Backroom ABDL - Dark ABDL Story

[Yumi_doll]

Hi guys, this is my first Story, I'm quite excited and I hope you like it. Important note: my native language is not English. I welcome any feedback, feel free to comment. The synopsis is this:

Ashley, a little girl, runs down the street wearing a white shirt and blue leggings, her blonde hair blowing in the wind. She sees a stuffed animal in the street and, thinking it belongs to a child, decides to pick it up. Upon picking up the bear, Ashley is transported to a different place... a backroom. A classic ABDL story with elements of psychological horror; the story includes diaper punishment, forced use, and u potty training.

....

Chapter 01

"That's the third time this week," Ashley muttered under her breath, adjusting the strap of her gym bag as she jogged past the same crooked stop sign. The morning air was crisp, the kind that made her lungs feel freshly scrubbed, and her blue leggings clung comfortably as she picked up speed. She wasn’t usually one for routines, but this stretch of sidewalk had become hers—past Mrs. Henderson’s rose bushes, around the corner where the old maple tree dropped helicopter seeds, and straight through the intersection where the crosswalk paint was always fading.

 

She almost missed it. A flash of matted brown fur against the asphalt, half-hidden under a crumpled fast-food bag. Ashley skidded to a stop, kicking up a pebble that clattered into the gutter. The stuffed bear lay on its side, one button eye dangling by a thread, the other staring blankly at the sky. Something about its lopsided grin made her stomach twist. Ashley's fingers brushed against the bear's matted fur, and the scent hit her first—talcum powder, thick and cloying, like the inside of a nursery from some half-remembered childhood. For a split second, the familiarity of it made her smile. Then the sidewalk lurched beneath her feet. The world tilted sideways, colors bleeding into streaks of yellow and beige, and the last thing she heard was the distant, tinny sound of a lullaby playing on a loop.

 

She came to with her cheek pressed against something damp. Not pavement—carpet. Ugly, industrial-grade carpet, the kind that smelled like mildew and disappointment. Ashley pushed herself up onto her elbows, blinking against the flickering fluorescence overhead. The room stretched in every direction, walls lined with water stains, the same sickly yellow repeating into infinity. A door stood a few feet away, identical to the one behind her, both slightly ajar, both leading to more of the same. The hum of the lights was the only sound, a relentless buzz that made her teeth ache. The flickering fluorescents pulsed in time with the lullaby, a sickening syncopation that made Ashley's skin crawl. She pressed a hand to her chest—her heartbeat was keeping perfect time with the melody, fast and frantic like a trapped bird. The realization sent a fresh wave of nausea through her. This wasn't just background noise. It was inside her now, humming along her veins.

 

She staggered forward, legs unsteady, past door after identical door, each slightly ajar, each revealing the same endless stretch of yellowed wallpaper and water-stained ceiling. The air grew thicker with every step, the scent of baby powder intensifying until it coated her tongue. By the time she reached the seventh door, the smell was overwhelming—warm milk, plastic toys left in the sun, the unmistakable tang of a freshly changed diaper. Her stomach lurched.

Ashley’s fingers trembled as she pushed the door open wider, hinges squeaking like a neglected crib toy. The moment she stepped through, the door vanished—not slammed shut, not dissolved, but erased like it had never existed at all. Darkness swallowed her whole, thick and suffocating, the kind that pressed against her eyelids like damp cotton. Then, all at once, a single overhead light flickered on with a sound like a spoon tapping a glass bottle.

 

A figure stood inches from her face. Ashley jerked back, but there was no space—just the sudden, claustrophobic awareness of another body breathing the same air. The woman (was it a woman?) wore a nurse’s uniform straight out of a 1950s hospital, starch-stiff and bleached white, her face obscured by a surgical mask. Only her eyes were visible, dark and unblinking, like buttons sewn onto cloth. "Lost little thing," the nurse murmured, voice syrup-sweet. Her gloved hand reached out, brushing Ashley’s cheek with a touch that smelled like antiseptic and powdered milk. The nurse’s fingers lingered against Ashley’s cheek, cold through the latex gloves, but there was an odd tenderness in the pressure—the way a mother might cup a child’s face after a nightmare. Ashley’s pulse thudded in her throat, but the woman’s dark, unblinking eyes held no malice. Only a quiet, unsettling focus. 

 

"Who are you?" Ashley managed to croak, her voice smaller than she intended. "What do you want?"

 

The nurse tilted her head, mask crinkling with what might have been a smile. 

 

"Someone to take care of you, little one," she murmured, and her voice was like warm honey, thick and slow. "You’ve been wandering for so long. Aren’t you tired?" 

 

Ashley’s knees wobbled at the question, as if the words had physical weight. She hadn’t noticed before, but exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, her muscles leaden. The nurse’s gloved hand slid down to her shoulder, guiding her forward with gentle insistence.

 

"I’m not tired," 

 

Ashley lied, the protest automatic, but her voice cracked halfway through. The room—no, not a room anymore, just a space—stretched endlessly, walls warping like wet paper. She spun around, searching for the door she’d just stepped through, but there was only smooth yellow wallpaper, seamless and unbroken. Her breath hitched. 

 

"Where—?"

 

The nurse's fingers tightened imperceptibly on Ashley's shoulder, her thumb tracing a slow circle over the fabric of Ashley's white top.

 

"Hush now," she murmured, her voice like melted sugar. "Names are such heavy things here. Better to let them go." 

 

The fluorescent lights buzzed louder overhead, flickering in time with Ashley's quickened breaths. She tried to step back, but her legs wouldn't obey—they felt strange, weightless, as if her knees had forgotten how to lock.

 

[Sky Hooves]

Interesting start and first time seeing the Backrooms in an ABDL story. Looking forward how you continue.

[SGTbaby]

Curious to see where this goes

[Guilend]

I currently do not have much to say. The first chapter doesn’t have a lot to go off of. I will be keeping an eye out for more chapters and I’ll be sure to comment as you post them. 

[Yumi_doll]

Thank you for the comments, I read them all. I will continue and I ask that you comment with your opinions; it helps me improve.

....

Chapter 02

Ashley's tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. The scent of baby powder clung to every inhale, thick enough to taste. "You're not real," she whispered, but the words sounded childish even to her own ears. The nurse tilted her head, her masked face inches from Ashley's now, and something rustled beneath her starched uniform—not fabric, but paper, like the crinkle of a freshly opened diaper.

Ashley's knees buckled as the nurse guided her forward, her legs moving without her consent, like a puppet with its strings tugged by unseen hands. The air thickened, pressing against her skin with a warmth that felt unnervingly intimate—not the sterile chill of a hospital, but the humid closeness of a nursery at midnight. The changing table appeared as if conjured from the wallpaper itself, its plastic surface gleaming under the flickering lights, padded with a pastel-blue mat that looked both pristine and eerily worn-in. She tried to dig her heels in, but her body betrayed her, sliding onto the table with a quiet inevitability. The nurse hummed the same lullaby that had been looping in Ashley’s skull since she’d picked up the bear, the melody vibrating through her ribs like a second heartbeat. The table’s restraints—soft, velcro-lined straps—were already undone, waiting. Ashley’s breath hitched as the nurse’s gloved hands pressed her shoulders down, the touch firm but not unkind. 

"Just a little adjustment," the nurse murmured, her voice syrup-sweet. "You’ll feel better after."

The needle pricked her thumb again—sharp, sudden—and Ashley hissed through her teeth, watching the bead of blood swell against her skin. Her dorm room was too cold, the overhead light too bright, but she refused to turn it off. The torn hem of her favorite skirt lay sprawled across her lap, the fabric frayed from too many late-night study sessions spent crossing and uncrossing her legs. Outside, the campus was silent except for the occasional drunken shout from the quad. 3 AM. The hour of pride and bad decisions. She could’ve called home. Her mother would’ve answered, groggy but relieved to hear her voice, would’ve told her to just buy a new skirt, sweetheart, or better yet, let me send you one—but Ashley had jammed the needle through the fabric with a stubbornness that bordered on ritual. She could do this herself. 

Ashley's wrist burned where the nurse's grip tightened, the latex gloves squeaking against her skin. The lullaby swelled around them, tinny and distorted like a music box left out in the rain, its melody drilling into her skull. "Let go—" Ashley gasped, but the nurse's fingers only dug deeper, the pressure just shy of bruising. The nurse's masked face loomed closer, her breath warm and cloying through the fabric. "Oh, little one," she crooned, her voice layered with the lullaby now, harmonizing in a way that made Ashley's bones vibrate, "you always fight—don't you remember how much nicer it is when you just let me take care of you?" The words slithered into Ashley's ears, sticky-sweet, and for a dizzying moment, she *did* remember—the soft press of a pacifier against her lips, the weight of a blanket tucked snug around her shoulders—memories that weren't hers but felt like they should be.

Ashley's fingers clawed at the nurse's starched sleeve, her nails catching on the crisp fabric like a cat refusing to be picked up. "Get off me—" she snarled, but the words came out slurred, her tongue thick with the taste of powdered milk. The nurse sighed, a sound like wind through a mobile, and caught Ashley's wrists in one gloved hand with practiced ease.

"Stop trying to do this,"

the nurse murmured, tilting her head until the fluorescent light caught the glassy sheen of her button eyes. 

"Who are you, you crazy woman?" 

The question wasn't cruel—it was curious, almost pitying, like she'd asked it a hundred times 

The nurse reached for the folded diaper with a practiced grace, the crinkling plastic sounding impossibly loud in the humming silence. It was white, pristine, thicker than Ashley expected, with little pastel stars printed along the padding—something between medical and infantilizing. The nurse unfolded it with one smooth motion, the scent of talcum powder blooming in the air like a ghost of childhood. Ashley’s breath hitched as the nurse lifted her hips with effortless strength, sliding the diaper beneath her with a whisper of plastic against skin. The first tape fastened with a soft *rip* of adhesive, snug against her hipbone. The sensation was startlingly precise, the fit so exact it made Ashley’s stomach flutter. The second tape followed, sealing her into the diaper with a finality that should have been humiliating. Instead, a warmth pooled low in her belly—not the sharp sting of shame, but something slower, older, like the relief of sinking into a bath after a long day. Her muscles loosened without permission, her legs falling slightly open as the nurse patted the front of the diaper, the crinkling sound absurdly comforting. 

Ashley barely registered the nurse's hands at her collar before the fabric of her white top began to shift beneath her fingers—not being removed, but *changing*, the material rippling like water disturbed by a stone. The seams dissolved with a sound like rustling leaves, the sleeves melting into soft, rounded edges that curled around her wrists like petals. Before she could protest, the fabric bloomed outward in a burst of pastel pink, the cotton thickening into something unmistakably infantile—a jumpsuit, the kind with snaps between the legs and a drooping, ruffled collar. It unfolded around her with a whisper of lavender-scented detergent, the aroma hitting her like a time machine: her grandmother’s laundry room, the wicker basket of sun-warmed clothes, the way the old woman would hum as she folded Ashley’s tiny socks. The nurse’s gloved hands made quick work of the snaps, their *pop-pop-pop* rhythmic as a nursery rhyme. Ashley’s skin prickled where the new fabric brushed against her—too soft, *wrongly* soft, like being touched by clouds that remembered being blankets. The jumpsuit settled against her body with a weight that had nothing to do with physics; it felt *correct* in a way that made her throat tighten. The sleeves ended in cuffs that hugged her wrists, the hem just grazing the tops of her thighs, leaving the diaper beneath conspicuously visible. She tried to cross her arms, but the fabric bunched awkwardly, the cut of the jumpsuit forcing her elbows into a childish, pigeon-toed stance.

[codsterc10@msn.com]

Like it so far 

[Beeboo]

You definitely have something here. Taking a well known creepy pasta and converted into a story of the loved genre. I have some tips if you'd like: 

1. Introduce small kindnesses

Something unseen helps you—blanket tucked in, dishes washed, food and drink made.

 

2. Make happenings less often, but deep

The help keeps it distance, but it knows exactly what you need.

 

3. Hint that it’s powerful

Things move, doors unlock, problems disappear, or even something extremely embarrassing but meant to be cute.

 

4. Keep it unseen if you can

Show shadows, sounds, or pressure on the crib-show it in the unexpected.

[Yumi_doll]

6 hours ago, Beeboo said:

You definitely have something here. Taking a well known creepy pasta and converted into a story of the loved genre. I have some tips if you'd like: 

1. Introduce small kindnesses

Something unseen helps you—blanket tucked in, dishes washed, food and drink made.

 

2. Make happenings less often, but deep

The help keeps it distance, but it knows exactly what you need.

 

3. Hint that it’s powerful

Things move, doors unlock, problems disappear, or even something extremely embarrassing but meant to be cute.

 

4. Keep it unseen if you can

Show shadows, sounds, or pressure on the crib-show it in the unexpected.

Okay, wow, I really liked your tips. I hope I can follow them.

[Yumi_doll]

But one chapter delivered! I'm loving writing this story. If you could comment on what you think of the story and its changes, or just read it, I would appreciate it.

 

Chapter 03

The scent of lavender detergent hit Ashley like a time machine—not to her grandmother’s laundry room this time, but to a cramped university seminar hall, the air thick with chalk dust and overheated laptops. Professor Chen’s voice echoed in her skull, sharp as a paper cut: *"Infantilization isn’t about age, but about who controls the narrative."* She’d underlined it twice in her notes, the pen digging into the paper. Across the seminar table, Mark had rolled his eyes. "So it’s just fancy talk for bullying?" Ashley’s fingers had tightened around her coffee cup. "No. It’s making someone’s voice so small even they stop hearing it." The memory dissolved like sugar in tea as the nurse’s hands landed on her shoulders, pulling the overall straps up with a series of crisp *snaps*.

Ashley jerked against the restraints, but the nurse’s grip was implacable, her thumbs pressing into the hollows of Ashley’s collarbones with clinical precision. The overall straps tightened across her back, the fabric cinching her arms into a half-raised position—not pinned, but *posed*, like a doll arranged on a shelf. "There," the nurse murmured, smoothing a wrinkle from Ashley’s shoulder. "Much better." The words slithered into Ashley’s ears, sticky with satisfaction. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt thick, her lips numb. The nurse’s masked face tilted, her button eyes catching the light. "Use your words, little one."

The hairbrush dragged through Ashley's tangled curls with a rhythmic scrape, the bristles catching every few strokes—not painfully, but with a persistent tug that made her scalp prickle. At first, she thought it was static, the way her hair lifted slightly with each pass, but then she felt it: a whisper-soft *crinkle* beneath her, not just from the diaper but from *her*, as if her skin had grown its own plastic layer. The nurse hummed tunelessly, her gloved fingers parting Ashley's hair with clinical care, the brush moving slower now, almost hypnotic. Ashley blinked down at the pacifier clinging to the front of her jumpsuit—pastel pink, with a single white star on the shield, its silicone nipple slightly flattened from pressure. It shouldn't have stayed there, not without a clip, but it clung stubbornly to the fabric like a burr to wool. Her breath hitched as recognition pricked at her—not fear this time, but something worse: familiarity. The pacifier's looped handle was worn smooth from use, tiny teeth marks pressed into the plastic. She knew those marks. Knew the way her own molars had once fit those grooves.  

The nurse's humming stuttered mid-note as she caught Ashley staring. "Found your binky, did you?" she cooed, plucking it free with a soft *pop* that sent a shiver down Ashley's spine. 

"You always did like this one best."

The laughter hit first—sharp, bright, bouncing off the dorm hallway's cinderblock walls like a rubber ball. Ashley's fingers froze on her textbook page, the sound pricking her ears before the words took shape: "—and then she just *waddled* out of the bathroom like that, full diaper and everything—" A snort. "No fucking way." The voices rounded the corner, three girls from her poli-sci seminar, their arms laden with Starbucks cups and weekend gossip. Ashley's breath caught. She knew, before they even said it, whose story they were telling.

"Ashley *Parker*," 

the tallest girl—Lena—giggled, miming a toddler's stiff-legged walk.

 "I swear to god, she had this little pink pacifier clipped to her overalls—"

 The other girls dissolved into laughter, one of them fake-coughing "*Baby Parker*" into her sleeve. Ashley's vision tunneled. The dorm room key bit into her palm. She could still smell it, the thick sweetness of powdered milk clinging to her hair that morning, the crinkle of plastic under her jeans when she'd sat down in lecture. They'd *seen*

Emerging from the trance of the nightmare, she returned to the room with the nurse. The crib bars rose around her with the soft *click* of the plastic snapping into place—too high to climb, too smooth to grip. Ashley's palms slid uselessly against the bars as the nurse adjusted the mobile above, its pastel-colored stars swaying lazily under the fluorescent light. "Wait—" Ashley managed to say, her voice choked with emotion, but the word was muffled by the pacifier that had somehow ended up in her mouth. The nurse's gloved fingers brushed a rebellious strand of hair from her forehead, the touch lingering long enough to send shivers down Ashley's spine with something between revulsion and desire. Ashley sees the last gate closing; her body begins to feel a wave of escape; she throws herself into that wave.