. None of it seemed to stick to her, simply vanishing as she wiped it off.

His hand was healed! No pain, no bite marks, no blood, no missing skin. Nothing. It was as if the last 30 seconds hadn’t happened. The woman picked Midori’s lifeless form up and carried her out of the playpen, shutting gate behind her. “Naughty Midori!” she said, as she propped the overgrown baby in a stool in the corner.

“So,” Lysa said, the smirk still not leaving her face. “Still dreaming? Still shooting porn?”

Chapter 4: Of Heaven, Hell, and here.

Okay…. So maybe there was more to this situation than it being a dream, or some convoluted fetish porn filming site. (Dante felt a little sick of himself for that- who would even conceive of such a thing?) It certainly hurt too much to be a dream. The hand kissing thing was DEFINITELY not normal. This was definitely out of the realm of any kind of normal. Physics and modern medicine had just taken a back alley beating at the hands of a kiss.

“So,” Lysa spoke up while Dante continued to stare at his renewed hand, “the real question is, how did you die?” The obvious answer would have been “murder”. He hadn’t been doing anything terribly dangerous, just throwing the biggest birthday bash ever with him and about 100 of his closest friends. Maybe someone had had a grudge against him and poisoned him, or killed him in his sleep.

“I can see that look in your eyes, Dante,” Lysa interrupted Dante’s train of thought. “You’re over thinking this. You’re making up a story to fill in the blanks. What REALLY happened?” Bitch had a point. If he was dead, it probably wasn’t murder. Probably some kind of accident. A lot of people were drinking last night, maybe somebody got drunk and accidentally crushed his head in by knocking over a stereo or something. Then again, Dante couldn’t remember how drunk everyone else had gotten, since he had gotten so hammered himself. Wait a minute….

“Wait for iiiiit…” Lysa said, staring intently into Dante’s face. Dante had gotten REALLY drunk last night. So drunk that some people had carried him over to the couch. There had been some stupid argument about whether or not to take his shoes off and let him sleep, or keep them on and draw on his face. Some kind of dumb party rule or whatever.

Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute. When Dante had woken up today, he hadn’t remembered wearing any shoes. What if the party guests had left him alone? He had fallen asleep on his back. What if everyone left him alone, and he had gotten alcohol poisoning? What if he had threw up and choked on his own vomit and nobody noticed till it was too late? SHIT!

“Aaaand we’re there.” , Lysa commented sarcastically. “Congratulations. I thought you were going to try and beat Midori’s record for denial. Thanks for the pleasant surprise and proving me wrong.”

Dante shifted his weight to all fours. It felt oddly comfortable on the padded playpen floor. No wait. Something about that was wrong. The fact that it felt right was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t dead, just going crazy. Maybe this was all his hallucination? Like the padded playpen was really a padded cell, and his deranged mind was substituting in babyish images.

He felt a pair of hands shove him onto his side. Dante landed with a bit of a grunt, but was unhurt. He looked up and saw Lysa’s disapproving glare, her arms crossed with her standing on her knees. She had a very stern look on her face, despite being dressed like a one-year-old at the oldest.

“Stop it,” Lysa warned, “you’re already over the hardest part, now. Don’t regress.”

Dante’s mother had once told him that when people had multiple traumatic experiences occur in rapid succession to them, they often coped with it by putting one dilemma off to the side while coping with the other. Dante’s two traumas were that he might be dead, and that he was in a place full of crazies that insisted on treating him like a baby. If Dante was dead, then there might be nothing he could do to help that. There might be a way out of this infantilized situation if he knew more about it. Dante decided that he could accept being dead- at least temporarily. Time to find out more about here, wherever that was.

He laid back and avoided eye contact. Looking at Lysa wouldn’t help much. The contrast between her tone and her garments was too much right now. For someone dressed like a baby, this girl had no shortage of attitude.

“Are we in Hell?” he asked. This felt a little like Hell.

“Don’t be silly,” she told him. “Hell is much worse than this. Hell is the worst torture your mind can imagine. I’d hardly call playpens and pacifiers for all eternity the worst torture imaginable.”

“Then is this-?” Dante started

“Heaven?” Lysa interrupted. “You’re joking, right?” she laughed. “Welcome to Heaven! Your reward for a lifetime of piety and Godly devotion is an endless supply of milk and mush!” She sighed. “Besides, I don’t know about you, but I probably didn’t deserve to go to Heaven, the way my life was going.”

“Then where else is there?” Dante was starting to get worried.

“Limbo,” Lysa said with resignation, “where Catholics say un-baptized babies go when they die.”

“But… I’m not Catholic.” Dante said indignantly.

“Neither am I.” Lysa retorted, her hands on her hips. “Guess that doesn’t matter to the Big Guy, huh?” Dante was pretty sure he’d never been baptized. His family never went to Church. Not that they were militant atheists, or anything; religion was just something that wasn’t discussed. Something still didn’t add up, though.

“I’m not a baby, either…obviously,” Dante replied.

“A lot of the people here aren’t either…obviously.” Lysa answered. In a moment, the fire went out of her voice. “But we’re treated like babies all the same. I think the Judys figure that if they treat us like babies, then it doesn’t matter.” She motioned over to the Judy in the nursery scrubs, and Dante followed her gaze. Midori had apparently served her time on the naughty stool and was now cradled in the Judy’s arms being tickled and nuzzled while the Asian girl giggled and squirmed in pure delight.

“Sad part is, they’re not wrong,” she continued. “Eventually, everyone in here snaps and starts playing the part for real. I think it might be something about Limbo itself; something in the air that makes you want to act like a baby. Some only take a few months. Most make it a year or two before the constant treatment breaks them. A few make it longer than that, ten…maybe twenty years; but I don’t know of anyone who’s made it more than a hundred years. Eventually, you get broken down, and you become a true innocent again.” She kept staring at Midori- completely wrapped up in the strange woman’s attentions. “Midori made it about a year and half before the change became permanent. Poor thing.”

Dante looked at Midori and started to wonder. Had she been just a regular teenager at one point? Someone who died young and was sentenced here because a dude in a robe hadn’t poured water over her head? Forced to be a baby for all eternity?

Part of him envied her stupidity. This place might not be so bad if you didn’t know any better. No responsibilities, pretty women taking care of you and being nice to you. He wouldn’t have to feed himself. Heck, if even half of this was true, he wouldn’t even have to dress himself. Hell, he wouldn’t even have to wipe- NO! DON’T THINK LIKE THAT! FIGHT IT! Dante sat up, his eyes hardened.

“How do I fight it?” he asked, staring at Lysa, his eyes burning with hatred- not for her- but for what he had almost thought. There was a spark there for a moment, between the two of them. A connection made, however brief.

Lysa nodded her approval; she had felt it too, then. “For starters, you have to be honest with yourself. Denial and hope are poisons in this place. Know in your heart that there are forces bigger than you keeping you here, and that means you’re not leaving. If you try and escape, you’ll be more likely to crack when they catch you. That hope will turn into despair and that’s when you’ll give in.”

Dante nodded. He wasn’t going to try to escape. Yet. He needed more information first, and some time to formulate a plan. Lysa gave him an odd look. Goddamn it, he needed to get a poker face.

“Also,” she went on, building up steam, “you’re going to be forced into doing things that you won’t be proud of. Get over it. Dignity has no place here.” Dante could almost imagine a general’s helmet on her head, and riding crop in her hand. He imagined the American flag in the background of the playpen. “You will pee and poop yourself. You will drink from bottles and eat in a highchair. We will probably see each other naked by the end of the day. Just let whatever humiliating thing happen, accept that it happened, that it’ll definitely happen again, and move on with your day.

“If there’s a way a small way to keep your dignity-like expecting jackasses who are still smart enough to understand you face the other way when you’re pooping,” Dante felt his face grow a little red from embarrassment. “Do it, but otherwise give up on embarrassment, dignity, shame, yada yada yada.”

“Those whiners who scream to the ceiling ‘I’m a big girl! I’m a big boy! Waaaaah!'” Lysa threw her hands up in mock distress. “Are the ones closest to cracking. And the angry kids who curse, and hit, and play rebel, get spanked every five minutes?….they’re next in line. Cynicism is your friend”.

Dante had to admit, this made some sense. It would be harder to break someone who didn’t feel hope. Harder to change an aspect of someone who didn’t emotionally invest a lot in that aspect. Don’t give your tormentors much to torment. Speaking of which:

“What’s the deal with the- um- Judy’s?” Dante inquired.

“They’re angels…sort of.”, Lysa answered. “Created to be the perfect mommies, nannies, babysitters, caretakers…whatever.” Lysa started listing off on her fingers, “They don’t eat, drink, sleep, use the potty, (heh…weird vocabulary choice there), or do anything that doesn’t immediately relate to treating us like we’re rugrats. I mean, they don’t even get dirty.”

The image of the first Judy and her immaculate outfit despite being pushed into a puddle of vomit came to mind, as did the blood refusing to stain the Judy’s hand after she kissed Dante’s boo-boo….injury….injury…his mutilated hand.

Lysa shrugged, “I don’t know if they literally think we’re babies, or just treat us that way, but the result’s the same. All but the most basic stuff that we say, they treat like baby talk anyways. Watch…”

Lysa turned and called out , “Hey Judy! Judy! I bet I could really improve your face by running my dad’s lawn mower over it!” The Judy in the nursery scrubs walked over, Midori resting on her hip.

“Well someone sure sounds excited!” she cooed to them. “What is it, Lysa? What is it?”

Lysa turned her head back to Dante, “Now watch this.” She started waving frantically and calling out in an excited and high pitched voice. “Dori! Dori! It’s me! Lysa! Look at you, whoah! You’re so high up there on that nice lady’s hip! Hi Dori! Hi!” Midori waved back enthusiastically, enjoying all the attention from her playmate.

“Well it sure looks like someone missed their little friend.”, mused the Judy. The angel turned her head to the baby-teen on her hip. “Are you ready to go back and play? Are you? Are you?” she didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “Well, okaaaay. But no more biting.” Midori gave a solemn wide-eyed nod.

The playpen gate opened again, and Midori was plopped down among them. She immediately crawled over and gave Lysa a sloppy hug, the two girls almost falling over themselves. Lysa, gently nudged Midori away, “Thank you, Dori,” she said, “now Dante and I need to keep talking, otay?” Midori nodded and babbled something before crawling off.

Lysa turned back to Dante, “See? They only hear what they want to hear.” Interesting. So in theory, Dante could talk to some of the others, maybe make a few allies, and form an escape plan or rebellion right under his captors noses. He got that look from Lysa again. Was she psychic or something? Damn!

“What happens if they’re not needed?” Dante asked, trying to take the feeling of suspicion off of him. “Like what do they do when we’re sleeping or just playing….(don’t say playing nice don’t say playing nice)..nice?” FUCK!

“Depends,” Lysa said. “They seem to keep a certain ratio of Judy to baby. If we’re with more babies, and there’s nothing for them to do, they usually talk to each other. Sometimes, they tell stories about us- like the things we did that they thought were cute or funny. Other times it’s water-cooler talk and gossip.” she shrugged. “Y’know, the kind of stuff that grown-ups talk about when they’re sure the kids are distracted or are too young to understand. They don’t even care if you listen in. It’s how I found out about a lot of this stuff.” Her eyes darted to the side…an afterthought. “That and I was lucky enough to find someone to show me the ropes of this place.”

“Oh yeah? Who was it?”, Dante asked, genuinely interested. If Lysa knew more people who were like them around here, maybe he could make friends with them and use it to his advantage later.

“Next question.” Lysa said.

“I already asked it,” Dante pressed, “I said who showed you the ropes when you first got here?”
“And I said…NEXT. QUESTION.” Yikes! Backpedal backpedal backpedal!

“Ok,” Dante said, wisely changing the subject, “what’s the deal with the milk?” Safe choice. Definitely a safe choice. Besides, something was up with that milk.

“That,” Lysa sighed, “is Angel milk, if you know what I mean.” She rolled over onto her back, her diaper on plain display and her legs idly kicking the air. Oddly familiar. “They call it the milk of human kindness.” her voice mellowed out as if she were daydreaming. “It takes away all ambition, and all inhibitions. Without those things, you’re innocent, free from any aggressive or shameful thoughts. It basically makes you a baby for a little while. The Judy’s love to force it down our throats. The buzz makes the idea of going full baby seem more appealing to a lot of people.”

“You can’t get away from it, entirely.”, she went on. “They serve it at least twice a day. Don’t expect to do any heavy thinking right after breakfast or dinner, or if you can’t sleep through the night. Still, if you can avoid coming off as too cranky, or fussy most of the time, they won’t give you any extra.

“Don’t worry,” she said, sitting back up and crossing her legs, “it’s delicious AND habit forming, but it’s not permanent- I think the stuff they give to us in the bottles is cut with something.” Her tone went back to normal. “But even after it wears off, it has lingering side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?” Dante asked.

“If a baby can’t do it, we probably can’t do it either. For starters,” Lysa pointed to the ground, “Have either you or I stood up on our own two feet since this conversation started?” Nope, that they hadn’t. Dante had barely noticed, it felt so natural to be crawling around. The last time he had stood up was when he was running away…before the milk.

“What else?” he asked.

“Look down at your crotch. Any idea how to get that onesie off?” Dante stared down at the crotch-snaps. Did he know how to get undressed? Nope. Getting the blue onesie off seemed about as out there as quantum physics right then.

“What else?” Dante repeated.

“We’re not potty-trained anymore.” she responded flatly.

“Seriously?” he questioned in disbelief. To be trapped in diapers was one thing. To not possess the alternative skill-set, thus needing diapers sounded far fetched, even here. Dante suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“Can you even tell me how to use a potty?” Lysa questioned. “Bet you can’t.” It was true. Dante could remember what a potty looked like- a funny chair with a hole in it. It made a funny sound when you pulled the handle down. He could even remember having used a potty before. But for the life (after-life?) of him, he couldn’t list the steps in how to use one, anymore. His discomfort grew.

“Can you even think of another word for potty?” Lysa pressed. God help him, he couldn’t. He felt a horrible need growing inside of him. Dante was about to explode, a dam about to burst.

“I’m about to pee!” he shrieked. He didn’t even finish the sentence before his bladder let loose. Lysa quickly turned around. Relief, sweet relief flooded his every synapse as he flooded the diaper. His diaper. He shuddered at both of those thoughts.

“Okay, done.” Dante hung his head in shame, quickly before correcting himself. Mustn’t let himself fall too deeply into pity. “So,” he admitted to himself, as Lysa shimmied back around, “I just pissed my pants.”

“No you didn’t.” Lysa told him. “You wet your diaper. It didn’t even leak through to your other clothes. Besides, you’re not wearing pants ” she smiled. Was she actually making a joke?

“Seriously,” she chuckled dryly, “none of the babies get dressed in pants here. Closest things they have are shortalls. It’s like they really want to hammer the baby thing home; I guess pants are too grown-up or something” She shrugged and gestured to herself. “Same thing goes for dresses and skirts that actually cover your underwear. I think it’s another form of control.”

“So let me get this straight,” Dante summarized, “These Stepford Wives dope us up on soma and control every part of our lives like Big Brother till we lose it?”

“Uh…yeah…” Lysa said, for the first time sounding uncertain. “I guess so.” Heh. Blondes.

“Not much of a reader?” Dante asked, feeling like he had the upper hand for once in this conversation. Thank you Mrs. Applegate.

“No,” Lysa said, her eyebrow cocked, in curiosity. “I read a lot back when I was alive. I was actually planning on being the first girl in my family to go to college. I caught the Brave New World and 1984 references. I just don’t get what you were talking about with the Stepford Wives. Must be after my time.” Seriously? She hadn’t seen the movie? Either the good one or the remake?

“How old are you?” Dante asked. Lysa got that smug look on her face.

“You know those old fashioned cloth diapers, with the safety pins and everything?” she asked. Dante nodded. Like the kind worn in the old cartoons. “When I first got here,” Lysa said, “they were just called diapers. Disposables hadn’t really become popular yet.”

Seriously?! This chick was THAT old? She must’ve been old enough that if she were still alive, she’d be back in diapers again anyways.

“Yeah,” she went on by way of explanation, “this place sort of changes to keep up with the times and the latest baby fads. I’ve been able to keep up on the slang and lingo by talking with other new fish, like you. So don’t be so surprised that I don’t talk like some old biddie!” Ironically enough, being prideful that she didn’t sound old had the opposite effect. She was starting to reek of “I’m old, but I’m hip…so not really that hip.”

“Thing is though,” Lysa said, changing the subject back, “I’ve worn cloth, and I’ve worn disposables. I say if you’re gonna be stuck in diapers forever, go with the disposables.’

She was right, now that Dante thought about it. Compared to his wet cloth underwear, (though hardly a fair comparison), his wet disposable felt far better. The damp warmth felt good, and the diaper swelled slightly, creating a mushy feeling around his genitals, almost as if a warm sponge was massaging him down there.

Whoah! All of a sudden, Dante’s diaper felt a little bit tighter. Something else, besides the diaper had started swelling. He looked down at his padded crotch. He could feel the erection, but couldn’t see it. (Take that khakis!)

“Um…Lysa,” Dante blushed, “I thought you said if a baby couldn’t do it, we couldn’t do it.” He gestured to his crotch and gyrated slightly to get the point across. “I think I might be at risk of having a very un-childlike accident here.” Lysa just smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Dumb ass,” she said. “You got a stiffie from your first wet diaper, didn’t you? Baby boys get erections all the time. Heck, it’s probably why they’re harder to potty train.” Hmmm, maybe. That made some sense.

“Baby girls can get wet in more ways than one if you know what I mean. ” she winked. “But as far as our plumbing goes, your seed shooter just got demoted to a squirt gun, and I’ll never lactate, have a bun in my oven, or get a visit from my aunt flow again.” Did that mean he could potentially have sex here? Apparently death was no cure for a male teenage libido.

Lysa started giving him that “don’t even think about it look” again. Time to change the subject and distract himself again.

“So,” Dante looked around nervously, “is there any cut off age for entrance into Limbo?” It was the best he could do. He couldn’t think of any better questions.

Lysa shrugged. “There’d have to be. Even with a lucky break like Limbo, there’d have to be a point where God says ‘You’re old enough to go to Hell.’ ”

Memories from earlier crashed into Dante’s brain.

“JUDY, HE WAS HERE AT ONE MINUTE BEFORE MIDNIGHT. HE WAS ONLY ONE MINUTE AWAY FROM BEING DECLARED LOST. IF I FUDGE ANY OF THE PAPER WORK, EVEN BY A MINUTE, HE DOESN’T GO INTO ANOTHER NURSERY!”

Eighteen. Eighteen-years-old was the cut off. If Dante Willis had died one minute later, he would have died a man. He would have been condemned to Hell for all eternity.

To Be Continued…

Source: http://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?showtopic=34668

Dante’S Infanzia chapter 1 & 2

Written by:personalias83

Chapter 1: Meet Dante
It was Friday, October 17th, 2:30 pm: Less than 10 hours to go. By midnight that night, Dante Willis would officially be an adult. Legal. A man. These ideas scarcely passed through Dante’s mind as he sat in Mrs. Applegate’s AP English class.

What was going through his mind was far less profound. They were questions mostly: Did he have enough kegs for the party tonight? Should he get more beer on top of that? Would his friends actually bring their own booze like the Facebook invite had said? Should he even bother to hold up the vain hope that his inner circle of friends would help him clean up after half the senior class trashed his house, or should he just prepare himself to pony up for the cleaning crew the next morning like he had planned?

Dante had the perfect storm as far as parents went. His mother was a successful psychiatrist with her own private practice. His dad was a restaurateur who owned three different bar & grills in the tri-city area. On the weekends, more for fun than for money, his dad DJ’d for weddings and parties. As a result, Dante had never really wanted for money or entertainment.

It’s not that his parents were stupidly liberal, either. It’s not like they taught him about “safe sex” and gave him condoms and porn at some bizarrely young age –or gave him condoms and porn at all…from your parents….that’s just…ugh.- or continued breast feeding him past an age when he could remember anything. It’s just that as a family, they were rich, they knew it, and didn’t bother to pretend otherwise. When he got into his first car accident last year, his mom swiped her card, and he paid them back by bussing tables and washing dishes at one of his dad’s restaurants for an entire summer. Responsibility and accountability, see?

So what if by age 13, Dante knew how to make about 30 different cocktails? So what if he knew what pills in the medicine cabinet could be combined for the best stress relief, or the best buzz? Most adults knew this stuff too. If anything, Dante’s knowledge of the effects, both good and bad and the risks involved, made him less likely to overindulge in substance abuse when he was an adult. And if he really wanted to do something, he’d figure out a way to do it anyway. So best just make him aware of the benefits and risks. So his mom and dad had reasoned, anyway.

The real kicker, the lynchpin to the success of this party getting off the ground, though, was Dante’s birthday. His birthday was October 18th. His parent’s anniversary was October 18th. That’s right, same day. Dante’s parents used to joke that he was their little anniversary present. But now after nearly 18 years of Dante having to share his birthday- the greatest day in any kid’s year this side of Christmas- and their anniversary- the most romantic day of the year this side of Valentine’s- all involved were a little sick of it.

So Dante made his folks a proposal: They foot the bill for an epic 18th birthday party, they go on a romantic 3 day getaway. As long as the house is spotless and there are no police reports when they get back, no questions asked and no lies told. They accepted. Hook. Line. And Sinker.

Dante wondered if Melissa would be at his party like she had told him. Melissa, who sat directly in front of him. Melissa who always wore her cheerleading outfit on Friday, even when there wasn’t a football game. (God bless the genius who made those things) Melissa who was leaning over her desk right now to pick up a dropped pencil. Melissa who confirmed in Dante’s mind that he was definitely an ass man. Whose long red hair tied back in a pony tail made Dante wonder if the carpet matched the drapes. Whose….whooooah!

Dante was suddenly very aware of a potentially embarrassing situation brewing below the waist. It would not do to get a giant boner in the middle of English class. Especially since he had unwisely decided to go commando today, in khaki’s no less! Dante decided to refocus his mind off the party and certain girls to cool down. What to do what to do?

Hmmm…he wondered if Mrs. Applegate was ever pretty. How long had she had that hideous bicep fat combined with the bizarrely tiny forearms? Was she growing a third chin? Did she think she was fooling anyone with that wig? Was she aware of her mustache? Had she considered crafting her lip hair onto her scalp and thus solving two problems at once? (Ahh…better)

Soon enough, Dante’s mind wandered back to the party. How much longer did he have to endure this stupid class before his lost weekend could begin? Is the clock broken? Who really cares about the historical significance of The Crucible and how it was a mirror and criticism of the McCarthy era? How much longer would he have to endure listening to this fat old woman drone on while a hot girl was right in front of him and he had to get ready for the greatest party ever?!

BRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

Relief, sweet relief, engulfed every neuron in his brain as the final bell rang and he was finally able to stand up and get the hell back home. He stood up, pulled his plain blue T-shirt down a bit, (just in case there was any evidence left over from his previous fantasy), got his back-pack and walked out. On his way out, he heard Melissa call “Hey Dante, see you tonight!” Yessss! She was coming! This was going to be awesome!
Dante drove home with the pedal to the metal, not bothering to worry about trivial things like pedestrians, cops, or other motorists. Really, in hindsight, it’s a miracle he didn’t kill someone.

He peeled into the driveway in his 2010 Nissan Altima, slammed on the breaks with expert timing and came to a screeching halt just as he was about to collide with the garage door. Dante smiled cockily to himself. He knew he should pull in slower, and not risk the damage to his car and his parents’ house; but it gave him just the slightest adrenaline rush. Knowing that he was just literal inches from a grounding and another summer of bussing tables, and that he avoided it every time, gave him a sense of accomplishment. It was like he was more than lucky, like he was invincible.

The garage door was closed, which was the tell-tale sign that his parents were not home. They had likely already left for their weekend. Good; let them have fun. He was going to have his.

He walked in the front door and his eyes bugged out of his head. His dad’s stereo system and turntables were already set up in the living room. Score! Dante checked the fridge, to find it packed with…2 liter soda bottles. Meh. Then something caught his eye. Taped to one of the Coke bottles was a note.

It read: I moved the kegs from the garage to the basement before your mother could see them. The liquor cabinet is stocked and unlocked. Enjoy the mixers. Don’t tell your mother. Happy 18th. The freezer even had three bottles of Jaegermeister chilling in it. Dante wasn’t sure if he had ever loved his dad more than at that moment.

With the most important part of the setup already done for him as a final birthday present from his dad, Dante went upstairs to his bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. Should he change for the party? Right now, he was wearing his light blue shirt and khaki pants. Not a bad look, but he’d definitely want to put on some underwear before the party…just in case.

He was beginning to get a five-o-clock shadow, but decided not to shave. Some girls liked that look. Maybe even Melissa. Besides, he was planning on everyone getting too drunk to care. He lazily brushed his light brown hair off of his forehead. His parents would insist on him getting it cut soon, but Dante liked the shaggy look. When he went to college next year, he’d already decided, he’d grow it out, just to bug them.

Dante opened the medicine cabinet so he could get his deodorant. Bottles of Vicodin, Xanax, Oxycodone, and Adderall greeted him instead. A note in mom’s handwriting said:

There are 30 pills in each of these bottles as per prescription. If there are more than 10 missing from any bottle, we will have words. Love: Mom.

Holy shit! This was unprecedented. This was permission in the disguise of a warning! This was the closest mom had ever got to “Party Out”. Dad had stocked him full of beer and liquor and a stereo system. Mom had actually left pills out with the expectation that he and his friends would be using them. This was epic! His parents really did love him!

With that said, and a massive order from Pizza-Hut, Dante was ready to roll. At 5:00 his friends arrived, arms loaded with chips and snacks. By 6:00 all of the kind-of-popular kids had shown up, the ones that actually show up on time for a party. By 7:00, most of the really-popular kids had wandered in and the party had really started in earnest. By 8:30, the druggies and the stoners had bought their ticket in through obvious and unsubtle offers. Now THIS was a party.

This night was one of many firsts for Dante: His first keg stand, his first winning game of beer pong, his first losing game of beer pong,(so much better than winning) his first drunken kiss (though for the life of him, he couldn’t remember with who. Hoped it was Melissa.), Less glorious firsts included his first walking in on people having sex in his parents bedroom, his first walking in on people having sex in his bedroom, and of course, his first party pass out.

It was after what must have been his 8th or 10th Jaeger-Bomb that the world REALLY started swaying and spinning. Suddenly, thoughts of “This is awesome, don’t let it stop” turned to “Oh my god…it hurts…MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!”

“Dudedudedudedudedude!” he heard someone say, “Looks like Dante’s ’bout ready to pass out already! Total lightweight!”

“Somebody get him over to the couch.” he heard another voice say. Dante suddenly felt himself being carried by very strong and very friendly blurs. Probably people from the football team.

“Dude! Leave his shoes on, then we can draw on his face!”, he heard the first voice suggest.

“No way man”, the second voice echoed in his brain. “It’s his birthday, it’s his party. Least we can do is let him pass out in peace. ”

Dante felt very sick at this point, and found himself unable to even sit up. He needed sleep. Right now. It sucked that he was passing out at his own party, but right now he was too tired and too drunk and too drugged to care. He managed to make his eyes focus to check the time. 11:50 the clock on the cable box said.

Too tired to smile, Dante settled for smiling inwardly. He might be passing out a teenager, but when he woke up, he’d be a man.

Chapter 2: Rude Awakening.

Dante woke up. Hung over. Definitely hung over. Definitely, definitely hung over. All the signs were there: Pounding headache; queasy stomach; cold sweat that reeked of booze; and the overwhelming, almost supernatural urge to burrow 10 feet into the ground and hide from the tyrannical rays of the sun. Goddamned sun. Tyrannical sun. Goddamned tyrannical sun. The morning of your 18th birthday wasn’t supposed to hurt this bad.

But then Dante thought about WHY he had woken up hung over. Worth it. Totally worth it.
It wasn’t until his eyes creaked open enough so that he could get up and stumble into his bedroom (which he hoped people weren’t having sex in…fuck it…he didn’t care at this point) that he realized something was definitely wrong.

For starters, he wasn’t on the couch anymore. He lay on his back on a floor. The floor was covered with a bluish-grey indoor/outdoor carpet; the well worn kind you see in an office or school building. The horrible light that made him want to weld his eyes shut came from the ceiling. It was fluorescent, not solar.
Wait a minute. The floors in Dante’s house were all hardwood. He had passed out in his house, and woken up, hung over, someplace else. That was the first major problem.

Dante sat up to take stock of the situation he was in. That’s when he became aware of the second major problem. He had pissed and shit himself in his sleep. Badly. He knew it instantly. The damp clammy feeling around his crotch and thighs. The grimy, gritty feeling around his butt. The horrible, stale smell. Visual confirmation didn’t give him any cause to feel relief. Based on how none of the bodily waste felt warm, he had been in it for a while. A couple hours at least. He would have to burn his khakis after this.

Tentatively, Dante gazed around the room, tried to figure out where he was. It was pretty plain, actually. White walls, with no decorations, pictures or posters. On one end of the room was a plain white door with a golden colored knob. At the other end was a large padded table. Underneath the table was a plain, gray cabinet. Beside the table was a mini-fridge.

All in all, it was pretty bland. Door, padded table, cabinet, mini-fridge. Nothing else. Not even a window. The room itself wasn’t even that big. In fact, it was about the size of your stereotypical examination room at a doctor’s office. Hmmmm….door, padded table (examination table?), cabinet (medical supply cabinet?), mini-fridge (mini-fridge?). Maybe he was in a doctor’s office, or a hospital. That made sense.

Then again, why the carpet? Most medical facilities had tile flooring for ease of cleaning. Weird. Before he had time to think about it any further, he was hit by a more immediate need. He felt his stomach lurch and instinctively rolled over onto all fours as he began to puke his guts out.

There he was: In an unfamiliar room, covered in sweat, in pee and poop filled pants, retching on all fours while trying to not get splashed by his own vomit. That was when the doorknob turned and the woman walked in. Embarrassing, right?

She was beautiful. Not hot, or sexy, but beautiful. Kind of like how you can look at a statue of a woman and think “That’s a beautiful statue”. You recognize how aesthetically pleasing it is, but you don’t have dreams of fucking the Venus de Milo. She appeared to be in her mid thirties to early forties. Her shoulder-length raven hair struck against her white blouse and black skirt. Her red lips popped. Her green eyes took Dante in, and an audible gasp escaped her lips.

“I’m…..bluuuurrgh!” Dante gasped between waves, “sorry….bluuurrgh!” Dante wanted to die of embarrassment right there. The woman rushed over to Dante and took a knee as she gently stroked his hair.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” she said in a rushed, but soothing tone. “Just get it aaaaaall out, and then we’ll get you cleaned up. Okay, honey?” Dante could only nod meekly as he set a record for most contents being expelled from a human stomach. After a few minutes, Dante had finished his “Best of the Exorcist” routine. His eyes began to de-blur. Oddly enough, though he had coated about a quarter of the room with a mix of vomit and what was left of his dignity, not a single drop of the stuff had landed on the woman. A pool of puke had gathered around him and soaked his palms. Luckily it stopped spreading right a it spread to where the woman had knelt. Thank God for small mercies. The situation was bad enough, and he’d already have to apologize about the carpet. He didn’t want to have to apologize for her outfit. A small selfish part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to clean up his own vomit after he got himself cleaned up.

“All done?”, the woman asked her eyebrows raised to emphasize her question. Avoiding eye contact, Dante nodded his head. “Okie dokie,” she said, “Up we go!” With surprising alacrity and incredible ease she lifted Dante off the ground by the waist and carried him over to the padded table.

“The hell? Oomph!” Dante shouted as he quickly found himself being carried and then plopped onto the padded table. He turned his head and saw the woman opening the cabinet underneath the table.

“‘Scuse me ma’am,” Dante began as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. “This isn’t necessary.” To his confusion, he couldn’t push himself up. “Let me just take a shower, okay? ” The woman ignored him. From the cabinet underneath she pulled out a clipboard. She examined it closely for a few moments.

“Let’s see”, she went on, her lips pursed, oblivious to Dante’s continued struggling. “Dante Willis. Been here since 11:59 pm Eastern Standard Time.” She looked at Dante pityingly “You poor thing, you’ve been here for nearly eight hours. ” she clicked her tongue. Fear began to well up in Dante.

Wherever his body had touched the padded table, it stopped moving. He had landed on his back and his hands spread out to break the fall, but now they refused to move. The soles of his feet were in a similar position. It was as if he was paralyzed, or stuck to fly paper. No, forget that. Fly paper pulled back to keep you stuck, this was a case of his body refusing to listen. Right now, only his neck and knees seemed to obey his commands. The woman put the clipboard away, and pulled out a small covered trash can with a flip open top, and a small plastic box with a pop top.

“Look, lady,” Dante pleaded, “I’m really sorry I woke up in your place and made a mess on your carpet. I don’t even know how I got here. Clearly something…blblblbl…” Dante was cut off by woman roughly wiping his face off with a moist wipe.

“I know, I know”, the woman interrupted. She stepped on the trashcan pedal and the lid popped open. She threw the vomit covered wipe in the trash and let the lid shut. She pulled another wipe out of the plastic box and continued to wipe Dante’s chin and neck.

“You’re all wet and dirty and sweaty and your tummy doesn’t feel good.” She threw another wipe in the trash and closed the lid again before taking another wipe out of the box. “But let Mama Judy clean you up and get you dressed, and then everything will be aaall better.” This woman was talking strangely to him, like he was some kind of child.

The stranger thing was, Dante noticed, was that the first wipe she threw away wasn’t in the can anymore. Had she missed the first time? Was there a false bottom? Why would there be a false bottom? His brief reverie on the nature of garbage cans was broken when he felt the woman’s fingers unfastening his pants.

“Hey hey hey hey!’ he yelled as she unzipped his pants. She lifted his legs up until his butt was slightly off the table. Apparently, the nature of the table didn’t affect her at all. With one hand holding his legs, she expertly used the other hand to pull his pants down his feet and off his legs, exposing his poop and urine stained briefs that he had slipped on before the party. (The better to conceal…ahem… arousal with, than his boxers)

“Well,” she said in appraisal of the khakis, “looks like these are goners. Sorry Dante.” She stuffed the pants down the trashcan and let the lid shut.

The woman looked at the state of Dante’s underwear and shook her head while clicking her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk” she said to herself as she surveyed the mess. “I will never understand why so many people use cloth, but then don’t bother to put them in the plastic pants.” She shrugged and then went for Dante’s underwear.

“NO! DON’T!” Dante screamed as she ripped the sides of his tighty-whities open like it was nothing and unfolded them; exposing Dante’s genitals to the open air. He tried to cover himself in some way. But his body wouldn’t respond as the woman, Judy, had lowered his legs-back of the knees and all- back down to the table.

She crossed his ankles and lifted his legs again with one hand, as she started to wipe his butt for him with wet wipes. Baby wipes he realized. Baby wipes. She placed the used ones in the soiled rags that used to be his underwear. She slid the underwear out from underneath him before letting his butt hit the mat again. Then, gingerly, she tossed it into the once again empty trashcan.

She moved onto wiping his groin, and legs, which reeked of urine. Dante’s eyes nearly leaped out of his head when he saw what was happening. Everywhere that the baby wipes touched, body hair came out. He didn’t feel a stinging like a waxing, or a tingling or burning sensation like a hair removal treatment. His hair in his pubic area and legs just got wiped off and thrown into the trashcan. It was more like the hair had never been there and he had just rolled in it. Now the wipes were wiping them off. Dante didn’t have a mirror, but he bet the same fate had already befallen his facial hair.

“Nononononononononono!” Dante yelled, struggling in vain to make his body heed his commands. “Look…lady…Judy…ma’am. Please stop. I’ll do anything you want. Just please stop.” The woman ignored him and continued to wipe the hair off his legs and nether regions and throw them away into the bottomless trashcan.

When she was done, she pulled him to the sitting position, and pulled him to the very edge of the table
“Let’s take off that shirt too, so I can clean off your chest.” she said. “Arms up.” she said, raising her arms up into the air as if to show him what she meant. “Come on, Dante, arms up!” Dante realized something. The only part of his body that was touching the mat was his naked butt. He could now freely move his arms and legs.

He pushed Herculean woman square in the chest with all the force he could manage. She backed up only a step, but a puddle of vomit made it enough, causing her to slip. Dante pushed himself off the table and landed clumsily on his feet. He made a break for the door going at top speed.

He didn’t make it two strides before he was lifted back into the air by the waist and suddenly hoisted back onto the table, this time face down.

“Nnnno!” The woman scolded, “no! Bad baby! Bad, bad baby!” He felt her hand come down once across his bottom and felt a thunderclap pass through his body. Dante went limp. It’s not that it hurt, on contact it felt like and made the same noise as a quick slap on the ass. Under different circumstances, it could have been a flirt. But something was different about it on another level. It was like an EMP had just exploded inside him and all of the energy went out of his body. He couldn’t even speak now.

She flipped him over and pulled him into a sitting position.

“I’m sorry I had to do that, Dante,” the woman said sincerely, “but you shouldn’t have run away like that. You could have gotten hurt, honey. Now, let’s finish getting you cleaned up and then get you dressed.” She took his blue shirt off and threw it away. Then she proceeded to wipe down his upper body. Chest, stomach, back, shoulders, neck, armpits, and all. He couldn’t offer up any resistance. Dante was beginning to feel very cold, and couldn’t help but shiver.

A bit of drool started to form on Dante’s chin as he was laid back down. Judy didn’t seem to mind. Even as he screamed inside his head, Dante knew what was coming next, and knew he didn’t have a way to stop it.
The woman reached into the cabinet underneath and took out a diaper. It was the size of an adult diaper, but completely decorated and designed like a baby’s disposable diaper. Cloth-like cover, clouds stenciled in the crotch and butt area, pictures of rainbows and smiling babies with halos on the waste. She unfolded the diaper and lifted his legs a third time to slide it underneath him. His butt touched the padding as she lowered him down onto the diaper. Even with the air still reeking of vomit, he could detect a hint of perfume in the diaper’s padded layers as the scent wafted into his nostrils.

She spread his legs, and pulled the front of the diaper up over his now hairless crotch. With two large Velcro tabs, one on either side, she taped the diaper in place. The baby angels seemed to be smiling up at him from his waist. Even though he couldn’t move his body, Dante could still feel the difference as the bulk forced his legs apart slightly.

The woman, Judy, put the box of baby wipes and the trashcan back in the cabinet. Before she closed it, she took out a long blue shirt. Not unlike the one Dante had been wearing until very recently. Without resistance, she pulled Dante back up into the sitting position, and guided his arms and head through the proper holes. She wasn’t done, though.

Dante found himself being laid back down, once again, as Judy pulled each end of the shirt down towards the diaper. It was a onesie: Something even most two year olds didn’t wear. Each fastening of a snap around his crotch sounded like the gate of a prison cell being closed in Dante’s mind.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dante could still see the edge and leak guards of the diaper poking out. Plus, there was a noticeable bulge in his mid-section, now. Even covered, this could hardly be considered an “out of sight out of mind” situation.

“There we go,” Judy chirped, “now let’s get you a milky ba-ba before we take you where you need to go!” She opened up the mini-fridge and took out a rather large baby bottle, about the size of one of those “Big Chug’s” of milk sold at convenience stores. It was filled to the top with milk. She offered it up to Dante’s lips.

Against his will, Dante began to suckle on the bottle. His mouth was suddenly on auto-pilot. Automatically, his hands raised up and grasped the bottle, his lips continuing to pull on the rubber nipple. Judy began to gently rub his stomach as the milk slid down his throat.

“There we go,” she cooed, “make it all gone. Good baby!” The milk was sweet. Very sweet actually. Creamy too. And despite it coming from a refrigerator, it was very warm. Soothingly warm even. Dante’s eyes drooped a little bit, and he felt drowsy. No, drowsy wasn’t the word for it. Docile. That’s what it was, docile.
As he drank the milk, Dante slowly regained control of his body, despite the mat on the table. Furthermore, his hangover started to go away too. His headache dulled into nothingness, and the lights didn’t seem unbearably bright anymore.

He wiggled his toes in experimentation, and found they obeyed. He idly kicked the air, and found that his now hairless legs responded just as well. He rocked his body ever so slightly to see if his back and torso would obey. They would.

The thing is: Dante considered escape, but something in him didn’t want to, just yet. Sure, he was 18 and dressed like a baby while nursing a bottle. But this felt kind of nice. And Judy didn’t seem so bad right now either. A happy gurgle escaped his lips and some milk dribbled down his chin. Judy smiled and wiped it away with her hand. Heh…funny. None of the vomit she had slipped in earlier had gotten on Judy’s outfit. Weird.

As he finished the bottle, the pressure in his stomach told him that his hang-over wasn’t completely cured. Despite himself, Dante began to whimper and looked up at Judy with puppy-dog eyes. “Fix it! Fix it” his eyes said.

“All done?” Judy began as she looked down at Dante’s uncomfortable expression. “Ooooh! I know what you need.” She picked him up, and draped him over her shoulder. She began to bounce him lightly as she patted his back firmly. A few seconds later, a mighty belch thundered out of him.

“Good baby!” Judy praised Dante, “now one more”. Dante complied. Hangover officially gone. “Ok, aaaall done. Let’s go to the nursery,” Judy announced as she effortlessly shifted Dante so that she could carry him on her hip. Frankly, if it weren’t for the ease in which she was doing it, the whole thing would have looked awkward. It definitely looked a little ludicrous. Dante was pretty sure that if he had been standing up, he’d be taller than woman who was carrying him.

Now with Dante in tow, Judy opened the door. The door led to a long hallway, endless it seemed. The floor had the same indoor/outdoor carpeting as the examination room. On either side of the hallway were rows of Dutch doors: The kind that was split into top and bottom sections. Each door had a series of numbers and letters on it.

From 0101A, 0102A, etc., all the way down until at some point, the numbers started over at 0101B and so forth. Eventually, the alphabet ran out, and started over at 0101AA, 0102AA. Dante was carried for what seemed like a long time, but he didn’t care, though he wasn’t certain why. Finally, they came to a door labeled 1017AB. Judy knocked with her free hand, almost comically holding Dante up while he was resting on her hip.

The top half of the door opened up, and Dante was instantly knocked out of his haze. Staring back at him from the other side was a woman who was almost identical to Judy. Sure, her hair was dirty blonde instead of black, her eyes were brown, and she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt instead of a blouse skirt combo; but otherwise she could have been Judy’s twin. Make that Judy’s clone.

“Hey Judy,” Judy said to the other woman. “I’ve got another new arrival.”

“Sorry, Judy,” the other woman said, “It’s the 18th, no new arrivals till next year.” Even their voices were the same.

“I know, Judy,” Judy replied, “but he literally got here last night just before midnight. Poor little guy, was sleeping on the floor when I found him this morning.” That elicited an “awwww” from both of them. “He’s technically yours.”

It was official. Dante must be tripping balls. He must have mixed the wrong pills with the wrong amount of booze last night, and this was his fever dream. He hoped he didn’t talk in his sleep about this, or else someone might be able to blackmail him for life. Hell, if his mom found out he was having this dream, he’d start seeing her for therapy.

“Can’t you just make an exception, Judy?” the other woman (other Judy?) asked, though her tone of voice suggested she already knew the answer. Judy (Judy 1.0?) pivoted so that she was between Dante and what must have been her clone.

In a tense whisper she hissed “Judy, he was here at one minute before midnight. He was only ONE minute away from being declared lost. If I fudge any of the paper work, even by a minute, he doesn’t go into another nursery.” The second woman in the jeans and t-shirt sucked in her breath and her eyes widened.

The hell were these hallucinations talking about? That therapy when he woke up didn’t sound so bad.

“Never mind,” the second woman said, reaching over the threshold. One stranger handed over a babified 18-year-old to another. Dante found himself resting on the hip of the other Judy (Judy 2.0?)

“Alrighty then,” the first Judy said. “Let’s see,” she began to list off on her fingers, “I’ve already cleaned him up, changed him, dressed him, fed him a bottle, burped him, and walked him all the way down here.” Dante “eeeped” as he felt two fingers poke through the leg hole of his diaper. (His diaper? No, no, no. THE diaper. THE diaper. Damn this was a messed up dream. He must be tripping.)

“He’s still dry, too.” the second Judy confirmed. Dante felt a hand pat his rump. “Not poopy, either.”

“See,” the Judy in the blouse and skirt smiled, “this is working out already. Good first impression, Dante! Now, if you excuse me”, she addressed the second Judy, “I’ve got to get back to my office. This little guy had an accident in my office and spit up all over the place. I need to get back to see if I can clean it all up before it stains.”

The second Judy gave a dry chuckle and shook her head. “Good luck with that, girlfriend.” With that, the top half of the door shut.; leaving Dante alone with this new stranger that looked so much like the old one.

Dante wanted to run. Wanted to scream. Wanted to kick and punch and bite his way to freedom and make a break for it. Maybe he could make it down to the other end of this hallway and find a way out. But if this Judy was anything like the other one, it would be no use. She would pop him on the bum, and he’d go limp like a vegetable. Besides, this was just a dream, (though the frequency that he had to remind himself made that statement feel less and less true), he’d wake up soon enough.

“Well, little Dante,” this new Judy said, turning her head to the man-child on her hip. “Let’s get you into the nursery. They did a 180 degree turn, and faced another bland office door with a golden doorknob. Within a few easy steps they were at the threshold, and the new woman opened the door. Blinding light filled Dante’s eyes, as he squeezed them shut. He felt himself being carried over the threshold, and heard the door shut behind him.

He opened his eyes, as he was being carried around. Curiosity had got the better of him. He was currently on a staircase, with the new woman slowly descending it. They must have been a few stories up! As he looked around, he saw the room, the “nursery”. It was humongous!

The room was about the size of a giant warehouse, all covered with the same bluish-grey carpeting that dominated the rest of this place. This so called “nursery” was big enough for at least ten simultaneous games of football.

One entire wall looked to have a giant mural of smiling children playing in the grass, with blue skies. Another wall was covered with life size pictures of animals from all over the world. Every fifty feet or so, a new ecosystem was depicted with the animals that lived there. There were little fold away cubicle walls throughout that divided the huge area into smaller sections. This was closer to a small city, than a nursery. It gave the whole thing a bit of a rat’s maze feel, at least from above.

Two things dominated the landscape: “Judy’s” and “babies”. Well, neither statement was quite accurate.

Wandering the floor, watching playgroups, changing diapers, feeding bottles, playing games, etc. etc., were women who looked uncannily like every other woman in this place. Yes, their hair colors, hair styles, and wardrobes were all a little bit different, maybe one or two had a mole, or wore glasses, but it all seemed like a variation of a theme. All of them were relatively attractive women, who appeared to be in their mid thirties. Same facial structure and everything.

Every little pocket in this warehouse had people dressed like babies in it, though most were certainly not babies. From the air, as he was slowly carried down the staircase, he could point out a few little cubicle rooms that seemed to have genuine toddlers and infants in them. But more easily, he could see older children; ten, eleven, and twelve year olds playing with to-scale baby toys, and wearing to-scale baby clothes and diapers.

There were even high-schoolers, kids his age, playing. Based on facial expressions, and the choice words he was able to pick out, not all the kids were happy about being in this “nursery”. Some babbled incoherently, gurgling and clapping like he had been moments ago. Others, cursed, and spat, only to get spanked by a “Judy” and go limp. Still more, cried and bawled. Dante managed to piece together multiple wailings of “I’m a big boy.” or “I’m a big girl” .

Finally, Dante was down at the ground level and could no longer see the layout of the place. Being carried around on the second Judy’s hip, he made several twists and turns before being taken into a cubicle area. Another woman with the same face, only now with bleach blond hair and a nursery worker’s scrubs, sat quietly in a rocking chair.

Sitting in a large, mesh playpen were two girls, about high school age. The first one, an Asian girl with her short hair in a bow sat in nothing else but a pink t-shirt, and a diaper. She sucked on a matching pacifier. The other one, a blonde with her hair up in pigtails, was on her knees sucking on a big bottle of apple-juice while wearing a loose dress that just covered the top her diaper. It was already swollen and beginning to sag a bit. The second woman opened up a door to the oversized playpen and put Dante inside before closing it. He was left in a sitting position with the diaper forcing his legs open a little bit.

“Dante,” Judy in the jeans started, “this is Midori”, she said pointing to the Asian chick, “and this is Lysa” indicating the bottle sucking blonde in the wet diaper. “Midori and Lysa, this is Dante. He’s new here, so you all play nice. Be my good little helpers and teach him what it means to be a good baby. Okay?” Her question was met with a wide eyed nod from Midori- still sucking on her pacifier- and silence from Lysa- who had about finished the bottle. The woman that brought him here went to talk to her double in the nursery scrubs.

Dante turned his head towards Midori, still sucking. Actually, if it wasn’t for the whole baby thing, she’d be kind of cute, in a Melissa sort of way.

“So, Midori, what is this place? What’s the deal? What’s with the baby treatment?” Dante asked. Midori stared at him blankly for a moment before spitting out her pacifier.

“Blablahbooblebooble!” was her reply, as a stream of drool ran down her chin. She turned over to all fours, with her butt in the air as she started to crawl towards Dante, babbling all the way.

“I think she likes you,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind. Dante turned around to see, Lysa squatting on all fours. Her face reddened a little bit, and she grunted. The back of her diaper puffed out a little bit and Dante’s face contorted as he realized what she was doing.

“Um…do you mind?” the blonde girl said with an annoyed look. “A little privacy please?” Dante continued to gawk. “I’m pooping.” Dante felt a lump in his throat form from that last piece, but couldn’t take his eyes away. “Look the other way, you jackass!” Lysa practically screamed.

Dante snapped his head around the other direction, only to have it collide with a very sloppy and wet kiss on his cheek, courtesy of Midori. Eugh! The Asian girl clapped her hands with delight at the look on Dante’s face.

“Ok, you can turn around, now. I’m done,” Dante heard. Dante spun around on his rump to keep his back to and his face away from the less coherent of his two new cellmates. Lysa was now, sitting on her bottom, likely spreading the mess around in her diaper, as she smoothed her dress out to cover more of it.

“Sorry about that, new fish”, the blonde said. “Old habits die hard. I’m just not used to pooping around boys, you know. I think it might be a girl thing. Boys never seem to care where they go or who they go in front of. Aaah whatever.” A new wave of revulsion spread through Dante, and it must have shown.

“Oh yeah, where are my manners?” Lysa corrected herself. She took a deep breath. “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhahahahahaaaaaaaaa” Within seconds the girl was bawling, tears flowing down her cheeks. The playpen door opened and in came the woman wearing the nursery scrubs.

“Lysa, what’s the matter sweety?” she cooed, before sniffing the air. “Ooooh. Someone needs a change. Okay, come on.” The woman in the scrubs scooped the blonde chick up and carried her out of the pen, shutting the door behind her and took her over to a nearby giant changing table.

Dante watched on with a mix of disgust, horror, and fascination as Lysa calmly placed her hands behind her head and laid back as if she were getting a tan at the beach while her diaper was changed. Legs held up, ass in the air, wiped powdered and re-diapered in a matter of minutes, and the girl didn’t seem phased one bit. Dante caught her rolling her eyes as she gurgled and cooed for the woman while being carried back to the playpen.

“There, that’s better,” Lysa said to a dumbstruck Dante as she brushed her hands together. “So first thing’s first. If you haven’t figured it out by now, you’re dead.”

WHAT?!

TO BE CONTINUED.

Source: http://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?showtopic=34668

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