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In this story, Pudding and I stepped outside our comfort zone into a second person, present tense narrative about a topic we've never explored before.  It's also the first story we've done together without using color! :o  It was scary and challenging, but we came out the other side with a great little short story.  I think this whole experience has really broadened our ability and made us better writers.  

I'd really like to say thank you to the person who commissioned this piece for providing us an opportunity to learn and grow.  And thank you for believing in us.

Please consider supporting us on Patreon!  We also take on commissions!

~Sophie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Change Inc.
By Sophie & Pudding
*Commissioned by Anonymous

 

You can’t believe your luck - only yesterday it had seemed like the world was going to end, with your athletic scholarship pulled. Your bank account is not doing so great on account of your reckless lifestyle and frequent partying. You need a miracle, a miracle like the flier in your hand that promises two semesters worth of tuition in exchange for a 24 hour test program for a robotics firm. You look at the paper in your hand, then up at the building off-campus marked with ‘Change Inc.' in colorful letters made of baby blocks on the wall. What a weird place.

It wasn't as though you cared, though. You barely listen at all through the orientation process, you certainly don’t read the contract, and all you can think about is the busty older woman who talks you through it. Damn her titties are fine! What you wouldn't give to get a taste of those!

"Right this way."

She intones with a sickly smile on her painted lips, pushing open a door to a room that looked completely empty, then sealing you inside with a click.  The room around you is white and plain, with a metallic sheen.  A bright red light above the door is the only ounce of color, but it then switches to green.  Holes in the ceiling open up and thin, long robotic arms reach down and wrap around your wrists before you can think to act.  

"Hey!" you shout. "What's going on?!"

Two more arms grab onto your ankles and suddenly you feel your entire weight pulled up off the floor. You've never felt like this before.  Something about the way the arms hold you makes you feel weightless and helpless.

"HEY! Something's wrong in here!"

Your voice is hoarse from calling out at the top of your lungs, but it's all for nothing.  Despite your yelling, more arms appear and start undressing you in the worst possible way.

"Those are my good jeans, don't..." You struggle and tug and pull. “Don’t cut them up!"

If the arms have ears they're not listening.  Soon all your clothes - except for your lucky red undies - are in ribbons on the floor. Then before you can complain, a floor panel flips over and sucks the pieces away.

"What is this place?! I changed my mind!"

But your mind isn't what the room has in mind when it comes to changing.  A panel in the ceiling opens and a new robotic arm appears, holding in its grasp a thick, white square of plastic.  Carefully, deliberately, the arms reveal the item in front of your face, peeling open the wings and exposing the soft padded crotch of the diaper.  A very large diaper.  

Your mind races.  No matter how hard you struggle, you are incapable of fighting off the cuffs on your wrists and ankles, holding you high in the air.  

"No," you mumble, "This isn't happening!"

But your fears are realized as two more arms slide the red briefs down your legs and pull the diaper up in its place.  A soft puff of air sprays white powder all over your cock before the arms pull open the tapes and fasten the diaper tight around your hips.

The chime of a bell rings all around you. You struggle with the restraints, and a voice speaks from above.

"Does baby need a change?"

Humiliatingly, one of the arms with an oversized hand reaches down behind you and pats your diaper, hefting it against you, checking if you need to be changed.

"I'm not a fucking baby you fucking weirdos! Lemme out!"

An arm extends down and shines a red beam over your chest and stomach, like some kind of scanner, and you begin to feel some very real bodily needs. Desperately. Urgently. Like you won't even be able to hold it. What did they do to me, you think.  You didn't need to go even ten seconds ago!

"HEY! Lemme go, I gotta use the toilet!”

The feelings are so familiar, but so sudden.  The red scanner disappears into the ceiling, but the sensations do not.  As the metal arms slowly lower you, the cuffs on your ankles and wrists stick to the floor, leaving you pinned and helpless as the feelings grow worse.  

Then the floor starts to rise into a large table, as if you were on display.  Suddenly, you start to wonder if... if maybe you are on display?  You frantically look around the cold white room, but the only thing you see is a hatch above opening up and a bottle lowering to your lips.  

You turn your head to fight it, but small arms sprout from the table near your head and hold it still until the nipple penetrates your lips.  No matter what you do, you're immobile, naked but for a diaper, and drinking formula from a baby bottle.

"Administering Formula #1822.”

Or at least that's what you think you hear, but the liquid between your lips tastes strangely sweet and very relaxing. You drink, sucking hungrily on the bottle between your lips in a temporary daze.  But halfway through the bottle you realize something is amiss. You're naked, you know that. You're in a diaper, you know that. The diaper is slowly getting warm, and wet, and... oh no! You can't be!? You're wetting yourself?!

You try to stop, try to stymie the flood into your pristine white diaper, but no matter how much you panic and struggle against the strange new feelings, the formula seems to keep you from getting too riled up. You're not a baby!  But the bottle stays firmly in place, even as your stomach grumbles unhappily. You need to find a way out of here…

Once the bottle is empty, the arm takes it away, back into the ceiling.  The warm, soggy diaper between your legs constantly reminds you of what you've done.  The feelings in your stomach remind you what could happen next.  No matter what you say, no matter how you struggle, nothing works.  You're... you're scared.

"Please let me out," you say, as tears start forming in your eyes.  You don't understand why anyone would do this to you!  Then another tight feeling rushes through your stomach and you whimper in pain.  You shake your head to fight it off, but your body reacts in spite of you.  Suddenly, unexpectedly, you start to push the mess into the seat of your diaper.  No matter what you do, you can't stop yourself.

There's no way you're pooping your diaper, you tell yourself.  It’s not possible! Though as it happens, you're held down against the table, making it impossible to ignore; the way the thick mess squishes up and down your behind, between your legs. To make matters worse, the arms start to sit you up and gently bounce you up and down on the changing table.

Why are they doing this to you?! How can this possibly be science?!   Tears drip down your cheeks and you squeal out as you feel something hit your back.  A hand - a robotic hand - patting you on the back, over and over. What the heck is it doing, you wonder.  You're being bounced in a messy diaper, held in place, and being patted on the back like a baby.

As you cry and whimper, the room reacts.  It begins to play soothing music.  Sounds of a woman's voice shushes you, saying things like "there, there" and "no need to cry".  You can hardly believe you’re crying.  No different than an actual baby, you think.  But as the hand pats your back for the tenth time, still bouncing you softly on the table, a burp escapes your lips and the taste of formula fills your mouth.

"There we go," the room says to you. "I bet you feel much better now."

But you do not feel better at all. You want to go home, you want to leave this awful place!  How long has it been? Hours? Days? In the back of your mind, though, you know it hasn’t been even an hour.

Something is pushed between your lips, thick and rubbery, and it tastes like the formula.  You suck on it out of newly given instinct, and you only realize it’s a pacifier as you are laid once more on the table.

You're an adult man, naked but for a diaper, a thick, puffy, soaking wet and stinky messy diaper, sucking on a pacifier for anybody to see. You don't know how this can get worse! But then you feel something pressed against your stiffness in the front of your diaper, something semi-firm, and then a buzzing hum fills the empty room and vibrations are sent through your padding to your cock.  Intense vibrations like you've never felt before.

No no no! You are NOT getting off to this!

"You are a very good boy," the room says to you in its warm, maternal voice. "A very good little boy.  Relax now.  Do not worry.  You are safe and cared for and loved."

You struggle against the cuffs, but any gesture or movement only reminds you of the state of your diaper.  Tears drip down your cheeks.  The buzzing sound permeates the room and you feel a warm pressure on the outside of your diaper.  Rubbing down, between your legs, against your mess, and up to the yellowed front, along the length of your cock.  As it moves, you shiver.  Your body trembles.  Your even breathing breaks.  The room learns from your reactions and moves to please you better.  All the while, the voice never quiets.

"You are a good little boy.  Relax.  Let me make it all better."

You want to spit out the pacifier. You want to tear the humiliation away from your waist. You want to leave more than anything. Your head swims and drowns and you suck on your pacifier, you suck and suck and suck. Your movements remain strong, but your struggles fade away, instead focusing your energy on moving against the vibrations, gyrating your hips to feel more of it.  You're lost in yourself, lost in the moment, lost in the pleasure.

The voice talks to you and you listen, eagerly licking up the words with your brain: you're a good boy, you're a baby, you deserve a reward, you should drink your formula, you should behave, you should enjoy your diapers, you should wet them, you should feel childish, you should associate this all with feeling good, you should mess yourself and be proud, proud of being a baby.

You whimper and moan and your cock erupts in your diaper, soaking the already sodden padding with thick ropes of cum that have nowhere else to go but to press against your skin. Your breathing is ragged. Your heart, racing.

You can't believe it.  You are a grown man!  You're in college!  You are not a baby, and you not only have wet and messed yourself in the past hour alone, but the voice had convinced you to cum into a diaper.  In your post-orgasmic haze, you thrash and kick on the table, furious and ashamed.  But you're too weak.  Weak and exhausted.  You feel your body limply slip to the table and a program from earlier repeats itself.

"Does baby need a change?" The robotic hand pushes roughly against the seat of your diaper, reminding you again that you are helpless here. "Oh!  Yes, you do!" The metal hands move to the tapes of the diaper and peel them off.

You struggle, but each moment of resistance feels harder and harder, and soon enough you're thrashing about with only the strength of an infant and the restraints have no problems at all holding you in place. The voice narrates, and your mind feels like it’s shrinking with each word.

"There's a good little boy, let's see just how full your diaper is." The hands pull the diaper down and the thick smell fills the room: the smell of baby powder, baby pee, and baby mess, because you're a baby now.

"Oh what a big mess for such a little baby! Don't you worry, baby boy, you'll be in a fresh clean diaper soon enough, won't that be nice?"

You nod. You just want to be changed, you don't even care if it’s into another diaper. You can't see what going on, you can barely lift your own head (or your arms, which the machine feels no longer need to be restrained right now, humiliatingly). But you feel your legs lifted enough to raise your bottom, and you feel the soft warmth of a wet cloth cleaning you up.

"Baby Boy made such a mess! All squished around, you must love your messy diapers, don't you baby boy? You love your messy diapers. We'll make sure to get you cleaned up and apply thick cream and lotion so you don't get a rash from now on."

From now on... like you'll ever do this again...

"You're a baby now, after all, you can't ever be an adult after doing that."

Your cheeks flush red, and your cock stirs. Stupid voice, you think. What does it know...

The room dresses you in the same kind of diaper as before, white and thick and crinkly.  You smell like fresh baby powder, rather than a messy infant.  Matching white mittens are pulled down over your bare fists and cuffed into place around your wrists, just as walls come up around you and the table is transformed again - this time into a crib too high for you to climb out of.  

The restraints disappear into the table and you are free.  Free to wander around the small crib, anyway.  Immediately, you tug at the diaper with your thick mittened hands, but the satin slips off the plastic tapes.  The lights dim around you and lullaby music begins to play.  The room starts to feel warmer and more comfortable.  Even the metal table feels nice on your skin.

You want to shout, you want to be let out, let up. But you can't talk with the pacifier in your mouth, and your confused little mind doesn't even think about the fact you could just spit it out. You try to stand up, but your legs wobble a little, and the top of the crib walls are so high.

This whole room seems so much bigger than it was, and you know that shouldn't be possible. Which means you must have gotten smaller, but you know that's even less possible. That the room had expanded as the crib grew around you. You feel so small.

You drop down on your padded butt on the bed, listening to the music play. You focus, sucking on your binkie. Gosh you're sleepy, though. You lay down, noticing for the first time a fluffy teddy bear adjacent to a pillow. You feel alone enough to hold the bear in your mittened hands, and before you know it you're asleep.

You think, maybe, it was a bad dream, but when you wake up, the white room, the robotic arms, and the warm maternal voice are there to greet you.  Your diaper is unexpectedly wet, but the room does not admonish you.  After all, you are just a baby boy.  A tub of warm water appears in the far corner and after stripping you of another wet diaper, you are placed in the warm water for cleaning.  Though the mittens stay firmly on your hands, you kick and struggle against every action the room makes.  You don't want to be bathed!  You don't want to be carried!  You are a grown man!  But the room is quickly fed up with you.  It lifts you high in the air, bends you at the waist in its many robotic arms, and spanks your bare, wet bottom.

"You are acting so stubborn, baby boy.  Be good."

It hurts much more than you could ever have anticipated, not only on bare skin, but when it’s soaking wet, too?! Each smack aches, like you're being beaten with a metal spatula, and the feeling of heat from your ass after thirty firm smacks tells you that your skin is red raw.

And you're crying, crying because you're just a baby boy. You wail and cry even worse when you're put back in the soapy water and your abused bottom has to feel the warm water against it. You sob and sulk and suck on the binkie pushed firmly between your lips.  The hands soap you up, rubbing lotion over your skin that tingles and burns, rubbing shampoo in your hair that smells awful. You offer no resistance when toys are dropped in the bath to be played with - you just don't want to be hurt anymore, you want to be a good boy! When the water drains, your body hair drains away with it.

”You're such a good baby boy, aren't you?" You nod without a second thought. All you can do is nod. Fighting this isn't going to stop it.  You pissed yourself.  You shit yourself.  You orgasmed into a diaper.  Maybe you are just a baby boy…

Twenty four hours felt like a week.  The longest week of your life.  You step out onto the sidewalk, wearing clothes you thought had been torn up.  You look up at the huge sign above you.  Change Inc.  Then you turn your attention to the woman in the doorway, who invited you in only yesterday.  

She knows what happened to you, and you can hardly make eye contact.  You hold the envelope tight in your hands - enough money to pay for the next two semesters of college.  You had earned it.  You had given up so much in that room...

"If you're ever in need of more money," the woman says to you with that bright smile, her large breasts impossible to ignore, "you are always welcome back."

She closes the door and leaves you alone on the street corner, with nothing but a wad of cash and an erection in your favorite red briefs.
 

  • Like 4
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I can see why second-person narrative isn't very popular. It's not too pleasant to read, in my opinion. Still, this was a commission and if that's what the customer wants...

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Well I guess it doesn't help that the idea of a fully-automated robotic Nursery sorta terrifies me. So I wasn’t looking to get immersed in this particular story lol. :p

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This is why you never sign anything without reading it. Then again, I would probably have gone through with it even after reading the contract. I'm not into infantelization but being payed several grand to piss and shit myself? Easy money.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Awesome story. I would be willing to bet he goes back. Just 24 hours of constantly being treated and spoken to in that way is bound to have some lasting effects.  Another great job. Thank you so much for sharing it with us. 

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Thank you everyone! :D  Personally speaking, I'd do most anything for a couple thousand dollars.  Even if it's humiliating or haunting.  But I know the appeal of a lot of ABDL content (including stuff we love to write!) is the idea that it's SOOO embarrassing that you'd NEVER do it.  The character in the story would probably go back though... as CDfm said - that sort of experience has lasting effects. ;) 

I'd love to explore the idea of a robotic nursery again.  It was something we had never written before!  But maybe a longer story that we can really dig our nails into?

Anyway, thanks again.  The comments are so inspiring. ^_^ 

~Sophie

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