The Asylum at the end of Reality

[Personalias]

The Asylum at the End of Reality.

    Jenna Jennerick rocked back and forth in her cell, a narrow beam of into her dark and padded room.  Any minute now, like clockwork, they’d come for her.  It happened at the same time every day.  She could tell by the sun.  Any moment now, the routine insanity would start all over again.

First they’d come into her cell and pin her down as she thrashed.  It wasn’t hard for them, they were professional man-handlers, or “orderlies” as they called them around here, and she was wearing a straightjacket.  The only time when she wasn’t wearing a straightjacket was at bath time, and even then she was strapped down, as a nurse rubbed her down from head to toe with a warm wet sponge.  On average she maybe had two precious minutes of being able to move her arms a week.

The walls themselves were padded, so no amount of roughhousing or struggling in her cell would likely result in her harm.  She was a prisoner here, and even bodily injury or death would not be given as a means of escape. The rational part of her brain told her…actually that’s not fair…all of her brain was rational.  The defeatist part of her brain told her that she should stop struggling, but it was during those brief moments of rebellion that she actually felt a little bit alive, that hope could flare up, however futile.

She’d beg them to release her.  They’d ignore her pleas, and if she was lucky she wouldn’t be gagged.  Then they’d change her diaper.  Yes, she wore a diaper; these fascists wouldn’t even allow her the basic decency of a toilet. It was one of the numerous indignities forced upon her to try to get her to break.  To try to drive her into madness. She’d had her ass wiped for her so many times, she’d lost count, by now.  So she was in a padded room in more ways than one, it seemed.  Her life had become padding.

The first time she thought of that, she had laughed mirthlessly.  No doubt someone online was jerking off to that very thought; even as it materialized as words on a fetish blog somewhere.

Then, she’d be strapped to a gurney- and force fed pureed, nearly tasteless mush, all while mocking her helplessness.  Then, something in the mush would make her weak.  thought to hear the orderlies talk, she might expect a highchair any day.  They would not break her though.  Because she knew the truth.

That’s why she was trapped here to begin with.  She knew the truth, and she couldn’t be allowed to spread it.

She first became aware of the truth a few weeks ago, or was it months?  It was so hard to track the passage of time, with only feedings, diaper changes, sponge baths, and the occasional shock therapy session to wittle away the hours.

The point is, before she learned the truth, she would have seemed incredibly out of place in an asylum and never would have even picture herself padded and surrounded by padding as she was now.  Such a thing would have been far too extraordinary, and Jenna was anything but extraordinary.

Jenna Jennerick was almost completely average.  This should hardly be surprising.  Most people think that they are average or perhaps just a little bit above average; unless they are particularly conceited or have self-esteem issues.  In Jenna’s case, however, it was true.  She would be right in the middle of the bell curve on most things.

Average girl. Average student.  Average grades. Average looks.  The only thing that may have made her stand out from the crowd was something that one could not see just by looking at her; so in other words it didn’t stand out.

Jenna was a pervert; a diaper fetishist.  She didn’t have a facetome page, or twit on tweeter, or send anything via immedigram or blinkchat, but she practically lived on sites like offenderart and kinkworld.  She knew more about various forms of kink than current events.   But alas, being average, she lacked the resources, courage, or privacy to fully indulge in her fantasies.  It was through naughty pictures and dirty stories that she lived vicariously.

It was on that fateful day, the day she discovered the truth, while studying for a midterm at the library, that she got a particular itch.  She was bored.  She was antsy.  She really didn’t want to study for the midterm.  Porn.  She needed it.  Badly.

She held up her phone to see if she could scan some kinkworld feed in her lap while she pretended to read what felt like the third reference book that the library wouldn’t let her check out.

Damn. Her phone was dead.  Should have remembered to charge it last night.  That’s when she turned to the last refuge of the perverted addict: Smut in the library.

Now, Jenna Jennerick was average, and that also meant she wasn’t obscenely stupid in most cases.  Going to a site like squishypencil would get noticed and get her kicked out of the library before she could blink.  But that didn’t mean she didn’t have other options.

She went onto theforbiddenstory.com., a story site that catered to most every legal form of smut imaginable.  Jenna had been walked in on multiple times by her parents over the years, yet not outed due to the tiny font and the lack of any pictures.  The site was a chameleon of kink.

The homepage of the site loaded up. Jenna frowned, slightly.  According to the most recent update, the site was shutting down.  The owner couldn’t afford the upkeep and today was going to be the last day the servers were operational.

Well, that was a shame.  She liked “theforbiddenstory.com”.  It was a good story site.  But what were you gonna do?  In what she’d foolishly attribute to a sense of nostalgia, Jenna went on one last time into the AB/DL discussion chatroom to say a final goodbye.  She didn’t bother logging in to her own usual screen name, and instead just lurked as a guest.

It didn’t look like any name she recognized was still online.  Just her and someone called…

“Padded_Patient:  help”, a message came up on her screen.

“Guest01: Who is this?”  Jenna asked.  A last call for a donation to save the site or something?  No thanks.

“Padded_Patient:  cant tok help” the reply came back.  Great. No punctuation.  Poor spelling.  This guy sounded like a creeper, already.  Any minute she’d be reading something like “I got turnd into a widdle baby, will u b my momy”.  This is why she never went onto the roleplay threads on sites like these.

Still some pathetic, naïve, bleeding heart piece of her soul wanted to confirm her suspicion instead of leave some poor lost soul flapping in the wind.

“Guest01: With what?”  She typed back.

“Padded_Patient:  trapd n dprs call 911”.

Aaaaand it was definitely a horny net geek.  She wasn’t leaving someone flapping in the wind. Some douche wanted to talk to her so he could go fapping in the…in the…okay she wasn’t that clever, but the play on words was there somewhere.

“Guest01:  Is this roleplay?” Jenna replied.  “If so, not interested.    You look like you’re typing with one hand, anyways.”  Her experiences online had told her that she was about to be called a bitch by some poor virgin “nice guy”, or that-

“Padded_Patient: no im trapd hlp” the ding of the reply interrupted another one of Jenna’s witty remarks.  Yup…he was a persistent one.  No point in staying around and enjoying the story archive if this was the only company she’d have left.  If she was on much longer, some librarian would likely look over her shoulder and see too much as it was.

“Guest01: Bye Felicia!” Jenna typed in, her mouse hovering over the “x” to log out.

That’s when another picture filled the computer screen.  It was hastily taken, but it looked real enough.    Holy shit! It was a woman.  It was hard to tell what she looked like.  The lighting wasn’t the best, and only a dainty chin managed to get in the frame, but there was no mistaking those curves.

There also was no mistaking what the woman was apparently wearing: A straightjacket and an adult diaper.  Jenna’s jaw dropped and she felt a little tingle down below.  She had seen drawings of these, but never real life pictures of this kind of thing.  It even looked like the walls in the background were padded.
“Padded_Patient: Duz dis look fak 2 u?” Jenna read.

Jenna looked around the library, guiltily.  Had she been in her room at home, she would have started to play with herself right then and there.

“Guest01: Holy shit!  That’s hardcore!” she quickly typed in. “But I think you’re on the wrong site.  I know some good ones for stuff like this if you want.”
Even the ding of the next reply sounded desperate.
“Padded_Patient:  plz help dey thnk crazy cant end it dis way”

“Guest01: Okay, I’ll play along,”  Jenna bit her lip and grinned.  “Where are you?”

A single word came back on the screen in answer.

“Padded_Patient:  asylum” it read.

Well duh.  Jenna looked to her left and right.  She felt so edgy doing this kind of thing here, in the library of all places.

“Guest01:  Asylum?” she wrote,  “They still have those?  Kinky”

“Padded_Patient: not jk but yes”. Came the response in the chat box.  This girl was committed to the role, Jenna had to admit that.  Heh…committed. How had she managed to type with the straight jacket on anyways?  Jenna looked down at her sandals and wiggled her toes.  She supposed if she had to she could manage it in a pinch.

“Guest01:  Okay, I’ll play along.  Where?”  Jenna asked.

“Padded_Patient: net”

“Guest01: The internet? How’d you get there?”

“Padded_Patient: crumbs”.

Crumbs?  Crumbs?  What a terrible joke.  This chick got to the asylum in the internet by following crumbs from a message board?

And that’s how Jenna officially lost any thrill she might have gained from this bothersome exchange.  This roleplay was getting way too cerebral in her opinion.  Who ever heard of an asylum in the internet anyways? This is why she didn’t do private chats, too many people too caught up in their own shit and their own strange kinks.

Still, she couldn’t help but be polite.

“Guest01: Haha!” Jenna wrote before logging off, “I get it.  Look, I’m in the library, I can’t rp right now. But if I see any crumbs, I’ll follow them.”  And then she clicked the “x” in the upper right hand corner of the computer screen.

Jenna shook her head as she put the reference books back on the shelves where she found them.  Today was no day for studying, it seemed.  There was no way she’d be able to keep her mind on her midterms at this rate.  She had a few days left to cram, regardless.  She could afford to waste today and she’d still likely end up breaking even.  A “C” might not be the perfect or most desirable grade, but the course she’d been studying for wasn’t part of her major anyways.

Jenna walked to the bus stop and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  After what felt like an eternity, but was probably closer to ten minutes, Jenna reached into her pocket and looked at her phone.  She sighed as she remembered that her phone was dead. The bus had to be running late.

She sighed, slipping the useless plastic rectangle back in her pocket, when she heard the distinct sounds of cheerful chirping behind her.  She looked over her shoulder.  Rather than one bird, she saw an entire flock pecking at the ground behind her.  Blue birds, red birds, black birds, and yellow birds.  All of them voraciously pecking at a feast at their feet.

A feast of-

“Crumbs,” Jenna gasped.  The word, even whispered from her lips sent the bouquet of birds skyward into the air.  A thin trail of crumbs lay on the ground, making a trail that led right into a worn and wooded walking path in the park.

“Well,” Jenna said, knowing providence when she saw it, “a promise is a promise.” Jenna followed the trail, leaving the safety of asphalt and concrete and followed the breadcrumbs onto dirt and trees, carefully stepping over exposed roots and fallen branches as she went.

As she followed the literal trail of breadcrumbs, Jenna felt a surge of excitement.  She felt like the two children from that one fairy tale.  Why did that sound so familiar to her?  So relevant?

There was a subtle shift in the air, like crossing a threshold, as she followed the trail of breadcrumbs.  Jenna was broken from her trance of following the crumbs when she heard the slightest crackle of thunder above her.  How odd.  There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when she had left the library.  Jenna looked up and only had leaves and branches to look at.  The sky was lost to her for the time being.

She looked back over her shoulder, only to realize that she no longer knew where she was.  Birds skittered around behind her, eating her lifeline back to the bus stop.  Nothing left to do but to head on and find this “Padded_Patient”.

The trees thinned out as Jenna walked on.  Soon, Jenna came to an open clearing, and instinctively, like a swimmer coming up for air, her neck craned skyward.  The same blue sky greeted her, and although it was still obviously daylight, she couldn’t quite place the sun.

A brief flash flickered in the blank sky as Jenna stared upward.  It wasn’t quite lightning, but there was definitely something electric about it.  There was also something off about the color of the sky itself, but Jenna couldn’t quite put her finger on it.  It was blue, but it was almost too blue.

Jenna lowered her gaze to the ground and noticed that she was out of bread crumbs.  Wherever she was meant to be, she had arrived.  Off in the distance, Jenna spied a large building.  It looked big and imposing even from this distance; at least several stories tall.

With a path obscured behind her, and only this giant penitentiary like building on the horizon, Jenna walked forward till the building came into better focus.  The grass of the clearing crunched beneath her shoes, and she looked down to examine it more closely.  Like the sky, it too seemed off.  It was green, but it unnaturally so.

There were no variations of color among the different blades of grass.  No imperfections and differentiation among the individual scraps.  Each blade of grass was exactly and perfectly identical to its sibling beside it, and there was something wrong about that.  If anything, Jenna pondered, the ground beneath her feet was closer to longer and softer astro-turf  than even the most perfect and precisely trimmed.

The building became clearer as she neared it.  It was big, and blocky, and Jenna could make out windows with bars on them, like it was some kind of prison.  But if it was a prison, why was there no guards in sight or fences with barbed wire; y’know, the stuff that you see in the movies?

It was painted white; perhaps even too white.  It was as if the walls themselves, even though made out of some kind of concrete or stone, had never had to weather the elements.  There was definitely an element of “uncanny valley” about this entire place.

As Jenna looked ahead at the building in front of her, she began to recognize that she wasn’t the only person here. People in hospital gowns and slippers shuffled on the front lawn, like zombies in search of human flesh.  They meandered about aimlessly, neither seeing nor sensing what was going on right in front of their very eyes.  Was this some kind of hospital?

“Hello?”  Jenna called out as she wandered into the shambling sea of people.  “Is there anyone here who can help me?   I’m a little lost, and I could use a phone.  My cell phone is dead.”  The patients in their gowns- some of them moaning, some of them groaning, some of them drooling, some with little patches of their scalp shaved bald, walked right by her.  She might as well have been a ghost.  “Is there a doctor here?  I’ve gotten lost and my cell phone is dead.”

“No it’s not,” A voice called out.  “It’s just never been written as being turned on before.”

Jenna followed the voice to the front porch of the building.  A strange man dressed in even stranger attire stood before her.  He wore a gray fedora over his eyes, with a yellow button up shirt and a black tie dangling loosely from his neck.  His gray loafers matched his hat, while his yellow socks complimented the shirt, nicely.   He leaned against the wooden door, sucking on a lollipop with all the seriousness of taking a drag on a cigarette.

If it weren’t for the puffy white diaper between his legs, he would have looked at home in a cheesy gangster movie, instead of a hospital or prison, or whatever this place was.   No matter what, he looked objectively ridiculous.   This wasn’t a prison or a hospital, Jenna concluded.  This was an insane asylum.  And the guy in the diaper definitely belonged here.

“Um,” Jenna called back to him, weary to step forward.  “Is there a doctor around?  Maybe a nurse?”

“Oh, you’ll meet them, given time,” the stranger called back.  “But come on in, we’ll have a talk.”  The stranger wrapped on the door behind him and it opened a crack, allowing him to slip inside.

Jenna lost sight of the lunatic for a moment before he poked his head back out.

“Oh, and don’t worry about the clothes,” he called out to her.  You won’t need them anymore.  Then he slipped his head back in.

“What in the hell was that all about?” Jenna wondered aloud .  Guy must be nuttier than a fruitcake and some kind of sex creeper to…boob?

Boob!  Boobs!  Jenna caught sight of fully naked, bare breasts.  Her own to be exact.   The sudden draft enveloping her confirmed that she was completely naked from head to toe.

“Ieee!”  She screamed, dashing for the front door, following the stranger in the diaper.  She couldn’t stand to be out in the open and so vulnerable, even if the only other people were shuffling mental cases who didn’t even register her as being there.

Jenna was panting from panic and excitement as she slammed the door behind her, a cold, nervous sweat breaking out across her brow.  She was still naked, but was inside at least.

“Come on in,” the voice of the stranger greeted.  “The crazy’s fine.”  Jenna looked for the source of the voice, but only a singular hallway that branched off into a “T” at the end could be seen.  Covering herself as best as she could, Jenna followed the hallway.

She went right at the end of the hallway.  “Good choice,” the stranger complimented her.  “I thought you were going to go left for a second, but wait…no I didn’t.  The point is, enjoy this walk, stretch your legs, stretch your arms, take a look around, smell the roses.”

Jenna took in the surroundings as she followed the stranger’s voice.  As she walked down the corridor she noticed the cells in the asylum lining the walls, all blocked off by glass walls.  It was rather like a zoo.   Each of the rooms had but a single occupant staring out at her, all of them occupying themselves or engaging in some display of madness or another.

One was cutting themselves.  One was tied up completely in rope and suspended from the ceiling.  One flicked a lighter on and off under the palm of their hands.  One was choking themselves with a rope while they masturbated.

On and on the menagerie of madness went.  The passage ways began to twist and turn, with Jenna keeping dutiful note of each turn she made.   Right, left, right, right again, left, straight at the cross section, right.

“Keep going, Jenna, we’re just building atmosphere here,” the stranger beckoned.  “The main event is yet to occur.”  It sounded louder, this time.  She was getting closer.

The logical part of her brain knew that this wasn’t how asylums actually operated.  There was no practical reason to allow a mad woman to stomp around barefoot on rotted fruit, yet the cell she just passed held exactly that.

“Oh, so close to enlightenment,” the stranger’s voice told her.  “So close.”  It then occurred to her that many of these people didn’t seem all that mad.  A lot, if not all of the activities reminded her of various kinks.

“Correct,” the stranger said as if reading her thoughts.  “Now just take that last step.”  She had started this journey looking through one of her kink sites.  This was somehow all connected to kink.

“And now we’re there.”

Jenna stopped and looked to the cell on her left.   Somehow, the diapered man in the fedora had managed to get behind thick glass and waited in his own cell.  It wasn’t a padded room like the rest.  In fact it looked a bit like a weird cross between a detective’s office and a nursery.  Jenna saw a thick wooden desk and a coatrack in one corner of the tiny room, while an oversized highchair with a typewriter on the tray was in another.

“Have you figured it out yet?” the diapered man asked, leaning against the glass.

“Yeah,” Jenna said.  “This is some kind of kink party, right?  It’s not really an asylum.”

“Ooooh,” the man sucked in his breath.  “So close, yet so far.  This is an asylum, Jenna.  It’s just not a real asylum.  But that’s okay, because you’re not a real person.”

“Get serious,” Jenna said blankly.  Maybe this wasn’t a proper asylum, but this creep was definitely crazy if he believed what he was saying.

“Alright,” the man behind the glass nodded.  “Let’s get serious, Jenna.  How do I know you’re name?”

“Stalker,” Jenna shrugged.  “How else would you know that?”

“Fair enough,” the man shrugged back.  “Tell me something that I wouldn’t know about you.  Like what’s your middle name?”

“I…” Jenna stumbled for words.  “Don’t have one.”

“Then what are your parents’ names?”

“…Mom and Dad?”

“How old are you?”

“I don’t…twenty-something…?”

“Your birthday?”

“I…”

“What major are you in college?”

“I…”

“What college do you even attend?”

“Uh…”

“What state are we in?”

“I…” Jenna paused.  “I…don’t…know.  I don’t know.”

“That’s because you’re not real in the strictest sense, Jenna.” The diapered man walked over to the typewriter on the giant high chair.  He pulled out a sheet of paper from the typewriter and walked back over to the glass.  “You only know, say, and feel what has been written.”

As if to prove a point, he pressed the paper against the glass so that Jenna could read it.  Jenna’s jaw hung open as every word she had just exchanged with the diapered man was displayed in front of her in plain black and white.

“You’re…you’re the padded patient.”  She whispered in realization.   “You brought me here.”

“I’m not the padded patient,” the diapered man smirked.  “But I did bring you here in a sense.  I’m the writer.  Or at least an aspect of him.  You however, you just learned the truth.”   Jenna began shaking as and tearing up right as she read the words “Jenna began shaking and tearing up right as she read the words”

“Hope you like internet kink stories, Jenna Jennerick,” the writer chuckled grimly while he took the piece of paper away.  “You’re in one.”

“But…but…but…” Jenna stuttered for words, trying to find something, anything to contradict what the writer was saying.  Why didn’t she know her parents’ name?  Or her actual age?  Or her college degree?

“I’m sorry I didn’t flesh you out terribly well,” the writer said.  “The lack of detail was necessary to make you realize the truth about yourself.  If I had put that kind of detail into you, made you seem too real, you might not have noticed the difference.  I’m kind of going through a bit of an experimental phase.”

Why?”  Jenna asked.  “Why me?”

“I was bored,” the writer shrugged.  “If it makes you feel any better, most people would have an existential crisis upon learning that they’re a character in an internet kink story.  I don’t think that’s too far-fetched, do you?”

“Hey!”  A voice called out from the other end of the corridor.  “Stop right there!”  Nice young men in clean white coats were pointing at her and started to walk hastily in her direction.  They were coming to take her away, she knew.

“This would be the good part,” the diapered man smirked.  “Go on,” he told her.  “Run.  Make it decent, but not too long.  The reader might be skipping over this part this very moment just so they can get to the good part.  Go!”

With no other evident choice, Jenna ran.  The slapping sound of her bare feet pounding against the cold concrete floor contrasted with the clattering footfalls of the men in white coats chasing after her.

“She’s getting away!” The voices hollered after her.  “Stop her!”

Panicked and panting, she did her best to retrace her footsteps to get to the front exit.  The bizarre parody pastiche of cardboard cutout kink characters all hooted and hollered at her from their cells as she sprinted through the corridors of this fictional madhouse.

Jenna didn’t even bother to look behind her.  If she did, she would likely stumble and fall, and then she would be caught and diapered.  That’s how it had worked in all the stories she had read anyways.  Instead, she forged ahead, retracing the

Left. Straight back at the cross section. Right. Left. Left again. Right. Left.  Just like the way she came, but backwards in reverse.

The door!  Jenna saw the door straight ahead.  Freedom, freedom at last!  Jenna ran full out the final few yards, barreling ahead.  She ran straight into a brick wall.  Literally.

Jenna lay on the floor, dizzy and in agony, her head pounding while the fluorescent lights above her buzzed and swayed in refracting visual echoes.

“I never said it was realistic fiction, did I?”  the writer’s voice echoed in her brain while two men in white coats picked Jenna off the floor and dragged her naked body back down the corridors, her heels dragging on the floor.

“Got her!” One of the orderlies called back through the halls.  “Let’s prep her.  This time, they took a left at the first turn.

“Helllp, meeee….” she moaned quietly, unsure of exactly how loud she was talking.

“We will, sweetie,” one of the orderlies told her, not unkindly.  “By the time you get out of here, you’ll be all better.  We just need to get you ready for your stay.”

Two double doors opened up and.  Jenna was facing the wrong way so she couldn’t read the sign indicating where she was going.

Her bare back pressed against a cool metal slab- some kind of operating table- and her hands were cuffed into sturdy restraints.  The world was just beginning to stop spinning by the time a strap was being pulled across her chest.

“Let me go,” she demanded.  More people were coming into the room, these ones wearing surgical masks.  “Let me go!” she repeated herself more forcefully.  They ignored her.

“This isn’t how my story is supposed to go!  Please!” she began to plead.  Still, the nurses and orderlies ignored her, wheeling over strange looking and complicated machinery.  What was going to happen? What were they going to do to her?  A lobotomy?  Some kind of surgery?  Amputation to prevent escape?  What dark depraved things might some sicko on a typewriter be about to make these people do to her?

Then she caught a glimpse of a nurse walking by holding something white, rectangular and plastic backed.  Diapers.  Of course it was diapers.  Despite herself, Jenna sighed involuntarily.  At least it was diapers.  She liked diapers well enough.  She could deal with diapers.  Then she frowned at the idea.  Did she really like diapers?  Or did she just like it because she was actually a fictional character designed to promote a fetish?

A gloved hand shoved a pill in her mouth and then covered her lips.

“Shhhh, just let it happen,” the nurse said, rubbing Jenna’s throat with her forefinger.  “It’s medicine.”

A male orderly came in and pinched Jenna’s nose, just in case.  Jenna swallowed the pill.  She had no idea what she had just swallowed, what it would do or when it would do it.

“Good girl,” the nurse said.  Jenna didn’t even have time to eek out a reply or a question before a ball gag was shoved rudely in her mouth, practically prying her jaw open.

The nurse with the diaper came and lifted Jenna’s legs into the air.  Whether it was because the nurse was strong or because something in the pill Jenna had been force fed made her suddenly week, Jenna was unable to resist as her bum was lifted up and then set down on an unfolded diaper.

Jenna moaned into her gag- it was all she could do- as the nurse slid another pill inside Jenna, this time from the other ends.  The stinging sensation of several quick spanks caused Jenna’s buttocks to instinctively clench down accepting whatever horrible concoction she was being violated with.

“There we go,” Jenna heard someone say as the diaper was pulled up between her legs and taped into place.  “Now for the fun part.”

Two little wands touched Jenna at the temples.

“Clear!”

White hot lightning coursed through Jenna’s brain causing her to convulse and shudder on the cold metal table.  Her mind reeling in unimaginable pain.  Was she dying?  Was this what dying was like? Her new diaper suddenly became wet as her muscles spasmed, the contents of her body voiding into the waiting incontinence brief.

Some part of Jenna’s brain, the part of her that was rational and protecting herself by distancing her from what was just now happening remembered a little factoid.  Shock therapy didn’t hurt, according to everyone who knew about it outside of fiction.   Because she was fictional and a degree of humiliation and pain was called for at this point in the story. What other reason could there be?

“We’ll change her later,” she heard a voice said as she shook on the table, naked save for her wet diaper.

The restraints were removed.  She was in no position to properly resist.  That would come later, she realized.  The struggling, the force feeding.  The diaper changes.  All of that would come later until they had broken her. A flash of off-white blocked her vision briefly as a straightjacket was pulled over her head and her arms being guided.  The world was just starting to settle down and the electric static in her head was calming down into a smooth sizzle as her arms were pulled securely across her body.

From there, it was a short trip to a dark and padded room.  It wasn’t as well lit, as the cells she had passed on her way in.  Those were for the ones who had already broken and been conditioned, she instinctively knew.  Until then, this is where they’d keep her.

“Welcome home,” they said before slamming her cell door shut.

And that’s how it had been ever since.  Jenna had been stuck there, unable to do anything save use her diapers and struggle briefly when the team of orderlies came to feed her, change her, and occasionally bathe her.

She sat, stewing in her own diaper.  It’d only be an hour or so, maybe a little more before she’d do this dance again.  That’s when the door opened up to her.

Instead of the usual team of burly thugs there to punish here, an Asian man in a lab coat walked in.  He was holding a laptop in his hands.

He only said two words:  “For you.”   He slowly, carefully, placed the laptop on the ground, never looking away from Jenna.  It was as if she were a poisonous snake to him.  As if she were the dangerous one.  Then, still not taking his eyes off of her.  He backed away and shut the door.

Jenna waited once he was gone before scooting over to the laptop.  Was this some kind of trick?  Some kind of trap?  What kind of villain (and this place was the villain, make no mistake about that), would give their prisoner anything that could help them connect with the outside world?  Perhaps the computer had some kind of brainwashing program that would melt her resistance away.  She’d read stories like that.   It was possible.  Anything was possible.  This wasn’t real.

Still, it was unlikely that Jenna was ever going to get a chance like this again.

With trembling, clumsy toes, she turned on the laptop, and went to the only places that had mattered to her; her old fetish websites.  Websites so fake sounding they probably didn’t exist in the real world.    She didn’t have facetome, or blinkchat, or immedigram, or tweeter, or any of the other possibly off-brand names of real social media websites.

The only place where she talked to people were on these kind of websites; where people were more likely to talk about diapers than politics or news or whatever it was you were supposed to do on the internet.  It was a character flaw, she realized, built into the story to keep her isolated so that no one would miss her.

Jenna smiled all the same. These idiots were giving her the very tools she needed to escape.  She would have her happy ending after all.  Her story would end with “And she escaped, straightjacket flying off into the wind…”  Granted, it’d take a few more steps after this; she’d have to convince a rescuer and get them involved and have them sneak in to rescue her, just as she had been foolhardy enough to try and rescue someone else, but it was still doable.

Maybe she was a character in a kinky novella instead of a smutty short story.  Who could tell?   But she could set things in motion, at least.  It wasn’t a perfect plan, after all, as it turns out.  Squishypencil, Yiffenthusiasm, and Kinkworld were all blocked on the laptop.  She couldn’t even pull up Offenderart.  It figured that they’d lock all the good porn.  After every fetish site she knew of came up blocked, she went back to “theforbiddenstory.com” as a last resort, hoping and praying that she had misread the message about the shutdown those many weeks ago.  It wasn’t technically a porno site, as much as it was a “story site”, so hopefully any kind of blocking or parent program wouldn’t register it.

To Jenna’s happy surprise, it seemed to still be up and working…and she was already logged in, but not under her usual screenname.  Someone had used this laptop before, another fetishist no doubt, and they were still logged in.  The name in the upper right hand corner of the screen “Padded_Patient”.  This was the exact same screen name that had started this whole mess.  It figured that the Asylum would have some kind of communal laptop, but how bad was it that she was now effectively the person she had come to rescue?

She went to the old chatroom and typed with her feet:

“Padded_Patient:  help”

She would have typed more, but clacking away at the keyboard with her toes, no matter how dexterous they were, was no easy feat.  Better to keep it short and sweet and use as few letters as possible.  There was nothing at first.  No friendly ping to let her know her message had been seen.  Then, just as she was about to lose hope; just when she swore that the orderlies would come back and take her window to the outside world, another name popped up.

“Guest01: Who is this?”

Great, another lurker, just like she had been.  Better than nothing.  Maybe she’d get lucky this time.

“Padded_Patient:  cant tok help” she clumsily plonked out on the keyboard.

“Guest01: With what?”  Her one window to the world typed back.

“Padded_Patient:  trapd n dprs call 911”.  How simple could that be?  Even in a fictional story, the cops still worked like the cops.  Even a dumbass fap master knew how to write “And then the cops broke down the door and rescued the poor diapered girl.”  If she knew her tropes, (and she did) she’d probably end up permanently incontinent and needing to always be diapered, but she could live with that as a “happily ever after”.  It was as close to a fair ending as she was likely going to get.

“Guest01:  Is this roleplay?” the source of her salvation typed back.  “If so, not interested.    You look like you’re typing with one hand, anyways.”
Jenna grunted in frustration.  Hopefully that was the only reason she was grunting. Total incontinence happened so much faster than normal in these types of stories.

“Padded_Patient: no im trapd hlp”  She didn’t have time to be eloquent or verbose or well written.  She needed help and she needed it now.

“Guest01: Bye Felicia!” came the reply.

Shit!  This stranger didn’t believe her!  This couldn’t be her fate!  This couldn’t be how her story ended!  Could it?

Hurriedly, Jenna leaned back and managed to take a picture of herself with the webcam before quickly sending it.  In her panic she got the framing all wrong.  She couldn’t manage to get her face in, only the bottom of her chin and a few strands of disheveled hair made it into the picture; but anyone could clearly see that she was wearing a straightjacket and a diaper.

“Padded_Patient: Duz dis look fak 2 u?” she posted.

“Guest01: Holy shit!  That’s hardcore!” the reply came. “But I think you’re on the wrong site.  I know some good ones for stuff like this if you want.”

“Padded_Patient:  plz help”  Jenna typed back, losing patience. “dey thnk crazy cant end it dis way”

“Guest01: Okay, I’ll play along,” the computer dinged.  “Where are you?”

With careful and deliberate speed, Jenna sent out her response.  She had to get this right.

“Padded_Patient:  asylum”

“Guest01:  Asylum?  They still have those?  Kinky”

Jenna rolled her eyes in frustration.  How could this girl be so dense?  It was like she was just a character in a…oh yeah, she probably was that dense.  That’s probably how Jenna realized the person on the other end of the line was a girl, too.  It just fit the tropes of the story she was in.

Jenna took a deep breath and carefully typed in, “Padded_Patient: not jk but yes”.  A few tense moments went by before the computer pinged again.

“Guest01:  Okay, I’ll play along.  Where?”

Now came the hard part.  Now came telling the truth.  Hope she believed it.

“Padded_Patient: net"

“Guest01: The internet? How’d you get there?”

“Padded_Patient: crumbs”

“Guest01: Haha!  I get it.  Look, I’m in the library, I can’t rp right now. But if I see any crumbs, I’ll follow them.”

It was only then that the strange familiarity of this incident came front in center.  The shock therapy had addled her memory enough that she only now realized that she had had this exact same exchange once before, but on the other side of the monitor.  Her eyes glanced at the date on the chat.  How could that be?  According to the timestamp on “theforbiddenstory.com”  It was…it was…it was the exact date that she had wandered out of the library and onto that path of breadcrumbs.

Somehow, through no conceivable method that she knew of, she was talking to her past self.

“Padded_Patient:  stop,“ Jenna typed, but “Guest01” had already logged off, well onto her journey into the waiting truth and diapered imprisonment that she had now endured for God knows how long.

She screamed and gave up; hot tears flooding down her face and hot urine filling her diaper, saturating it to the point of leaking.  It ended where it all began.  How typical. How fucking typical…No one escaped these fetish stories; because the people reading them didn’t want to escape.  She was the escape.  At best, some hack writer would steal some old Stephen King trope and make an endless cycle of suffering.  She was going to doom herself in reaching out for her salvation.
Somewhere, a universe away, the writer woke up with a start and looked around.  He was home.  It was the middle of the night.  His wife snored peacefully beside him. His cock was at half-mast; that magical, frustrating line between arousal and disappointment.  He remembered having the dream, but like so many dreams, it was all stardust and half-remembered nonsense by the time his lids shot open.

Worse yet, he had to pee.  He wasn’t diapered tonight- not in the waking world at least- and while he was still groggy enough to roll over and go back to sleep, he knew that he wouldn’t be particularly comfortable, so the few hours he had remaining would be wasted.  In the end, practicality won out over lethargy.

One of these nights, he pondered as the toilet flush echoed in the bathroom, he’d accidentally wet the bed instead of just dreaming about wetting a diaper.  Then he’d likely end up diapered at night as a precaution, instead of just for kicks on special nights when he could get over his own insecurities.  He didn’t know if he wanted that kind of wonderful defeat as a reason to be diapered more often, though perhaps the fact that he thought of it as “wonderful” told more than he meant to.

That’s why he liked “horror porn”: people being forced into things that they secretly wanted, despite what society and the little judgmental parts of their brains told them.  Damnit.  He looked down. So much for half-mast.  He’d done it again.

There was only one way he was going to be able to get back to sleep now, and waking his wife was not likely an option.  So, as quiet as a horny church mouse, he tip toed over to the computer in the corner of his bedroom and turned the monitor on.

Out of habit more than anything, he went to his inbox before visiting any of his fetish sites.  A request?  A padded asylum?  Hmmm…how would that work?  He was familiar with the concept, but never quite figured out a way to work it out in his head.

Sadly, he had a little too much information on how mental institutions really worked these days to suspend his own disbelief enough to write a story about it.  There was a certain line that he had difficulty crossing when it came to realistic portrayal.  If he was going to do something, he was going to do it right and be as accurate about it as possible.  Perhaps that’s why he preferred to write about the impossible; easier to suspend disbelief when you weren’t pretending you were writing about anything other than pure bullshit.  Same reason why he liked fantasy over historical fiction.

Altered realities?  Magic?  Diapered afterlives?  Done, done, and done.  Go for it.  It’s not trying to be realistic anyways.

Parents deciding to full-time diaper their errant high schooler and replace their room with a prohibitively expensive adult sized nursery so they could raise them over again?  Diapered asylums? Ha!  Only on the internet would something like that work!  Only on…

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, for multiple reasons.  That hadn’t been a dream he’d had. That’d been inspiration.  The writer smiled to himself.

“Go,” he whispered to himself as he opened up a fresh word document, “There are other worlds than these.”  It wasn’t quite the fresh piece of paper being slid into an old typewriter like his online avatar wrote on, but it was close enough for his needs.

He began to type:  “The Asylum at the End of Reality.  Jenna Jennerick rocked back and forth in her cell..”  He felt sorry for the girl-Jenna Jennerick- and what he was about to do to her; what others would likely experience through her eyes or his, depending if they viewed themselves as the witness to her plight or experienced her journey vicariously.  Good thing she was fictional.  He wouldn’t rationally wish this on anyone.

Or perhaps Jenna only imagined that the writer thought all this as he click-clacked away on his keyboard in the middle of the night…who can say, really?

Patient Record

Patient Name: “Jenna Jennerick” (No name, social security number, finger prints, or other identification on record)

Height: 5’4

Weight: 120 lbs

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Brown

Sex: Female

Patient ID: 1017-AB

Security Level: High

Visits:  Allowed

Outings: Allowed in Common Area with Supervision

Food: Pureed food, spoon fed by orderly.

Medication: Loxapine

Restraints: Straight Jacket.  Diapers.

Treatment:  Ongoing

Notes and diagnosis: Patient suffers from delusions of oppression and shows signs of paranoid schizophrenia.  Patient was found walking the grounds, naked, talking to other patients of escape, yet made no attempts to leave the premises herself, even when asked to leave by staff.  Security reported several instances where subject could have evaded them, yet chose not to.

Patient suffers from the delusion that she is a character in a sexual fetish story off of the internet based around the themes of bondage, sexual masochism, and autonepiophilia.  Patient labors under an elaborate set of imagined rules, such as needing to be “force fed” “baby food”, diapered, and physically restrained.  When these conditions are not met, patient becomes physically violent and attempts to “escape” though in every documented attempt, she allows herself to be re-captured; oftentimes throwing herself to the floor and self-harming as she nears an exit.  I fear that we’re simply making her delusions worse by playing into them, however she is a danger to herself and others when not allowed to act out her fantasy.

Looking at a form of regression therapy as a means of transition and behavioral modification.  If her delusions cannot be dispelled completely, perhaps they can be modified so that she is no longer self-harming or a danger to others.   Given her internet search history on the laptop we’ve given her, (note: she still insists on being restrained and has learned to type with her toes) she seems to focus heavily on   the Adult Baby/Dipaer Lover Fetish, many of them revolving around the twin themes of confinement and forced regression.  It is my belief that she has become fixated on these stories to the point where she is now unable to distinguish reality from fantasy and enacts these stories in her everyday life as a coping mechanism.

Hypothetically, she might allow her fantasies to change from one of confinement to one of becoming regressed and modify her behavior accordingly.  Considering starting to give her “Training panties” under the pretense of “proving she’s an adult”.  It is my hypothesis that she will be compelled to follow the tropes found in so many of these stories, and begin to act as if she is losing her adult qualities and then pretend to be an infant.   Better to have an overgrown toddler than a violent patient.  Already looking into various providers of custom clothes and incontinence products to help the transition.  Expense report for these items as well as custom furniture for a nursery being compiled and sent the board of directors for approval.  Grant for study pending

-Dr. Gaajar

[Shotgun Diplomat]

“There are other worlds than these.”

I like the Stephan King reference. Thanks for sharing this fun romp.

[TheGameArch]

I am so freaking confused, yet I found the story very good.

[Personalias]

 

“There are other worlds than these.”

I like the Stephan King reference. Thanks for sharing this fun romp.

The Dark Tower is my favorite series of all time.  I found myself saying it as I typed the scene up...and since it was kinda supposed to be me, the dialogue made it in.

 

I am so freaking confused, yet I found the story very good.

My intent was to be confusing with this.  I couldn't begin to tell you what was "real", what was "magic", what was "all in her head", or whether the whole thing was just a dream in the author's imagination.  But that's kind of the point.

[TheGameArch]

 

My intent was to be confusing with this.  I couldn't begin to tell you what was "real", what was "magic", what was "all in her head", or whether the whole thing was just a dream in the author's imagination.  But that's kind of the point.

I figured as much. Its a welcome departure from the usual easy-to-follow stories, even if I wouldnt want every story to be like it

[Personalias]

And that's all it meant to be.  A welcome departure from the norm.

[ELLIE52]

Found the story to be particularly good.

[Shotgun Diplomat]

The Dark Tower is my favorite series of all time.

Mine too. 

[CDfm]

The Dark Tower is also my favorite as well, but then just about anything from King is a favorite. 

Personalias you might not be on the same level as Steven King, but you are definitely very good. I loved this story. I could never really tell if it was just a story or she was really a patient. I was thrilled to be able to give it a like. I will be waiting for the next story. 

[Shotgun Diplomat]

 

 you might not be on the same level as Steven King.

I like to think that an iteration of King exists on all levels, most certainly here on the keystone but also on others.  

[YourFNF]

Owww my brain need booze, make it stop. I feel like I'm the dude in "All Along the Watch Tower". Owwww (head desks repeatedly)

[diaperpt]

It's all real. It's all in our heads. But we are not real. We are in the story. We are the story. And you wrote all the characters. This was fun, Personalias! Now, how do we get out of the story?

[Personalias]

16 hours ago, diaperpt said:

It's all real. It's all in our heads. But we are not real. We are in the story. We are the story. And you wrote all the characters. This was fun, Personalias! Now, how do we get out of the story?

I...haven't figured that out yet.  And right now isn't the best time for me to think about it.  I wrote this while reading Dark Tower.  I'm currently watching Ash vs. Evil Dead....

[fyunch]

Charming.  Self-referential as can be.  Nice concept.